#and any decisions have not been easy to make or discuss

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

I've been thinking a lot today about how easily people condemn Solas for making the choices he did or for so regularly refusing the help and love his friends or a romanced Lavellan extended to him and how that's a very easy thing to do from behind a screen in a fictional game where you are able to (with very few exceptions) curate a world in which your allies are loyal and your decisions will go the way you'd like them to.

And yeah, it's a game and that's kind of the point, but if I were to look at it a little more deeply (and who am I kidding, I got back on this website exclusively to process the aftermath of Veilguard) I'd say that there's so much to be found in wondering if the protagonists in any of the other games would have fared better in similar conditions.

Apparently I can't stop making long posts, so buckle in.

What would Morrigan have become in a world where the Warden never stumbled upon her cottage with Flemeth, if she never got the chance to see more of the world and decide what she wanted out of it? With just her mother (who, coincidentally in this Solas-y discussion is also kind of Mythal) and no support, who is to say what she would have unleashed upon the Korcari Wilds one day when the confines of her cage became too much?

What about Leliana? She, too, suffered at the hands of a very controlling abuser who tried to convince her that one lifestyle was all that her future held. What do we think she would have become if not for a chance meeting in Lothering with someone who could help her face down the woman that molded her?

Fenris, a character MANY people are just fine with was incredibly ready to kill a mage on sight if need be, no questions asked. Where do we think his story goes if he doesn't have someone in his corner early on enough in the game? If he doesn't get caught by Danarius, he's almost certainly going to end up on a murder spree, and he doesn't even have Justice whispering in his head to do it.

Cullen. Just all of him. It's an absolute miracle he hasn't snapped by the time you encounter him in Inquistion, and even then you get the benefit of intervening at a critical point in his story several times over.

Almost every other character could face this analysis and I think we'd reach a result that suggests perhaps the only thing keeping them lovable is your playable character's investment in their well-being.

Enter Solas. We don't meet him when he's twenty to thirty something and on the precipice of falling down a dark path. He's been there for literal millennia already, and with the exception of one close friend he's been alone. And not even Felassan is enough because of the years Mythal had prior to that friendship to make Solas exactly who she needed him to be.

I've had shit friends before that aren't just good at isolating people, they're naturals. I barely made it through high school with my mental health in place (in fact, looking back, it almost certainly wasn't). When you think you've got a true friend and they need something of you, it's so easy to blindly follow them because you think your love is enough to mark someone's soul as trustworthy. Solas doesn't learn that lesson until it's too late, and even when he does he can't turn back: the spirit that was once Wisdom has been exposed to several of the worst ancient elves to ever exist and now he has to stand his ground rather than let it all fall, because that is what Pride would dictate. Admitting that the person you gave your love and labor and time to is a monster is hard. And he was alone.

Give me Morrigan after centuries with her mother. Show me Leliana after the years have become a blur and the only voice whispering in her ear is Marjolaine's. Show me the innocent mages that don't make it through if all Fenris has for years and years and years are the scars Danaris left him and the means to make more. Show me Cullen if he stays in a chain of command under a Knight Commander who knows exactly what he fears and holds it over his head for so long he forgets what it was like to be an excited kid begging the templars for training because he just wants to keep people safe.

We get companions in these games who are broken by the time they're twenty. Solas has spent thousands of years in servitude to a cause of a woman he believed to be his only friend. He doesn't know who he is without her influence, anymore, only exists physically in the first place because she asked it of him and then asked again and again and again. He doesn't have a witty band of merry fools to pull him out of that cycle. He has Felassan, but he has him during war after war after war in the hopes of freeing others from the very situation that torments him.

Trauma from war affects everyone touched by it, nevermind the fact that Solas is actively responsible for saving the lives of thousands and feels each life like a weight around his neck because maybe he can save them like he cannot save himself. We should always be worried about the people trying to do the most good. Who is looking out for them? Why are they so determined to help others? Could it be that it's something they wish others had done for them?

Solas certainly feels comradery with Felassan from working together to free slaves from the very people he helped put in power because Mythal told him it would be okay only to leave him with the pieces, but even the Solas that Felassan knows has been turned into an attack dog shying away from the touch of the very person it desires to be near above all others by the time their relationship forms.

The fact that Solas is able to try and show the Inquisitor who he is at all is a miracle as far as I'm concerned, a sign of a peaceful spirit of Wisdom who loves knowledge for the sake of it finally sensing that there might be a chance to embrace its nature again.

Yeah, if you give him what he has come to expect from people with power, if you let near-absolute power over the masses corrupt you, he's going to bristle and try to shut your inquisitor down.

But if you show him even the smallest bit of kindness? If you treat him like the starving wolf he talks about and feed him instead of fighting him? God, it shatters his entire existence.

It's called a cycle of abuse for a reason. Finding friendship, finding the love of your long-ass life can be the first step in realizing there's better out there. But the time it takes to learn that? When you're too weary to even reach out for help in the first place and afraid of every kind word or gesture because you've never known such tenderness (on a platonic OR romantic level, both matter so so much) before?

Part of the compelling tragedy of Solas is that it's almost Orpheus-like how he knows what he has been made into and still cannot stop himself from yearning for more, from turning around to see if just this once something has changed. You can't convince me that he hasn't spent years hoping that someone will hear the legend of the Dread Wolf and see it for what it is, a leash the Evanuris created for Mythal's whipping boy to ensure that even if he ever escapes them, the people he fought to save will hate him. And I cannot blame him for the shock and terror that consumes him when he realizes someone finally has.

You give me any of dragon age companions after the amount of time Solas spent under Mythal's thumb without your character's intervention and you tell me how that looks.

You tell me if they're able to change at the first sign of something that feels too good to be true.

And then, I want you to tell me they're any less worthy of trying to save, especially when you know how good their best can be.

Solas might be hard for some fans to love, but it's only because he serves as the perfect representation of the beast we are all capable of becoming when the love that sustains us, assuming we receive any at all, is laced with poison.

The journey out of that place, out of a literal prison of regret, is brutal, and I'm thrilled that even with the many things about Veilguard I'm still struggling with, we have the chance to let Solas try again with the help of those who love him not because he never fell down, but because they believe in the beauty of a future where he gets back up again.

[clingylilhoneybee]

Hey friends, let’s not cause problems with people on my behalf when you have no direct stake in either persons side and next to no context of the situation

[pucksandpower]

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.

[ladylaviniya]

Daddy's Final Deal

Oneshot Summary: Your possessive Step-Father Bruce Wayne decides he cannot bare you leaving for college...so he leans on a friend who shares the same obsession for you. He offers him a deal.

Oneshot Warning: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Non-Con, CNC, Grooming (all characters are of legal age.) Bondage, P in V, Oral Sex, Threesome, Exhibition, Vouyerism, pseudo-incest between step-father & step daughter, pimping if you squint, breeding kink if you squint. No condoms/unsafe sex.

Word Count: 10.2k

Author Notes: This is a gift for @cardierreh15 after a playful dare. I hope you enjoy this babe 🥺✨

Gently laid on soft satin bed sheets, your thoughts were consumed with the evening discussion that you had during supper with your step-father Bruce and his best friend Clark, followed by the unexpected marriage proposal Clark had made. You were surprised Clark had wanted your hand for any other purpose than for your step-father’s wealth– you would have never guessed his feelings for your because he was usually so calm and friendly with everyone. Yet he had asked you softly if you would consider being his wife with a warm smile, and you knew he was serious from the glint in his eyes. It was like your lungs were drowning with how difficult it was to breathe.

For the first time, your heart stirred, void of fear and worry.

You didn’t outright decline his offer, but a decision of this magnitude deserved more than a hasty reply. You had to think this through being that you were so caught if guard in the first place, so you demurred by saying you needed time to think about your official answer. After all, you were just a month away from starting college. You wanted to be a journalist like Clark despite Bruce’s protests and alternative encouragement for you to remain home and attend charity balls with him. Besides, Clark was a bit too old…a little younger than Bruce but both men still had twenty years on you.

If age wasn’t the defining taboo, you had noted Clark was a gentleman who had the ability to make you laugh. If anything was to happen to Bruce or Alfred, you felt Clark would be the most reliable shoulder to lean against.

You rolled over and sighed, you held your blanket up to your chin and continued to ponder.

Clark Kent...he would be a decent husband, but did you have feelings for him? He was rather charming and undeniably handsome. It was something that you would probably lose sleep over in the future.

Clark had approached the topic very calmly, almost shyly, and Bruce had seemed to be expecting this. That made it obvious to your that Clark had asked your step-father first, and Bruce would not have let his best friend ask you if he did not approve first...Bruce in fact was smiling at dinner and that smile fell when you have your polite neutral response.

Suddenly the wine he had let your drink felt a little sickly in your belly. You excuses yourself as soon as you could to your bedroom.

You rolled over in your sheets and sighed softly, snuggling up under the thick duvet and nuzzling the thousand-dollar pillows. It confused you, but the more you thought about it, the less absurd it became. You giggled. Clark would make a very good husband, and you would be lucky to have someone such as him, of such a good but firm character, always with an easy smile or an encouraging word for you. And he had always been a good friend to you, respecting your interests in writing, sometimes babying you, which girls your age might find annoying but you didn’t mind.

The boys your age were so horny and stupid...immature. it was impossible to see them as providers for the families that they claimed to want for themselves.

So saying “yes” to Clark would feel a little weird to you, but what real reason was there to say no? Did you have someone else? You might’ve shared kisses along your teens in highschool, yet none of them swept you off your feet enough to like them.

You were just glad that Clark had agreed to let your think about it. His smile had been relaxed, and he showed no anger or resentment. His eyes did appear tighter, other than that it even seemed as if he had expected your hesitation and was willing to wait. Clark was always so understanding, why wouldn’t he be about such an important question like this?

You shut your eyes with a smile.

★★★

Meanwhile, the men remained downstairs in the library, in front of the fireplace, and Clark looked across the flames at his best friend.

“Are you sure you still want to go through with this Bruce?” he asked.

The men had known each other for years and had grown a close bond in friendship and other activities. And if course it was bound to slip from one man’s lips to the other about their depraved thoughts, desires and fantasies....it turns out they shared a common denominator... You.

Over a month ago they were sitting in the same place discussing the same issue about to occur...losing you.

They knew if you left for college, you’d meet some cocky asshole studying to be a lawyer or doctor, get pregnant, get married quickly only to suffer a uncommitted marriage and end in a heart breaking divorce.

What type of men would they be if they watched their favourite girl fall to such demise as that!?

Bruce had married your mother when you were fourteen and he was the best dad you could ever ask for. He helped with your homework and taught you to swim while he paid for your mother’s chemo therapy.

When she died three years ago, you’d just finished highschool. You were totally shattered and put off summer break and college until you knew you were prepared. But now Clark had dumped the marriage proposal.

Clark sighed. His best friend's idea wasn’t totally a surprise to him. Bruce had planned this.

Clark recalled how Bruce was constantly looking out for you; his protectiveness as a stepfather, while perhaps misguided, was undeniably apparent. It was clear that he cared about you deeply and had shown no interest in any other woman since the passing of his wife—your mother. Clark often caught Bruce gazing at you with a loving and compassionate gaze, as if he were contemplating the best way to look after you.

During those days Clark was scared to share his own perverse thoughts...oh how the man wanted to look after you. You always were so lovely around him, so eager to gain his attention and praise, perhaps as another fatherly figure she could cling to...It wasn’t hard for Bruce to see that Clark loved you dearly and was clearly proud of your accomplishments. Clark was proud like a second father.... Except he wanted to do things no father should ever do to their little girls. He almost lost it one day when he walked in on you, on your hands and knees scrubbing the carpet before Alfred could find the stains you’d made when stealing some red whine from Bruce’s cellar. Your skirt was a tad too short, the hem pulled up over your ass cheeks and crotch. Clark held back from ripping those white nylon leggings with those cute pink panties and shoving his cock deep in your tight cunt.

He wondered if Bruce ever found out about the stain...he touched himself imagining Mister Wayne spanking his wayward little minx of a daughter over his knees.

Clark wanted you. Bruce wanted you and the moment they both figured it out, neither of them could judge each other for their thoughts....

They decided Clark would ask for your hand and the billionaire of Gotham would give his best friend his blessing – on one condition.

The idea was foul and taboo, and Clark was not sure whether he should deny to it or not. But this was his best friend, the loving step-father who cared about the young woman Clark wanted to marry as much as he did if not more. You had shared things in the past, and whenever you had debated or ‘fought’ over things, it was always light hearted, and never bitter.

“Of course I do, if not now then not ever Clark....” Bruce replied with a brief nod, “Tonight might be the only chance we get.”

Clark nodded slowly for a moment. Yes, he cared for you and had done so for a long time. He was happy that when he asked, you had not acted with shock or revulsion. But you had seemed surprised and hesitant, and he could not blame your for being shy and uncertain.

“What if she says no?” he asked.

Bruce’s eyes darkened, “She will...at first. Are you capable of pushing through that Kent?”

The super man smirked sickly. Of course he could. Clark nodded.

“She is going to be scared,” Bruce replied with certainty as he slowly turned his head towards the stairway out in the hall that led to your wing of the mansion, “I have been expecting this since her mother died, I doubt she remembers that night…”

Clark sighed, “I recall you letting her drink. She was a giggling and crying mess when I carried her to her room to have a nap.”

Bruce curled his lips inward, and he nodded. The silence grew strained.

Clark’s eyes furrowed in curiosity, “Bruce…are you hiding something from me?”

“She…” his friend paused, his grey eyes grew hazed as he looked into the flames, “When you left, I went to check up on her,” he thrummed his fingers on his chin, “She was touching herself Clark... and I caught her and…well…she…” his eyes met the other man again.

Clark sat back in his leather seat, his throat bobbed, “You watched until the end?” the was no judgement merely a question to acknowledge what had happened.

The other man nodded again and continued, “I came in after she finished, she was half out of it. So when I tucked her in, she kissed me…fully…and…god Clark…she- she’s so beautiful, I can’t watch her go off to college.…”

The journalist exhaled and clenched his jaw.

And Bruce sighed, “That’s why my little girl is going to be pregnant tonight.”

Clarks eyes widened, his lips parted hesitantly. That was not in the original plan...He paused and struggled to find the right words. Bruce had given Clark the greatest opportunity and the wrong word would revoke all that granted privilege.

“We both care about you,” the billionaire sucked his teeth, “Forget what the tabloids will say. They are hypocrites with absolutely no moral sense. Afterall mr superman, aren’t you rubbing shoulders at the daily planet, surely you can take care of the backlash? We aren’t blood related and c’mon we have a right to her better than anyone on this cold spinning rock. With my wealth and your muscles, who else would take better care of her? No one else!” Bruce said fiercely, although his voice was a whisper, his eyes narrowed slightly.

Clark found himself frozen in place, his eyes locked on his friend’s face. It took him a moment to process all the emotions and thoughts that surged around inside him. Finally, he managed to nod his head slowly, as he tried to take in the unexpected turn of events.

“Okay Wayne,” his lips broke into a dark chuckle, “Lets go put a baby in our little girl.”

The wooden door your bedroom creaked open slowly. A bit of light from the hallway made its way past Bruce’s bulk form, illuminating his step-daughter’s face. When he whispered your name, you did not stir, and he smiled to himself. He turned around to Clark and nodded. The two of them moved forward stealthily. Bruce carefully slid his arms under the blanket, finding your form before scooping it up. You stirred but did not wake. Bruce carefully carried you to his master bedroom, a place he scarcely let you enter for the obvious reason of what he kept secret in his drawers. Clark shut the doors and locked them, heaven forbid Alfred managed to walk into this event.

It would be more comfortable here for the three of you, and warmer with how Bruce kept an electric fireplace and big flat screen tv on the wall. The flames continued dancing cheerily as Bruce gently laid his step-daughter down, looking at you with a small smile.

Several moments passed before Bruce lowered his hand, gently moving his hand under your nightie chemise, his hot palm over your stomach. The mattress dipped on both sides keeping you balanced. Another set of fingers creeped up your thighs. Since the touches were so gentle, you did not stir so easily. Clark watched silently, his heart pounding as Bruce slowly lifted your hem up showing off a set of fresh underwear he allowed you to buy with the allowance credit card.

A cute pair of cotton white panties with a soft yellow duck print on top of the crotch. Clark swallowed hard. His thumb scarcely brushed over your damp apex. A small wet spot was beginning to spread. You softly cooed, still not awake…surely dreaming of something naughty by what Clark could smell.

Bruce glanced at Clark before looking back at you, and carefully untied the small strings that held the top bust of your nightie closed. His hands were steady as he parted the folds.

And there they laid their eyes on your breasts, Clark had to hold back a loud sharp intake of breath. Your nipples were perfect, and he found himself craving to suckle them. Your nipples hardened slightly as the slight coolness of the air tickled them.

You groaned softly, your eyelids fluttering open. You shifted and rolled over onto your side, looking around in confusion.

‘Where am I? Where’s my cuddle pillow?’

You rubbed your eyes and registered that you were with your step-father and Clark…on Bruce’s bed…. Both men were staring down at you silently, and you gasped when you realised your nightie was open. You held back a shriek and quickly whipped it closed before shoving the hem of your nightie down past your knees.

‘What am I doing out of my bed and with my chest exposed? Why we my nightie up so high? Did they see my underwear?’

Bruce's faint smile and Clark's gentle expression might have brought you ease, but the situation was too strange.

‘Why was my nightie been untied and opened? Why was it so far up my legs? Did one of them do it?’

The idea was...absurd. But what else would have happened? You were not in the habit of sleepwalking. You tied your nightie closed and quickly sat up, looking at the two men.

“I um…Is...something wrong, Dad?” you asked oh so innocent and naively as you sat up, feeling Bruce’s thick blue cotton blankets under your body. Bruce’s large and callused hand gently grasped your upper arm, softly stroking it as if to comfort you. His kind smile stayed on his face, unmoving even as he shook his head. His quiet demeanour continued to soothe you with each moment, despite the overwhelming emotions swirling through your mind.

“Nothing is wrong sweetheart, you-…” he breathed, his other hand caressing your cheek. Your step-father was an affectionate man, giving your mother and you hugs often whenever you wanted them, but in all these years...he had never caressed your cheek like this. His thumb ran softly over your lips intimately.

Briefly turning your head to inspect Clark, you found there was nothing about his body language denoting immediate danger. He even leaned in slightly and rested a hand on your knee, shifting even closer toward you.

You sighed softly in comfort...until he said, “You...Don’t need to be afraid....”

Your eyes widened, “Be afraid of what?” you asked. Like some strange horror, the dotes were slowly connecting. The air around you felt taut. You were confused and even Clark could hear how your heart was beating faster, anxiously. Your lips parted slightly, but what could you say, surely they weren’t going to…were they? Why were they looking at you in that way? Why did they look so...hungry?

Bruce smiled and leaned in, placing a kiss on your forehead directing your attention back to him. Without answering your question, he tilted your chin up and sealed his lips over yours in a gentle kiss, his lips pressing against you in a firm manner.

Your eyes popped wider as you suddenly pulled away from the kiss. While other boys had given you tender kisses before in your youth, none had done it quite as passionately as Bruce, your own step-father. His kiss was gentle yet deep, unlike anything you had experienced before. The sensation of his tongue inside your mouth and the minty flavour of his breath filled your senses, making you feel both awkward and ashamedly excited.

Having predicted the situation, Clark quickly got behind you. You felt his thick toned arms snaked around you in a caging hug, holding you firmly in place. Bruce smiled and put his hands on your hips, leaning in and quickly resuming the contact of your lips. You couldn’t lift your arms to shove him away. Your head was pressed against Clark’s chest, unable to break free although you wiggled about furiously, trying to move to the side.

Clark's arms held you in place firmly, pinning your own arms. His hands were spread across your chest and stomach, while his mouth pressed against the shell of your ear.

“Good girl,” he praised, “Stay nice and still for Daddy and me hm?”

He ducked his nose a deeper and traced his lips along your soft skin, kissing along the shape of it as Bruce deepened his seductive French kissing for a moment before breaking it. You had been unable to break it since his hands cupped your face. A soft whimper escaped your lips as Clark started licking along your earlobe, and you gasped softly when he suddenly blew on the wet trail he had just left.

“Easy baby, you need to calm down… Please,” Clark whispered softly, kissing your neck and ear as Bruce placed light kisses along your cheek.

Your step-father smiled and pinched the front of your nightie down and open just a bit to expose your shoulders and collar bone, which he lavished in more wet kisses.

The attention being given to you by both men were gentle, but the whole situation was frightening to you. You knew you should’ve tried to bite their ears, but how could you harm them? The two men you cared about? The man stroking you was your step-father, how could he want to do this? And more importantly, how could Clark just let it happen?

“Please,” you jerked your head back, fruitless from breaking away from their searing kisses, “Let me go...I need to sleep...” you whimpered softly.

“Sh- shh-hh...” Bruce shushed hotly, suckling gently upon the part where your neck met your shoulder. The skin there was sensitive, and you gave a soft cry when you felt him nip gently.

“... D-dad, Clark I-, please...don’t” you whimpered. You turned your head to look up at Clark, looking for an answer. Clark merely gave you that warm, wide smile and captured your lips, closing his eyes as he kissed you with a gentle passion.

Your lashes fluttered, his lips were soft and he was not nearly as forceful as Bruce. He coaxed you to comply. The tiniest of moans left your mouth and filled his.

You shifted again as your step-father worked at your nightie, tugging it open some more. You gave out a weak mewl when Clark broke the kiss. You trembled under Bruce’s dancing fingers.

“Did- did I do something wrong? Why are you doing this to me?” you asked, the corners of your eyes watered. Had your step-father been expecting you to say ‘yes’ to Clark? Was he mad at you? Why was he also here kissing you like this?

This was your own step-father, the man who had raised you since you were fourteen. The man that had married and fucked your own mother. The betrayal felt like a deep and sharp cut. Is this how he saw you? Just some girl he could manipulate when she was of consenting age? You felt sick...and angry. It was practically incest, it was an abomination!

You could barely contain the whimpers and spurting tears rising.

Your question was ignored as the two men made short work of your entire dress, two pairs of hands removing it while keeping your restrained. You could barely contain your squeals when the fabric ripped. Bruce grunted as he tore through and tugged the damn thing from your goosebump skin.

Clark's hands caressed your belly while Bruce's moved to cup your breasts.

Bruce gave a shuddering breath and weighed them in his hands. They were so soft and succulent. He had dreamed of doing this to you many times, for so long during your sweet innocent hugs he’d sneakily brush his fingers against your chest whenever he could to steal and imagine how great your tits would one-day feel in his hands.

All of his expectations were met, and exceeded. And there was still more to see, to explore.

“Please, tell me! Why!?” you demanded. Clark's grip on your arms were gentle but very firm, and you could not scratch either of them. Bruce smiled at you fondly. He cupped your cheeks again and cooed.

“You have done absolutely nothing wrong babygirl. This isn't a punishment. See... We both want you to know how much we love you,” his face leant for and licked at your salty cheek.

“And it’s not like you have a good reason to say no to Daddy and I.” Clark whispered while Bruce fondled your breasts, pinching the hard nipples between his fingertips in a careful way. Clark peered down at what his friend was doing and observed your soft breasts. He was eager for his own turn to feel them, but he was not going to rush his friend. They had agreed to share and be fair about it, and he knew Bruce was a man of his word.

“… No good reason to say no?” you asked, your heart pounding, although your question was barely more than a whisper. They both nodded. Clark smiled and kissed your cheek before touching his nose against it in a loving nuzzle.

He cupped and massaged one breast, giving a brief nod to his friend before shifting his eyes towards your other breast.

Clark moved one hand and took your right breast, which Bruce had offered, and began to fondle it while Bruce played with your left one. Bruce was firmer in his kneading, and Clark was gentle as his fingers skimmed along the underside of the mound, as if he was afraid of hurting you. Both hands felt so good on you, and you squirmed around, afraid to submit to any pleasure from this shocking situation.

“Please... please, let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone about this, not even Alfred, please let me go now. Let me go. Leave me alone! I'm your step-daughter! Bruce! Y-you’re meant to be my Dad!” you pleaded, trying to get through to your step-father as he gave your breast a very firm, although not painful squeeze.

Bruce chewed his bottom lip and moved away. He got off the bed and watched his best friend touch you. He tugged at his tie and unbuttoned his blouse. His chest was covered in dark and silvery hairs. He fiddled with his belt buckle. His trousers fell to his ankles. His hand dove into his briefs.

Your eyes flooded with more tears. You were staring at Bruce’s erection.

“Come on princess...You know we won’t hurt you. Ever... Don’t be scared, relax, enjoy and be a good little girl…” Bruce said softly, climbing back on the bed he reached out and started caressing your arms.

You couldn’t help it, you screamed and tried to kick your step-father away with your legs as hard as you could. You hated that you had to hurt him like this. Clarks heavy hand clamped down on your squealing mouth

Bruce shook his head, slapping your kicking heels away. His lips curled into a mean sneer as he leant forward and tweaked your nipples, sending a jolt of pain through your chest.

You yelled out behind Clarks hand, trying to bite down on his palm. He didn’t flinch once. His nose flared, he was a little irritated with your teeth sinking into his skin.

“Better stop screaming sweetheart or Daddy’s going to have to put a gag in that little mouth of yours,” Bruce ground between his gritted teeth.

Your pleas were not doing the trick, and your desperate kicks weren’t either. They both played with your breasts and Bruce chuckled, drawing your nipple into his mouth and sucking firmly on the hard nub.

Clark bodily drifted his hand down between your legs, touching your duckling and creeping down further to your damp crotch. His fingers strong and hard, lazily rubbed in circles. Both of them seemed acutely aware of the pleasure that you were feeling at their attention even as you pleaded with them and tried to deny it. It only spurred them on and made them want your more.

“Daddy, stop it!” you wailed, “This is wrong and you know it too Clark!” you flung yourself backwards and tried to push the other male off you.

The man let your nipple free and looked into you's eyes. It had been so long since you had called him 'Daddy', having abandoned it for 'Dad' or just 'Bruce' in later years.

“Pumpkin…” he said, grabbing your wrists, giving Clark enough time to move away. Bruce pushed you back hard onto the mattress and sat on your ankles, holding your wrists down as he clouded you in his body. He hovered above you. You trembled violently, weeping hard.

“This is going to happen, and there’s nothing you can do or say to stop it,” his head lifted, “You finished stripping Clark?” he asked.

Your eyes flashed up. Your point of you made the world appear upside down. Clark sat his glasses on the bed side table...it was the last thing he wore.

“Bottom drawer, there’s a roll of duct tape.”

Clark nodded and pulled it out. The colour surprised him ...it was pink. Clark planned to use it on you one way or another, no matter what

Bruce trailed his nose across your face and pressed his lips to your forehead, “Trust your Daddy. Have I ever done anything to you that proved harmful?” Bruce asked softly, his blue eyes filled with a pleading for your understanding. You fell silent as you slowly shook your head whimpering and breaking down at the tearing sound of the pink duct tape. Bruce pushed your wrists together. The sticky sensation bound around your wrists tightly. He had always been such a loving step-father. But this went past the bounds of a step-father.

“No... b-bu-tt this-s... we're n-not...d-daddy, y-youre meant to be m-m-my dad-daddy...” Your voice was breaking, a soft pathetic whine as you pleaded, “Clar-k h-elp me.”

Bruce’s eyes glanced up at Clark. A tiny nod. Another rip and the tape was pushed flat against your sobbing mouth.

Clark rejoined you both on the bed and held your hands down for Bruce as the man bent down taking your nipple into his mouth again, his tongue rubbing it firmly as he suckled. A chest rattling gasp was muffled behind the tape.

Clark held you, massaging your other breast. You started to feel the fiery tingle between your legs. You were a virgin, but you were not stupid, and had touched that special place before...shame filled your mind because truly how much of a monster were you for being aroused by... your own step-father?

Despite the pleasure, you were afraid. You wiggled against Clark, twisting your arms and whining softly.

Clark's hands were gentle yet firm, and he held you in place even as you twisted. He moaned softly against your neck, and you felt the underside of his arousal along side Bruce’s, both touching the outsides of your thighs.

"Bruce...I need her,” he whispered, “Let me fuck your precious princess?”

The older man corrected softly humming, “Our precious princess.”

The two strong men lifted you up slightly from your laying down. You tried weakly kicked at them again before feeling Bruce slap the inside of your thigh and point a stern finger at your face.

“Enough. Don’t make me throw you over my knee babygirl.”

You sniffled and started to hiccup behind the tape gag. The tiny jerks from your body every time you hiccupped made the men’s faces soften.

You were forced to sit up on your knees and lay forward against Bruce’s chest. When Clark tugged your hips backwards, your bum was angled to the sky while your stomach laid in Bruce’s lap, your legs at either side of his torso. This caused your chest to be nestled into Bruce's lap, your breasts pressed against the hard hot flesh of his cock. You were effectively sandwiched between them, and wiggled around, trying to not think about your step father’s cock touching your nipple and switching against your skin.

His large hands touched your shoulders and laid it on your head, patting your hair softly. Clark's hands were at your rear, rubbing and kneading the cheeks and parting them slightly as he felt the pert rump. A soft playful spank made you jump and whine. You started sobbing again, wiggling against the firm grip of your step-father as he tried to soothe you. One of Bruce's hands cupped his cock and rubbed his precum into your swollen nipples.

You tried to kick at Clark as you felt his hands on the waistband of your panties, and you turned your face away from your step-father's throbbing erection that Bruce was raising to rub along your wet salty cheek. You tried to use your hands as leverage.

How was you supposed to get out of this situation? It was clear what they wanted to do and also clear that they would not be deterred. The combined forces of two fully-grown men, strong super humans at that, against that of a young woman, was quite overwhelming. They were not letting your go, and that was that. Bruce chuckled as Clark slid his step-daughter's panties down, exposing your pert ass. Clarks mouth looked dry...his tongue flicked out.

It was rather a lovely sight for Clark, and he sighed contentedly as he reached down to stroke your lower lips. You moaned softly, you used your knees to get away and to launch yourself up Bruce’s body. You managed to bury your face against your step-father's chest and the crease of his armour as you felt Clarks hot breath along your little glistening slit.

Soon Clark's fingers rose up to pet your wet pussy. He caressed the throbbing mound gently, fingers slowly pulling apart your slick nether lips. With one arm, he hooked it under your stomach and lifted your hips, forcing you back up higher on your knees. This allowed him to see your womanhood more clearly.

“How's it look?” Bruce asked calmly, stroking your hair and back in an attempt to soothe you, forgetting his own throbbing arousal for the moment as he tried to quieten your sobs.

“Ohh, Bruce, our little girl is so perfect,” he moaned, grinning as he gently felt your inner flesh with a finger. Your inner flesh peeked out shyly from your outer lips, like the petals of a flower. Bruce could not help but chuckle at Clark’s response as he ran his fingers along your spine, feeling your twitch and hearing a soft shudder come from the tape gag. He pressed his lips to your brow and hummed.

“Yea darlin’,” he broke into his relaxed southern drawl, “You goin’ tell daddy about how you probably used his credit card to wax this pretty pussy?”

Bruce’s eyes widened. His jaw dropped as he looked down at your eyes, pleading up at him wetly.

“It’s a real sculpted love heart...now who on earth is this for huh? Only little sluts get groomed like this,” Clark sat up and leant of you and Bruce. His lips pressed to the corner of your tapped lips, “Are you a little slut baby girl.”

Muffled sobs emanated from the girl as you pressed your face against your step-father’s chest and Clark paused. The men exchanged smirks.

“Have you let some boy fuck this cute hole Baby girl?” Clark breathed, softly, a mocking tone to his voice. He touched your side with his free hand, the other remaining at your mound but being idle, the finger now pulled out. Bruce looked down and gently tilted his step-daughter's chin up to look into your eyes. You looked very lovely with tear-stained cheeks, you had never looked more beautiful his eyes. His hand slowly ran along your cheeks, wiping your tears as he looked down at your tenderly.

“Sweetheart...My lovely little girl. You’re not in trouble, tell us the truth...” he said, softly, caressing your face. Clark bit his lip gently and resumed stroking your rear and your thighs, soon going back to rubbing your hot folds. There was no denying the pleasure, and he felt wetness.

You whimpered softly as you shook your head no while you succumbed under the gentle assault of four hands, all caressing and touching you in the most intimate and gentle of ways.

It was strange, they were not supposed to be doing this and you had been trying to fight them off. And despite all the fear, despite all the rough man handling, despite their mean mockery and degrading humiliation...your groin felt alive....You felt good,

You glanced back over your shoulder at Clark. He met your eyes and smiled. He pressed his lips to your forehead while his fingers were stroking and rubbing your intimate areas in a way that caused your to become wetter.

You hadn’t noticed how your crying was being replaced by snotty sniffling, and mewling moans.

Bruce smiled down at you when you turned your head back to him.

You felt his hand cup your bicep, pulling your bound hands up. You stretched your fingers. He held up his erection and pointed it to your palms

“Touch me baby,” he encouraged softly, “I trust you.”

You whimpered softly and shook your head, giving a sudden gasp with wide eyes as one of Clark’s fingers wiggled into you.

“Please...?” he purred lowly, smiling as Clark pressed second one inside and slowly scissor your insides. You let out a low shuddering moan as your step-father gently grasped your wrist, leading your hand to the swollen cock. Clark continued sliding his fingers in and out of you, before adding a third. Your walls clamped and tightened. You let out a soft hiss and were unable to stop yourself from pushing against Clark’s hand. The man then angled his fingers as he thrust them in slowly, causing them to press against a spongy place on your inner wall that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

Bruce smiled, his hand cupping over your bound hands so you were forced to grasp the base of his erection. You tried to remove your hand – but of course, to no avail. His thick rod was very warm and solid, you made a small noise as you felt it throb under your hand. You squirmed slightly under Clark’s attention, finding it difficult to breathe as a wave of pleasure washed over you.

Clark peppered a flood of gentle kisses along your soft cheeks as he thrust his fingers into you. Your step-father released a soft moan.

Your hand tightened and rubbed your step-fathers shaft weakily. Your shuddering breaths and fluttering eyes told Bruce everything he need to know about how well Clark was treating their special girl.

Your fingers slowly slid up and down the shaft several times, before you wrapped your fingers around it more firmly and did just as he guided, pumping it slowly and seeing the head seep with a bit more precum. His head tilted back a bit and he gave a low groan of pleasure. You looked up at him and saw how much he liked it, then whimpered, it was so strange how you could have the power all of a sudden. Curiosity, getting the best of you as you looked down at it. It was impressive-looking, and you were becoming slowly bemused to think that he wanted to put this in you.

You pumped more firmly, looking up at your step-father's face intently. He was no longer holding your down, so you pulled herself up just a bit, Clarks fingers followed you as you weakly tried balancing up and off Bruce’s chest. You continued your firm pumping of your step-father's engorged member. Now the taboo excitement of watching him moan and dig his nails into the bed sheets made you conclude that you were getting a thrill out of all this. It made you wonder if there was something wrong with you just as much as there was something wrong with him.

At fourteen, who could deny that little sweet highschooler you had a big crush on your step dad before it developed into crushing on his journalist friend Clark Kent, the very man with three digits up your sweet silky hole.

It was time. You could definitely not ignore the pleasure you felt from Clark, who was working slowly and tenderly at your throbbing sex.

You whined, arching your hips, your toes curling and flexing, something Clark found cute. He chuckled to himself, trailing his free hand along the back of one of your thighs.

Bruce’s hand rose up and grabbed your wrists, he pulled them away to gently stop you. He knew he wanted to cum inside of you.

You looked up at him in surprise and your eyebrows furrowed in curiosity, seeing him smiling kindly at you. Bruce pressed his lips against your forehead and chuckled.

“Are you trying to be a good girl now?” he asked touching the corner of the tape on your mouth.

You sniffled and nodded, moaning when Clark pulled his fingers out to trail down and rub into your pearlling clit.

He smiled, “Alright,” he whispered, “This is going to hurt-“ he said ripping off the tape before he finished his own sentence.

You yelped and hissed.

“Sorry baby girl,” he apologised.

Bruce then leant back against the pillows and watched you succumb to pleasure from Clarks speedy fingers. Your bound hands laid flat on Bruce’s chest, steading you from falling. Your fingers brushed and rubbed along his hairy chest.

Bruce cupped your waist and held you firm as he gazed at you showing your curious exploration. It was then he realised, you were touching some of his scars, covered by hair. Your eyes were growing softer...glassy...he couldn’t believe his luck...you looked the same as you did when you kissed him after your mothers death. If only he knew this was some sort of trance, a head space you were in all those years ago, he would’ve fucked you then.

Clark slid his fingers out of your and licked them clean. The pair, rolled you over onto your back.

You calmly glanced back at your step-father for a moment before returning your attention to the taller man, who was in a similar state of arousal as your step-father.

“My sweet little girl...” Bruce purred before kissing you deeply, his lips locking around yours passionately. Finally you found yourself leaning closer and meeting his same force. The wet sounds of your mouth and moans clouded any remaining sanity left in your mind. Your bound arms found their way around his neck, and he continued kissing you.

Clark waited patiently, knowing that he would have the soon enough, and watched as his friend lovingly cradled his step-daughter, continuing the hungry attentions. You were unable to resist kissing him back just as fiercely.

Soon your tongues came into the dance, with Bruce quickly gaining dominance, a sweet whine escaping you.

Clark smiled, and began to rub his shaft slightly. Bruce pulled away and pushed your bound hands off his neck. He shuffled your face to the side, pushing you to Clarks arms.

With bold confidence, you pushed up onto your knees and laid your loud hands behind his neck, pressing your lips to his. He playfully growled as your tongues fought, you lost and he hummed happily, eagerly exploring your sweet little mouth, his arms tightening around your body.

After a few more long moments of the passionate kiss, he broke it before licking up the strand of saliva that bridged your panting tongues. He grinned at you. You smiled and stared at him for a moment before looking down shyly. He saw this demure action and smirked.

“What’s wrong princess, still scared?” he asked softly, nuzzling your cheek. You continued looking down shyly. You had thought of asking Bruce who was watching you both, what your mother would have thought of what he was doing to his step-daughter, but you had no doubt that he had already thought of that.

Bruce cupped your waist and lowered his lips to your shoulders. His erection pushed against the swell of your ass.

Carefully you were pushed back onto the mattress. Bruce came up to put your head in his lap, languidly stroking your hair and cheeks as Clark rubbed your thighs. The man you had admired for so long spread them, eyeing your shuddering sex hungrily. Your body froze up, stiffening as it sunk in what was truly coming you squirmed around, pressing your knees together. You looked up at Clark pleadingly.

He sighed, disappointed. He leant behind him, reaching for the duct tape....was he going to duct tape your legs spread wide.

You panicked, “Are you doing this because I did not accept your marriage offer?”

“No.” he paused and didn’t grab the tape at all. He leant down and softly, kissed your lips chastely. Bruce leant down sand cupped the back of your knees, pulling them up and spreading them wide.

You shivered.

Clark touched your cunt gently and spread you open again. His face pushed forward, leaning in and licked from the bottom to the top of your slit. You had a sharp gasping intake as you felt the gentle licking there and you pushed his head away gently. Clark leaned back in and continued to lick you, lapping at the sweet wet with his thick tongue, resisting as you pushed at his head – although your pushes were fairly weak.

“You’re not being punished,” Bruce repeatedly assured you as if he read your mind, stroking your cheeks. Clark continued to lap at you.

“We just both think this would be a bit of....encouragement for you to stay baby,” Bruce purred, tweaking one of your nipples playfully.

You grizzled, “To st-stay?” your hips jerked a little as Clark sucked harder on your clit, your legs still held wide open by Bruce’s strong hands.

“Honey,” Clark murmured into your cunt, staring up at you with eyes that were mixed with lust, adoration and worship, “You don’t need to go to college when you have me and your daddy to heel you happy.”

Your voice caught in your throat, you couldn’t believe it...this was why? To keep you away from going to school? You bit your bottom lip. You would’ve been devastatingly hurt but with his tongue slipping inside and licking deep into your whole, you tossed your head backwards onto Bruce’s shoulder, crying out as a orgasm waved through your body.

“Clark, you can take her first,” Bruce softly granted.

“We can look at that sweet asshole another day and then,” your step father licked the shell of your ears whispering, “You’ll be allowed to fuck two big cocks at once down there.”

Clark got on his knees between your legs and Bruce steadied you, taking your hands into his own and squeezing them reassuringly before he let go. His large hands massaged your breasts, and reached down to rub your clit slowky as you felt Clark position himself, gently rubbing your slit with his tip. It had opened up to him through all of the loving attention, and was glistening with wetness.

Your eyes widened.

“Don’t… we shouldn’t…” you whispered, “Y-youre not wearing a condom.”

Bruce’s hands tightened around your wrists and lifted them pulling them backward to hook on his own neck. Your chest was so pushed up.

“It’s okay baby, we don’t need a condom,” Clark moaned, caressing your cheeks before his hands travelled down to your sides. He smiled kindly at you, and you found herself smiling back faintly, looking into his ice-blue eyes. You shivered as he slowly lowered himself, and the head of his cock gently nudged at your slit. You tensed a little, but felt your step-father massage your clit.

You gasped and arched a little when Clark penetrated you, and your step-father continued stroking you in a languid yet firm manner, his touches did much to soothe the passage and help you relax. You looked up at your Bruce for a moment, then back at Clark. Bruce tenderly caressed your cheeks and arms, while Clark's hands stroked along your sides. He was moving slowly, letting your get used to his girth, for he was almost as thick as his best friend. The wetness made it possible for him to move quite smoothly within you, and it was also so inviting.

It was tight and yes it was uncomfortable but with the support of Bruce’s hand, in no time, he was sheathed fully, and you stared up at him quietly feeling his balls pressed into your soft ass. He was heavy inside you, an unexpected pressure. The tip poked the sponge of your womb.

There was a few frightful seconds where all of you were silent save for your soft breathing. Bruce glanced at the tape, prepared to hear your screaming again...but it didnt come. And then Clark smiled lovingly down at you, comforting you at that moment, before leaning in and kissing your cheek.

“How do you feel?” he asked. You shyly huffed even more, but kept your eyes on him. You couldn’t decide whether to smile or grimace.

“I don't know. I... feel very full...” you replied softly, feeling Bruce’s fingers brush along your forehead.

Clark lifted your ankles up onto his shoulders and took a deep breath.

“The best part is yet to come, my sweet angel,” Bruce promised. Clark smiled, and began to gyrate his hips, sliding his shaft in and out of your tight cunt in a languid manner. The reaction was immediate. His cock dragged along your sensitive walls, and Bruce smiled as he watched his sweet little step-daughter squirm around in pleasure. Soon enough, he himself would be doing that to you.

Clark released a deep groan, clearly in bliss as he thrust into you. His speed was tempered and gentle, languorous, making sure that the length of his dick dragged along your gspot with each thrust to create that glorious friction. He wanted your first time to be something deep and tender. And it was working. You hissed and flexed your back into Bruce feeling Clarks entire cock within you as you clenched hard. It had hurt a little at first, but there was no denying the pleasure to be had, and the gentle caresses were doing much to heighten your experience.

“Sh-shit shit shit, oh my god, Clark! Clark I’m-”

Clarks gentle lovemaking pushed you towards your glorious shouting orgasm, and you cried out when you hit it, arching up against him, clenching around him almost painfully. You had ever felt anything so wonderful in your whole life! Bruce smiled as he saw this, and leaned down to place kisses along his mewling step-daughter’s face, massaging your breasts as he did so.

“Isn’t it wonderful, babygirl? Doesn’t it feel so good?” Bruce asked warmly. All you could do was nod. Clark shot you a charming smile, thrusting more firmly now, and he whispered your name when he finally came. Your clenching drew it out, and multiple shots of his seed squirted deep inside of you, filling your up.

Clark placed firm kisses along your face, remaining within your hot pussy for a few more moments. You turned your face towards him, nuzzling him back, as your lips peppered his cheeks, Clark started grinning happily. A few moments passed, some tender caresses, before Bruce chuckled and shifted. Clark looked up at him and smiled, sliding out of you a little too quickly. You whimpered pitifully at the stinging sensation of being emptied.

Clark laid beside you on his side as Bruce moved down the bed to inspect the mess his friend had created. Clark kept his eyes on you, he shot you another reassuring smile before propping your head up with his arm. He laid there relaxed and enjoying the waving endorphins made from his orgasm, still reeling from the pleasure that your sweet noises and tight pussy had given him.

Bruce gently rolled you onto your belly. Your cheek still pressed into the pillow made of Clarks bicep.

“On your knees, baby, stick that ass up for Daddy…” Bruce whispered. You huffed and wiggled your hips up, propping you up on your knees. It was a lovely sight, and he rubbed your behind, kneading the cheeks lovingly as he glanced at your swollen and glistening sex.

“Good girl,” he rumbled, patting your back softly.

You moaned softly, knowing what your step-father was about to do. At this point, you had given up on fighting off the two men, especially because it felt so good. You rested your head against Clark and sighed, staring at his eyes that gazed you lovingly. With is other hand, Clark stroked your face and hair softly as you awaited for your step-father to take you, your heart thundered with anticipation.

Bruce took a moment to admire the glorious vision before him. Your sweet pussy glistened, dripping and dribbling out the creamy white Clark had squirted deep inside. Your outer lips were swollen from the recent coupling you had. Your rear end glowed under the light of the bedroom lamp, looking so plump and inviting.

“You’re so gorgeous, princess. How Clark and I resisted you for this long, god only knows,” Bruce chuckled and rubbed your bum.

You gave out a soft but contented sigh before he was pressing the head of his needy pole against his your slit, rubbing it up and down the opening a few times. You moaned softly and squirmed a little, but made no real attempt to flee.

Bruce grabbed your hips and gave a strong thrust, his cock sliding inside of you to the base with little effort despite your tightness. You whimpered out softly, in slight pain but more in surprise, and looked over your shoulder at your Step-father again.

Clark wolfishly grinned at you, as Bruce’s hips immediately thrusting back and forth. He pounded into you, hard and fast, your body quivering under him.

Clark’s lovemaking had been languorous and gentle, more than suitable for your first time. But Bruce’s way of taking you was savage and primal. Despite it...you found yourself enjoying this as well. It was rough and deeply bruising. You would be able to feel it tomorrow.

Bruce was not hurting you, it was not unbearable agony as he slammed his hips fiercely. Clark watched with half-lidded eyes, listening to your whines and touching your face every now and then as if to reassure you.

Bruce punched his cock into you with the ferocity of an animal in heat. You were so wonderfully tight and hot that it was impossible to just hold back.

“F-Fuck, Daddy!!!”

The way you responded to him, arching towards him and making small sounds of pleasure and mewls of pain only spurred him on even more. His heavy balls slapped against the back of your thighs, and you strangled around him with your walls. He gave out a low growl as he cummed, creaming deep inside.

You whimpered out another heightened, ‘Daddy!’ as your body quivered, your teeth chattering just slightly.

You bit your lip almost hard enough to cause it to bleed as you hit another orgasm, your eyes rolled back and clenching around him hard, trapping his cock inside with your tightness.

You looked at your step-father over your shoulder as he continued thrusting in you, his cock remained erect for a few moments before slowly becoming flaccid. You looked over at Clark then back at Bruce, whimpering out 'Daddy' again as you felt cum dribble down your opening. He stayed within your cunt for a while, panting as he relaxed his muscles. Smirking, he pulled out of your tightness and stroked your rump.

“Good girl baby...”

You remained on your knees for several more moments, cum still dribbling out a little as he traced his fingers along the firm curve of your rear end. What you had been through was unbelievable. You had just been dominated and fucked by the two men you cared most about in the world...one of them was your step-father. It seemed almost too impossible to believe, like it all had to been some sick dream- any moment you would wake up to find yourself alone, dressed, inside your own bed....But did you want this to be a dream?

The more you thought, the less sick it seemed to be...morally it was wrong...but at the end of the day, you weren’t related and Bruce was sure to take care of you just like he always had along with your own mother. Your mother might not have approved if she was alive...but...there was nothing she could do now.

And Clark was just as caring and understanding of your passions....So both clearly loved you, very much....

You felt Clark caress your cheek once more, and you looked to him as your hips fell down limp. He offered you a smile before leaning over to press his lips to your forehead.

“You did so well darlin’.”

You shyly smiled, feeling Bruce lay down behind you.

You felt Bruce slide something cold between your wrists and slice through the pink tape.

Your eyes fluttered. You could hear Bruce put that sharp object most likely a knife in his bed side drawer.

He cupped your wrists and gently massaged them, kissing the raw area. He then scooped you up into his arms, holding you close, as if he wanted to rock you to sleep. You rolled onto your back and looked between them. They were two content lions gazing down at the sweet kitten in their bed. Both of them held pleased but loving expressions on their faces, and you smiled shyly a little and buried your nose in into the blue sweat soaked sheets. Under the gentle embrace and caresses, you closed your eyes.

You felt one of them, you didn’t know or care who, pull up a duvet, covering your quivering body. The men sighed happily at one another as you snuggled sweetly between them.

It was a fact to acknowledge with their cum growing dry on your thighs how they now would never let you go. They would take you in the morning, and whenever either of them pleased from then on. You were there’s...you belonged to them, and they would always do everything to prove their desire for you. You fell asleep in their embrace, you pressed your face into Clarks chest, while you pressed your backside into Bruce’s hips. snuggled up to both of them, while their affectionate caresses and whispers lulled you to sleep.

★★★

When morning arrived it was still pitch black thanks to the roll down tinted glass windows.

Bruce’s grey his eyes cracked awake slowly, to the sounds of your soft snoring. Your soft cheek was pressed against his chest after the night of shuffling you must’ve done in your sleep. ‘What a wonderfully sweet thing to wake up to,’ he thought, smiling as he traced his fingertips gently along your other cheek. He looked to his left at the big bulk of a man under the covers.

Clark was still sleeping, his arm was covering your hip. Your plump rear end was against his stomach, and Bruce smiled at you both.

Your sweet drooling face stirred slightly as your cheek was caressed, but you remained asleep. Being cushioned and cradled in the warmth of two big men had surprisingly helped you to sleep well, as you had been so comforted by the obvious affection they had shown you. If they didn’t care about you, they would have simply raped you bloody and never paid mind to your pleasure they never would’ve focused on your feelings and overall care.

Clark loved you and wanted to be your husband, he had been serious when he asked for your hand in marriage. It was in the plan but Bruce knew Clark wanted to ask ages ago...

And Bruce loved you too, he wanted your utmost happiness but he desired your overall safety and company. If you left for college he wouldn’t know when he’d see you again...if ever...considering you held no real “blood” obligation to him.

Clark and he were good friends, and sharing you had been a odd thought at first, but last night proved that it would work out well between the three of you. And it was very comfortable, and would continue to be comfortable – after all, both of them wanted your happiness, love and companionship.

Bruce pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Wake up, baby girl, it’s daddy...” he whispered into your ear, gently nibbling along your earlobe. Your eyelids fluttered open and you whimpered softly, a bit disoriented at first as was common on waking up in a place so different to your bedroom but the disorientation faded as you rubbed your eyes and turned your head upwards a bit to look up at the eyes of your doting step-father smiling softly down at you.

“Good morning, Daddy...” you said softly, wiping the sleep away from your eyes and blinking a few times as you felt a hand caress along your hip, you didn’t know who it belonged to, but did that even matter?

“Good morning, sweet angel... Did you sleep alright?” he asked, caressing your hair. Clark stirred but did not wake. You shyly nodded. Last night was beyond taboo and though you were not entirely angry or disgusted, it would take a bit getting used to.

“I am glad...” Bruce replied before he chuckled softly and fondled your side. He looked over at Clark and smiled.

“...Will you marry him?” he whispered, kissing your cheek. You stared at him for a few moments before nodding slowly. You did not see why not – Clark was a good man and you had no interest in anyone else.

Bruce nodded, smiling happily. He was ecstatic that you had accepted Clark’s hand, and now you would be truly a family inside Wayne’s manor.

“What about you, Daddy?” you asked softly as your step-father’s hand gently caressed your side, “....Don’t you want me anymore,” your eyes glanced away in embarrassment considering how pathetic you sounded asking....

“Mmm,” he pecked the tip of your nose, “Clark and I already discussed this...I would like to keep our closeness when you are wed... Clark and I have shared many passions in the past...towards each other and it does not bother him.”

Your eyes started to widen. You didn’t know your step-dad was just as sexually active with men.

“He really agrees to this? You two... have no problem with... sharing?” you whispered as you rolled over onto your back to gain a more accurate gaze upon Bruce.

“Not at all...” he chuckled, “We are too good a pair of friends to fight over something wonderful like this as spectacular as you.” He stated.

You smiled and looked down shyly. He looked over at Clark once more and smirked almost deviously.

He reached out and playfully thumbed your nipples.

“Baby girl, it looks like Clark is a heavy sleeper...how about you go and wake him up for me?” His tone was seductive, and low. You could see from the corner of your eyes the two hardening peaks growing out of the bed sheets.

Bruce pushed his side down and cupped himself, using his enclosed first like a sight hole.

“C’mon baby, go wake up your other daddy,” he groaned.

You gasped and flushed even more as you stated at your step-father for several moments before carefully crawling over to Clark again.

You placed a gentle kisses along his face, saving his lips for last. Your hand caressed along his smooth chest, slowly making its way down to his morning organ. His nipples were given attention, your fingers teasing over the pink nubs and making them taut. Your palm felt along the toned muscles of his abdomen, and stroked the coarse dark hair above his cock, teasing your fingers along the treasure trail. The thin hairs had started as a thin, tapering line several inches below his navel, and spread out gradually to the thatch over his cock.

Bruce watched calmly, not at all bothered by his friend’s nakedness. He did not stare at Clark either, he just watched with interest at what you, his step-daughter was doing. You had such a lovely soft hand. You slowly patted the neither hairs as you started sucking on Clark’s angry red tip.

You flattened your tongue and looked over, making full eye contact with Bruce While he jerked off languishingly. He smirked and winked at you.

“Suck his cock babygirl, suck Papa’s cock.”

Papa...Daddy...oh god...what were you getting yourself into.

You leant your face down, filling your cheeks with the tip of his pink cock tip. Your tongue raised around the skin and flicked under the folds. You tried not to think about the smell but the taste alone. It was bitter, salty and a little tangy.

“M-mmh...” Clark let out a soft noise of pleasure, face blissfully slack. His manhood stirred and began to rise a bit, the touches arousing him even when he slept.

“Clarkkkkk...” Bruce cooed in a soft purr, gently touching his shoulder while you lapped at his foreskin, and Bruce started growing aroused, wanting to stick himself inside of you as he had a grand view of your little cunt, dried with flakes of white on your skin.

At the mention of his name, the man stirred and opened his eyes, smiling a bit, raising a hand to lazily wipe the sleep from his eyes.

“A-ah...Good morning...” he said, blurrily looking down at what you were doing. You smiled sweetly and placed a gentle kiss on his tip as you brought him to full attention.

“Clark?” you asked softly.

“Yes sweetheart?...hngh...” he shuddered, shifting a bit, his cock rising further. Bruce shivered, running his fingertips along your rear.

“I will be your wife,” You whispered softly. He tilted his head, and a wide grin came to his face. Hooking one arm around your arm he tugged you up to him to abandon you morning blowjob. He sealed his lips over yours in a gentle kiss. When you parted, he purred.

“Thank you sweet girl, I vow to always cherish you like last night and every encounter we’ve met.” His words made you giggle happily, as you had no real doubt of his respect for you.

He heard the fwapping sound of Bruce masturbating, watching you.

“Have you talked Bruce?” he added.

Your lashes fluttered.

“I accept him as well. I...I will stay home. College can wait or I can try online courses...You can both have me,” You whispered. Bruce ran a fingertip along your slit. You shivered and moaned, wiggling your rear end at Bruce as you kissed Clark again, your hand returned to slowly pumping his engorged organ.

Bruce smiled, he rubbed your slit gently and lazily, feeling the flesh quiver a bit and begin to slicken up. Clark moaned softly into your lips and his hand moved down, cupping one of your breasts and carefully kneading it, plucking at your nipples. You gave out a soft whine of pleasure and looked at Clark for a moment before looking back at Bruce.

“Daddy...” You pouted, “...stop teasing me.” You reached out to his cock with your other hand. In each palm you held two thick cocks at the same time and went about squeezing and licking them like a game....unwittingly teasing them both to release. The men both gradually sat up on their elbows. Before either of them could cum however, you let their cocks go and sat back, facing them with a childish smirk, biting your lip.

If they wanted to be depraved, you could be too...you wondered if they’d tie and gag you again. Would they pushed you around manhandle and humiliate you again?...a real sensational thrill soaked your bones at the thought. What a fantastic opportunity to test that theory...

You didn’t leave that room for probably three whole days except to use the master bathroom...

Alfred decided not to intervene.. after all it was Master Wayne he was paid by, not you.

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Coach Burrow

Pairing: Dad!Joe Burrow x Nurse!WifeReader

Description: Joe gets offered his favorite job yet!

Warnings: Fluffy, but suggestive towards the end ;)

Word Count: 2.4k

Main Masterlist

┊┊❁ཻུ۪۪♡ ͎. ｡˚ °

Life after the NFL wasn’t that much different for Joe Burrow. The 4x SuperBowl MVP was practically handed an elite coaching position the second he announced his retirement. So yea, not much is different from when he started all those years ago.

“MOM, where’s dad? We need him ASAP! MOM!” Your 6th grade son, Leo shouted running into the house.

Ok some things are different.

“HEY NO RUNNING IN THE HOUSE! Take your shoes off please.” Rolling your eyes at the boy and his friend as they removed their muddy cleats then continued their rampage. You’d spent the entire afternoon cleaning the house and doing the laundry so when you left for your 13 hour shift tonight you wouldn’t have to worry about your kids not having anything to wear or your husband having to focus on anything but work and your 4 kids. So you were not letting some 11 year olds mess it up.

 That's when you realized it was only 4:30, “hey!”

The two middle schoolers stop just before entering the backyard and turn to face you in the kitchen. 

“Aren‘t you two supposed to be at practice? Why’d you take the bus?” You ask.

“Our coach was fired!” Chris, Leo’s partner in crime exclaims with a smile.

“Okay, that doesn’t answer the running in my house or the smile on your faces.” Your forehead creases looking at the overly giddy kids.

“We want dad to take his place.” Well that makes sense. 

“Ok what makes you think he has time to coach both your team and Ohio State’s?” Joe’s job is flexible, but not that flexible.

“Easy, he goes to work from 9 to 4 and comes home at the same time practice is. So if he was our coach he could change our practice time from 4:30 to 5. BOOM he has time.” They say will full confidence in their plan.

If only he’d put that much effort into his math homework. But you give them credit for putting it together in such a short notice.

You chuckle and wave them off to pitch their idea to your husband of 15 years.

The boys find your husband outside “playing” around with his new grill. 

“Dad!” The man turns around confused at his youngest son’s voice.

“Leo, what are you doing home? Chris does your mom know you’re not at practice?” He pulls the lid down on the grill and gives his best ‘dad glare.’

“We came to get you! We need a new coach! And we want it to be you.” They plead.

Joe smirks and crosses his built arms. “Oh yea? Give me one good reason why I should be your coach?”

The boys look at each other a bit panicked, so they discuss it in a little huddle that makes Joe smile. 

When they break, Joe puts back on his serious facade. 

“Ok dad here’s our offer, if you agree to be our coach, I’ll get all A’s this year.” 

The dad’s brows raise in a surprised and impressed way.  

Truth is, Joe knew all about their coach’s departure. Over a week ago, the school sent an email to him personally asking if he could fill the position temporarily or even permanently. He said he’d have to check with his family before making any decisions. 

Yesterday they decided to inform him that a number of other dads/ supporters had already applied so there’d be a formal try out today at 5. 

The boys walked into the house at 4:30 and all he’d been waiting for was his son’s approval.

“You know what bud, I’ll gladly take you up on that offer.” He says shaking his mini-me’s hand. The shake quickly turns into him being ‘dragged’ into the house.

“We gotta go! You need to be there right now.” Joe just shakes his head and grabs his keys.

“I see you didn’t take much convincing.” You give him a knowing look as he walks around the kitchen counter to where you’re seated.

He chuckles, “I may have had some insider knowledge of the situation. But here’s the kicker, he agreed to make all A’s if I tried out.” Your husband smiles widely knowing how hard you’ve been trying to get the 11 year old to take his schooling seriously.

You scrunch your face as he pecks both cheeks before placing a much deeper kiss to your lips that you can’t help but reciprocate. 

“Mom… dad that’s gross, we need to go it’s 4:45!” Leo whines causing you to separate from his father.

“Yea go kick butt Shiesty!” You wink as he’s pulled out of the house laughing.

━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━

When the boys get to the field they are surprised by the sight of your 14 year old twins, Malia and Miles, standing by the fence.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite firstborns, what are you doing here?” Joe asked giving them side hugs, the only acts of affection they’ve allowed him to show outside the house.

“I wanted to get burgers, but was dragged here by her.” Miles dead tones.

Malia rolls her eyes. “I came to fill out your application for coach so you’re welcome, please come up with an adequate ‘daughter’s appreciation day’ present to thank me.” She smiles, Joe snorts at teenager.

“Are you sure you’re my daughter because that was all your mother? Thank you for helping out Lia and Miles…” The young boy shrugs. “Exactly. You guys plan on staying until we’re done or do I need to call mom?”

“We’ll stay, I wanna see the looks on the other dads’ faces when they see you.” Miles replies rubbing his hands together.

“I guess I’m staying too.” Malia shrugs.

“Ok then.” 

The tryouts had barely already started by the time Joe finally got to the field and just as Miles anticipated, the reactions were priceless.

“Mr. Evans, he’s here!” Leo yells running onto the field. His wild presence causes everyone look in his direction. 

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“The kid’s dad is Joe Burrow?!”

“I don’t know if I should be honored or scared.”

“We should all just leave now, he has 4 rings.”

Leo’s teacher, Mr. Evans shakes the former quarterback’s hand and welcomes him onto the field. 

“Mr. Burrow, it’s good to see you again.”

“Please call me Joe, it’s nice to be able to come out.” He says.

“Of course Joe, you’re right on time too. Would you like to introduce yourself to everyone?”

Joe nodded, “yea of course.” Then turned towards his competitors. “Hey guys I’m Joe, Leo’s dad. I guess I kind of played for a bit, but that’s all behind me now.” He chuckles.

“If played for a bit means leading the best team in LSU history to an undefeated championship then going from ‘the underdog’ of the NFL to a future hall of famer with 4 SuperBowl rings? Than the rest of us haven’t even heard of the game.” Will, Chris’ dad scoffed. Joe patted his long time friend on the back then joined him in line.

“Ok so first we’re going to test your football knowledge then see how well you coach other kids, not your own.” Evans claps his hands and they get to work.

By the end of the first round, half of the applicants have been dismissed and unsurprisingly Joe leads the pack going into the second round. 

“You know this isn’t fair right?” Will says in between rounds.

Joe sighs, “you do realize Leo and Chris practically tracked mud through the house just to get me here right?” Then smirks as the other guy rolls his eyes.

“Hey what if we made it fair?” 

Will looks at him intrigued, “I’m listening.”

“Split the job, we already know it’s going to come down to us. So what do you say, partners?” Joe suggests.

“Damn Burrow,” Will instantly agrees. “I don’t know how you stay so humble.” He laughs.

Joe just points to his fan club on the bleachers. “Chris is your oldest, so you don’t even know the degree of humility teenagers will teach you but my wife helps also helps with that.” 

When the men line back up for the rest of try outs, all of the other guys had already left.

Then Mr. Evans walks up to them. “So, I think it’s pretty clear who’s going to get the position.”

“Actually, we’ve decided to split it.” Will leads, the teacher looks to Joe confused.

“Yup, it would actually work out better if both of us share responsibility. There’s a lot of benefits to having two coaches, plus we’re doing it for free.” 

Mr. Evans couldn’t argue against the offer so he just shook their hands.

“Alright Coach Burrow and Coach Williams. Welcome to the Wildcats.”

❀。• *₊ meanwhile at the house °。 ❀°。

“Mommy, I need help...” 

You had just finished putting on your scrubs before your 6 year old started crying bloody murder. “What is it my love?” 

Walking into her My Little Pony room you scanned every crevice for threats, but only landed on the young girl sitting on her floor with a notebook.

“I don’t know how to do this.” 

You melted at the cute pout on her face as she pointed to her math book. “Jazzy, babygirl. Are the fractions giving you a hard time?” She nodded her head, you checked your watch (5:15) and decided to join her on the floor.

“Ok I have some spare time to help you on a few, but when daddy gets home I have to go work okay pretty girl?” She happily nodded and scooched herself into your lap. 

For the next 20 minutes you simply watched and fiddled with your daughter’s dark curls as she studied her math. It became very clear within seconds that she just wanted to be with her mother as she didn’t ask any questions about the material. 

Being a charge nurse meant your hours were more unpredictable, especially at your hospital. Most nurses worked 12 hour shifts but you were currently understaffed so you took it upon yourself to be a leader and help your team. You usually worked 3 overnight shifts a week, so you could be there when the kids get home from school. Even though you were home more often than not, there are times when your babies need you, so if one of them wanted more time with you there was no way you were going to reject them of that opportunity.

While you and your youngest were cuddled up on the ground in your own little world, Joe and his fan club arrived right on time for dinner. 

“I’m starving, why couldn’t we stop for burgers?” Miles groaned throwing his backpack onto the couch.

Joe picked up the bag and put it back in his son’s hands. “Because even though she didn’t have to, your mother cooked before her shift. So you’re going to take your stuff upstairs and get washed up for dinner.” He gave him a pointed look and dismissed the teenager.

“Wow, I can’t wait to deal with that.” Joe shook his head and led his friend to the kitchen.

“You have no idea. I love my kids, but the older they get the more of me I see in them. It would cool when all he wanted to do was throw the football around, but now the stubbornness gene is really coming to bite me in the ass.” He snorted while warming up their dinner.

“How’s he doing with that, has he made varsity yet?” Will asks as the kids make their way downstairs.

“He’s good for a sophomore but not there yet. If he put more of his time into practice instead of chasing cheerleaders he could be better.” He responds just as the boy rounds the corner.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game dad. I got Becky Jackson’s number in third period, nothing’s stopping me now.” He smiles taking his place at the table.

“What happened to Marissa? I thought she was nice.” Joe chuckles as his wife joins the crew. 

“You know how he is babe.” You give him a quick kiss wrapping your arms around him.

“Yea mom, he’s for the streets.” 

“I am not for the streets! At least I have a date.”

You shake your head and slowly make your rounds. You quickly greet Will, grab your work and dinner bags, kiss the kids and walk with Joe to the front door. 

“You’re really going to leave me in this chaos.” He sighs his hands still holding yours.

“I heard my teacher was for the streets.”

“What’s for the streets?”

You smirk against his chest, “oh I think you got this Shiesty, this is nothing compared to your O Line in those early years.”

His hands quickly drop your hands and find your waist. “Ok alright I see how you want this to go.” His voice low against your ear.

“What, I’m simply saying your risks for injury are dramatically lower.” Your arms go around his neck as he backs you into the corner out of your children’s vision, then a hand on your waist moves to grip the meat of your ass. You bite your lip as a low moan muffles against his chest.

“You think you’re funny. If it was just us right now, I’d show your ass what being funny gets you. But when you get back, you’re all mine mama.” He groans nipping your ear then pressing a hungry kiss to your lips. You moan into his soft yet bruising lips, pulling him in further. 

“Oh god, Jazmine close your eyes.” 

You both sigh as the giggles from your permanent cockblockers acknowledge their existence to you. 

“I’m sending them to my parents tomorrow.” 

“Do that and we might end up adding to the population.” You chuckle pulling away from your husband, who raises his brows at your comment. 

“Don’t tempt me, you know exactly how I like you.” He playfully slaps your behind. “Kids, say goodnight to mom!”

You shake your head at him while being engulfed in hugs. “I love you, I’ll see you when you get home from school.”

“Bye momma..” The chorus sings.

They return to the table and you turn back to a smirking Joe. “See you tomorrow beautiful.” You blush hugging him once more before opening the door.

“Goodnight Coach Burrow, can’t wait practice with you tomorrow.” You wink as his eyes cerulean eyes darken then shut the door.

“Fuck, who said 5 kids was too many.”

━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━

A/N: Looks like a bitch came back to life! My trip was nice but not writing for so long killed me. Can’t wait to see how much gets posted in the next week

Xoxo Babe

Likes, comments and reblogs are welcomed and treasured ♡

[theother-victoria]

all stars must die one day

SYNOPSIS: it’s always been him- stupidly perfect and handsome Alhaitham who you saw as the bane of your academic achievements. Three years later and now so much has changed. He misses you. He misses your endless bickering and meaningless fights. Why did you change so much? It’s a mystery he makes up his mind to resolve.

CHARACTERS: Alhaitham, gossip circle consisting of Kaveh, Tighnari, and Lisa + the rest of the Sumeru cast

TAGS: heavy angst w/fluff, academic burnout, burnt-out gifted kid, mild profanity, gn reader, reader is briefly mentioned to be shorter than Alhaitham, toxic family dynamics, 15.7k+ word count

NOTES: college decisions and my experiences from the past two years really compelled me to write this. If you’re going through burnout, know that you’re not alone and that you can do this.

this took me almost half a year to finish wtf

NEXT | LAST

There’s a comet that crosses Sumeru’s skies only once in a lifetime. 

Alhaitham had heard some Rtawahsit students discussing it the other day. They were practically buzzing with excitement over the news of its reappearance.

“Isn’t this the perfect opportunity?”

“How lucky are we to be able to witness it?”

“Even our professors are excited about it!”

Alhaitham couldn’t care less. The phenomena of celestial events, while dazzling, are easily explained by science. It’s not like they were anything special either. At their heart, they’re composed of ordinary materials- rock, dust, water, and ice, plus other chemicals. 

He puts it out of his mind until he’s rudely awoken one night by loud noises outside the window. A flash of annoyance runs through him as he gets up and looks out to glare at the crowd of students passing through. A glance at their berets tells him they’re Rtawahsit students. They’re trying their best to be quiet, but when it’s practically an entire Darshan on the move, that becomes a difficult task. 

It seems as if he’s not the only one that was woken up. Other familiar faces are peeking through cracked-open windows. Lisa, Cyno, and Tighnari all yawn while watching the crowd of students pass by before looking at each other and following them. Kaveh, who has just woken up from his spot across the room, gives Alhaitham one last look before leaving.

Alhaitham closes the window and flops back onto his bed. He covers his ears with his pillow and closes his eyes, attempting to fall back asleep. He never cared for what other people thought or did, so why should he blindly follow the crowd? He wasn’t even curious anyway.

But for some strange reason, he can’t seem to fall asleep. He tosses and turns, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration, before finally getting up to put his restless mind at ease. 

It’s easy to figure out where everyone has gone. All he has to do is follow the sounds of chatter. It leads him to the top of the Divine Tree the city is built upon. There, Rtawahsit students are busy setting up their telescopes while others have pen and paper at their disposal for note-taking. Professors guide said students while those from other Darshans watch on in curiosity and gaze at the sky in anticipation. 

Tighnari and the others beckon him over. He squeezes himself into the secluded corner they claimed for themselves, poking Kaveh with his limbs intentionally in the process. To his surprise, you’re there too. You lean against Lisa’s arm and shoot him a little glare that lacks any real hate before turning back to the sky, glaring at him when he decides to sit in front of you and block your view. 

“Look!” shouts a student. “It’s started!”

Almost immediately, everybody goes silent. Only the sounds of birds and wildlife can be heard, along with the quiet breathing of everyone searching wildly for it.

(He’s acutely aware of the warm puffs of air that tickle the back of his neck when you exhale. It shouldn’t be this distracting, but it is. Is this your way of getting back at him?)

There’s an excited gasp from a girl with her telescope. She wildly gestures toward the sky and Alhaitham sees a bright speck of light out of the corner of his eye. Several smaller meteors zip through the sky, but everybody’s attention is on the largest one. It outshines all the other stars in the sky as it speeds by, heating up into a white-hot glow and leaving a glittering trail of blue stardust behind. It is a star not of this world, speeding onward toward its destination- toward something greater. 

“Look,” he hears Lisa whisper. He briefly tears his attention from the sky to see her lean toward you. “Make a wish.”

Alhaitham sees you close your eyes for a moment before opening them again. What did you just wish for?

It’s gone in just a few minutes, heading toward the horizon until not even a pinprick of its light can be seen anymore. The sky is now dark again. With the main event over, most people begin getting up to return to their rooms. His eyes linger on your form, now walking away. Lisa’s voice from earlier repeats in his head.

“Make a wish.”

It’s a childish belief not rooted in reason- he knows that. But for just a second, he closes his eyes and makes a wish. 

He met you at the start of his first year. 

It’s too loud here. I want to go home already.

From his seat in the back of the room, he watches as spots gradually fill up as the start time draws nearer. Much to his delight, everybody leaves his spot in the back of the classroom alone, instead opting to sit toward the front. 

That is until someone sits down in the row in front of him. He looks up from the pages of his book, slightly annoyed. Curses, now he couldn’t be by himself anymore. But they leave him alone and keep to themselves as the professor walks in and introduces himself and the class, so he tolerates it. 

There’s a light tap on his desk. He looks up to see you watching him expectantly. He’s able to get his first good look at you now. Your Akademiya uniform is a little too big on you and the sleeves drape over your hands. Your green hat sits lopsidedly on your head and you have the air of a starry-eyed and enthusiastic first-year student. 

“Yes?” 

“The professor told us to introduce ourselves to those around us,” you explain. “I’m (Name).”

“Alhaitham. Pleased to meet you.”

You nod in response and turn back around. Your professor is explaining the course and handing the syllabus out, but your mind wanders toward the guy sitting behind you whom you’ve just met. 

He’s cute, you think to yourself. In like, a little kid or puppy kind of way. He’s still a little short and scrawny- wait, how old is he anyway? Don’t tell me he’s one of those child prodigies that got in at a super young age… Or maybe he’s just a late bloomer, who knows? 

A few weeks later, the results of your first test roll around. The 98 scribbled and circled in red ink at the top of the paper makes you nod in satisfaction. It’s indicative of a good start, but when you take a look at the board in front of the class, you see someone has gotten a perfect score. 

And it turns out the culprit himself sits right behind you. 

You glare at the 100% in red ink at the top of his page as if it has personally offended you. As if to further insult you, there was a small “good job!” written in the margins by the professor that you didn’t have on your paper. 

“A 98? Good, but not perfect. Perhaps you should have studied more,” he nonchalantly remarks after seeing yours. Your eye twitches in irritation.

Oh, it is so on. 

From that day onward, you swore to yourself that you would beat Alhaitham, no matter what it took. Even if it meant sleepless nights spent hunched over your notes and textbooks, they were all a price you were willing to pay to prove that you were the undisputed best. 

Soon after, you don’t see Alhaitham in class anymore. His seat behind you is left unoccupied and you hear rumors that he opted for self-study instead- whatever that was. Despite that, he still gets top marks in everything, only serving to annoy you and spur you onward. 

However, you still see him at the library, and frequently at that. It’s somewhat surprising, considering that the Akasha Terminal has the same function and is more convenient. As a result, the library is mostly empty save for the few students that are there to study materials that aren’t entered into the Akasha’s database. You’re there because you prefer the quiet, focused environment of the library to your dorm, which despite the Akademiya and its students' almost religious devotion to academics, can get a little too rowdy for your liking at times. Plus, you prefer the feeling of a physical book in your hands over its digitized counterpart in the Akasha. It makes it easier to take notes and learn that way. 

Recently, you’ve found a spot in the library that you’ve taken a liking to. It’s located in the back and obscured by bookshelves, giving you some much-needed privacy while you study and it’s located by a window, allowing for ample natural light.

But apparently, someone else has already claimed it, unbeknownst to you. 

“This is my spot.”

You don’t even look up from your book. The voice alone was a dead giveaway as to who was speaking. 

“And? I didn’t see your name on it.”

Alhaitham sits at the seat across from you, purposefully spreading his books and other materials across the desk to push yours off to the side. A satisfied smirk twitches at the corners of his lips when he sees your eyes narrow in irritation. 

“Are you here just to bother me?”

“If I wanted to bother you, I’d find other ways to do it.” 

You huff in annoyance and turn the page. He watches you over the top of his book with intrigue as you alternate between reading and taking notes. 

“... Will you quit staring at me like that? It’s distracting.”

“Oh? So you’re admitting that I’m a distraction?”

“You-!”

A sharp hiss to be quiet from a librarian passing by silences you both temporarily. You glare at him accusingly, which he merely brushes off.

There’s a reluctant compromise that arises between you after that. Every day after class, you would meet at the same spot in the library to study. You would sit across from each other and work independently from each other until it was time to go, where you’d then say your goodbyes before heading your separate ways. Rinse and repeat and that was what your average day looked like. 

“So, what’s up with that thing between you and (Name)?”

You pause from your studying after overhearing that line and look up. Across the clearing are Alhaitham and a blond-haired man. Kaveh, if you recall his name correctly. 

“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply,” replies Alhaitham. 

“Is there some sort of competition between you two? Whenever I see you guys, you’re basically at each other’s throats over test scores and stuff.”

“There is no such competition. That would be a pointless waste of my time and energy.” 

The urge to throw your book at his head across the clearing is strong, but you’ll settle for Kaveh giving him a doubtful expression.

“You say that and yet you’ve been putting more work into your studies than ever.” 

“That’s none of your business.” 

But for all your efforts, you can’t seem to catch up to him. He was always one step- or rather, one point- ahead of you. He’d always be there, subtly rubbing his achievements right in your face even though the difference is practically negligible at least half of the time. 

It gets to the point where you begin to rant about your troubles to Lisa. 

“Can you believe this guy? It makes me wonder if he’s a sadist of some sort that gets a kick out of annoying me.” 

You’re sitting outside in one of the many gazebos around the Akademiya. Despite studying under a different Darshan, you quickly became friends with her.

She laughs lightly at your words.

“To me, it sounds like your poor heart is troubled! Shall doctor Lisa perform a checkup on you?”

You swat her hand away.

“Don’t play with me like that. And you’re not even an Amurta student!”

You hear footsteps coming down the pathway and speak of the devil, the topic of your conversation is walking toward you, his book in hand as always. You watch him out of the corner of your eye. He meets your gaze and holds it for several long, agonizing seconds before looking forward again and disappearing out of sight. You shudder and look away, Lisa chuckling lightly at your actions.

“Asshole,” you grumble. “What’s his problem? And did you see how cold his eyes were? Makes me wonder if the rumors of him having a heart of ice are true…” 

Lisa hesitates at that. 

“I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong, (Name).”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

She purses her lips and looks off to the side. 

“It’s hard to explain, even for me. But you’ll see and come to understand in due time how acutely aware he is of the emotions of those around him, especially those he is close to.”

You think you understand the meaning of her words a few weeks later when the results of a particularly rough test greet you.

75%

Damn it, you think before roughly shoving the papers into your bag, away from the prying eyes of your classmates. I can’t falter here now. I still have so much more to do.

“I can tutor you if you’d like. I don’t offer this to just anyone, so I’d advise you to consider it,” Alhaitham says in the library later that day. You know that most people would kill for this opportunity and you weren’t blinded by jealousy to the point where you couldn’t see the benefit of his offer. 

But your pride prevents you from accepting it.

“Thanks, but I’m fine. I’d rather do this myself.” 

Another time, Alhaitham has to get up at a time when he should be asleep. Earlier that day, he had left a book of his behind and forgotten about it until now, leaving him to search the now-dark and empty halls of the Akademiya for where it might be. 

He happens to pass by the House of Daena on the way and sees a solitary lamp lit in the back corner where he usually frequents. Out of sheer curiosity, he steps inside to see there’s a familiar figure hunched over the desk, clearly fast asleep with piles upon piles of books and notes stacked around them. 

Alhaitham gazes down at you with his ever-impassive eyes, silently wondering what to do next. A cold gust of air blows through the library and he shivers slightly. He looks down at your exposed arms, then at his jacket, before taking it off and draping it over your form. Catching a cold would serve you no good and you’d most likely return it to him later tomorrow. 

Before he leaves, his curiosity gets the better of him and he takes a quick peek at your notes. 

His eyes widen ever so slightly. Much of the material scattered around your desk was far ahead of what you were and needed to be learning. Did you borrow these books and notes from upperclassmen? The handwriting is a mix of yours and someone else’s… He doesn’t see the point in you doing so- it’s all just unnecessary work, in his opinion. Either way, it’s none of his business and you can do as you please, but Alhaitham can’t help but wonder if you were doing all of this just to stay ahead- to keep up or even surpass him.

He leaves and you wake up soon after to something warm and soft covering your shoulders. It’s a standard Akademiya-issued jacket for the fall and winter terms. It’s way too big on you and the sleeves completely cover your hands. Curiously, you pull it tighter around your form. It smells nice- like old books and coffee- and you suddenly realize who it belongs to. Your face suddenly flushes and it’s not from the warmth of the jacket.

Alhaitham-!

The next day, Alhaitham arrives at his usual spot in the library. You’re sitting across from him as usual and interestingly refuse to make eye contact with him.

Sumeru’s climate has always been temperate, but the days are getting longer and warmer now. You’ve finally shed your winter uniform for your spring one and with the end of the year rapidly approaching comes major tests. The library is the most packed it's ever been with students everywhere cramming last-minute. It’s rare to find an empty table now, but thankfully your spot in the back with Alhaitham is still left unoccupied. If not, Alhaitham’s cold glare is more than enough to scare them away. 

For one of your classes, it’s a project instead of a test. You have the option to choose the type of project, but for some stupid reason, your professor was still assigning partners instead of being able to choose.

“And (Name), let’s see… hmm, I’ll pair you up with Alhaitham. How does that sound?”

Your blood runs cold and you hear your classmates snicker around you. You want to scream at the prospect of it. Sumeru would sooner freeze over before the two of you cooperate and he knows it. You catch him staring at you out of the corner of your eye, daring you to say no. 

You swallow your pride and nod. The tips of your ears burn and at that moment, you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. 

“... That sounds fine.”

How humiliating.

Later that day in the library, he’s even more infuriating than normal, if that’s even possible. His face betrays nothing but you can hear the smugness dripping from his voice and mannerisms. His arms crossed in front of his chest, the way he would subtly look down on you with that know-it-all gaze… it all made you want to punch his (handsome) face. 

“Don’t fall behind now,” he says once you’ve finally settled on a project.

“Let’s see if you can even keep up with me.” 

Your project is relatively straightforward but involves a lot of cooperation between you two. As you work, it becomes an all-too-common sight to see you arguing everywhere you go, much to the irritation of others.

“I’m telling you, this character has to be symbolic of rebirth! Why else would we see it so concentrated in scripts that were dated toward the end of that civilization?”

“You seem to be forgetting that this has also been seen elsewhere. Besides, there are reasons to believe that it means something else.”

“What, did it get lost in translation? If you think you’re so smart, then go ahead and enlighten me.” 

You glare at him as he sips his coffee (with milk and two sugars, you note. Just the way he likes it). 

“God, can they just kiss already?” grumbles Kaveh from where he sits across the room. Lisa and Tighnari sitting at the same table nodded in agreement.

“Meeting up to work outside of class is normal, but over lunch? Sounds like a date to me,” complains Tighnari while not-so-subtly eyeing the way you animatedly bicker with him. 

“Hey, isn’t this Alhaitham’s treat as well?” asks Kaveh. Tighnari’s ears twitch and perk up at his question. He glances at the both of you- Alhaitham just paused to ask if you’d like a refill of your tea, and you said yes- before groaning.

“It sure looks like it…”

Lisa decides to take matters into her own hands.

“Are you two arguing or flirting?” she asks in a loud voice.

“Arguing!” you retort. Alhaitham merely rolls his eyes and steals one of your samosas while you aren’t looking. 

“I saw that! Give it back!”

“Too late.” 

Two months, lots of bickering, and lots of coffee later, you present the culmination of your work to the class. For all the headaches and lost sleep you had to endure, your efforts are handsomely rewarded with a perfect score and rare compliments from your professor. And for that alone, it was well worth everything you went through. 

“Good job. It was a rewarding experience working with you. I daresay that our arguments aside, we make for a decent team.” 

You look up to see Alhaitham.

“Oh? A rare compliment from the stoic and sharp-tongued man himself?”

“Don’t make me retract my words.”

“Ouch, how cold of you.” 

When you return to your dorm later that night, there’s a note addressed to you from Lisa.

I overheard one of your professors talking about you and Alhaitham with someone else today- Professor Behnam, I think that was his name? I’m fairly sure this was after you guys presented because they mentioned that briefly. I wrote this down in a hurry as they were speaking, but here’s what he said:

They complement each other perfectly. While they both have unmatched erudition and wit, one has the creativity and uninhibited ambition the other tends to lack. However, he is more pragmatic and logical. Despite their differences, they make for a perfect team.

They will surely be among some of the best scholars the Akademiya has seen in a long time.

You end your first year tied for the top of the class with him.

“I’m home!”

“Welcome home, (Name)! How were your last few weeks at the Akademiya?”

Your parents’ home is as warm and welcoming as always. The house has been freshly cleaned and is practically shining. They take your bags and usher you into the kitchen, where your favorite dishes are sitting on the kitchen table, freshly cooked for dinner with steam still rising from them.

“It’s been fine,” you say. “Stressful, but also enjoyable. I like my classes and I get along with my classmates and professors.” 

“How are your grades? Have they been finalized yet?”

You nod and beam them with pride.

“Ended the year at the top of the class.”

Your parents’ eyes widen and they clap excitedly.

“That’s our child!”

“As brilliant and talented as always!”

“Good, keep going! Remember to study for money!”

“I will!”

Your mother leans in close and clasps your hand in hers. “After these four years, you should continue your education and become a sage! Maybe even work your way up and become the next Grand Sage!”

You balk at the prospect of it.

“A-A sage? Mom, there are tons of talented people in the Akademiya- that’s where the best of the best go to study! The chances that I’ll make it to that point are slim!”

Your father clicks his tongue and shakes his head. 

“Nonsense!” he exclaims. “You ended this year at the top of your class, you know. Besides, you inherited the intelligence of both your parents- I’d imagine that this would be a doable task for you. Also, imagine how amazing it would be if you were to become a sage! You’d be the first one in the family! Wouldn’t that be such an achievement for us?”

“That’s not even true! There was someone else who tied with me for the top of the class as well and if I’m being honest, he has a better shot at it than me!”

Your mom’s eyes sharpen and you instantly regret saying that. 

“He? So… a guy, huh?”

You mentally brace yourself for a barrage of questions.

“What’s his name? What’s he like? How smart is he? Is he good enough for you? Does he have-”

“Dear, stop it,” your father says. “Look, you’re overwhelming them.”

You sigh and shake your head. “For starters, his name is Alhaitham-”

“Alhaitham? I’ve heard that name somewhere before… wait, I remember now!” exclaims your father. “His grandmother was a Ksharewar scholar. His mother was a renowned Vahumana scholar and his father was a mentor in Haravatat.”

“Was?” you ask. Your father bites his lip and looks away.

“... His grandmother passed away a few years ago and from what I heard, so did his parents when he was young.” 

“Oh.” 

The kitchen is silent for a few moments before your father breaks it.

“Wait, (Name), why do you look so surprised? I thought you knew this already, considering he’s your rival and everything! I thought you would at least know something about him.”

“Dad, that’s exactly the point- we’re rivals and I don’t want to know anything about him! All that matters is beating him at his own game and that’s that. Besides, he never tells me anything about his personal life, so why should I do the same?”

“They’re right, you know.”

Your father merely rolls his eyes at your mother’s remark. 

“You know the rules, don’t get too close to him now,” your mother warns. “You have to do whatever it takes to be the best, whatever? That’s what you promised us.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, mom, I know. I’ll do my best to become a sage.”

Your parents lean in to hold you close, your mother giving you a soft kiss on the forehead.

“That’s our child. Make us proud, ok?”

“I will!”

After a lovely three months of summer vacation (and not being forced to see Alhaitham every day save for the rare occasions where you’d run into him in public- you’d immediately turn the other way and act as if nothing happened), you head back to the Akademiya for your second year. Like last year, you share many of your classes with the bane of your existence, although things are… less tense than they were before. The underlying spark of competition is still there, but not as prominent as before.

Alhaitham is pleasantly surprised at how you’ve mellowed out over the summer. Something in your eyes has hardened and the way your mouth is set is different now. You’ve lost some of the baby fat in your cheeks (shame, he enjoyed poking and prodding at them, much to your annoyance) and you’ve grown a bit taller as well. He’s grown taller as well and to your irritation, he’s gaining on you. He’s put on some muscle as well and according to Kaveh, who you befriended over the summer, he’s started learning the art of the sword.

(“What for?” you had asked back then. He had merely shrugged.

“Too much free time on his hands, I guess. I thought he was training to be a mercenary at first.”

“I just can’t imagine him with a sword. In my mind, I see him toppling over from the weight of it.”

“Same here.”)

On the first day back, you merely greet him with a nod and you’re less opposed to working with him than before- although you can’t seem to break the habit of making a sarcastic jab at him now and then.

As the year progresses though, Alhaitham notices a change in you- namely, your test scores. He catches a glimpse of them sticking out of your folder at the library.

85%. 75%. 83%. 79%. They’re not as good as they were last year but they aren’t a concern for Alhaitham. As far as he knows, you’re still doing good overall and your classes are getting harder. It’s only reasonable and he hasn’t observed any noticeable or drastic changes in your personality, so it doesn’t warrant any concern. 

That is, in his eyes. The same can’t be said for you though.

You didn't realize how much time you had spent studying until the library was closed one day. Sitting at your cramped desk with your roommate you barely know nowhere in sight, you’re suddenly aware of how quiet it is. Normally, you’d hear at least something- people arguing down the hall and music playing, among others. But today, it was eerily silent. 

From the back of your mind, you recall news of a party that was supposed to be happening around this time. Lisa extended an invitation to you but you turned it down, claiming that you had to study. It was a bullshit excuse, now that you think about it. 

(Lisa had looked at you knowingly when you said that, but not in a good way. Worry was present in her eyes, resigned to the fact that she couldn’t do anything.

“Alright,” she had said. “Just… don’t head down the path I think you’re on.”)

Your pen freezes mid-stroke as a horrifying thought crosses your mind. You now finally understand the true meaning of her words. 

Have I… been making the right decisions? How much have I missed out on? 

Your books and the allure of good grades tempt you, but you force yourself to evaluate your life so far. You have some of the highest marks in the entire class but you realize you have almost no experience or connections, and that was what really mattered.

All of the studying in the world can’t compare to pulling a few strings, after all.  

Not long after the year starts, Alhaitham notices that you’ve started going out more. You’re spending less of your time at the library during weekends and instead spending time with friends in the city. 

(“You actually have a life outside of the Akademiya. I’m surprised.”

“I should be the one telling you that.”)

 “Come on, (Name), come join us at the tavern tonight! We booked the place and everyone is going to be there! You’re missing out if you don’t, just saying…”

The familiar voice belonging to a certain blond makes you look up. You huff a sigh and set your notes down to glare at Kaveh, who has been pestering you to go to a party at Lambad’s Tavern tonight. You’re about to tell him you’re not interested when you stop just short of saying so.

Will I regret saying no?

“(Name), you’re young right now! Take some risks and live life a little, otherwise, you’ll have nothing to look back fondly on once you’re all old and wrinkly! That old dusty rock-of-a-friend Alhaitham would say the same thing, you know… although, maybe he’d phrase it differently.”

Kaveh’s right, you realize. I can make up a test. I can always study later. But I’m only young for a little while. I can’t make up for lost time. 

“Just curious- what’s in it for me?”

“Oh, the usual. Free food, entertainment, a break from these stupid books, alcohol- oh, and you might get to see a rare drunk Alhaitham there! Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

“No need to venture into that territory. You already had me at the free food part. So, what time?”

Later that evening at the tavern, you realize Kaveh wasn’t kidding when he said everyone was going to be there- he really did mean everyone the moment you step inside. Lisa is the center of attention with wide-eyed students gawking at her alcohol tolerance- seriously, how is she not drunk yet?- while Tighnari stands in the corner with his ears folded over and eyes squeezed shut. Cyno’s glare is more than enough to scare anyone away as he leads the fox hybrid upstairs toward a quieter spot. 

There’s enough alcohol being passed around to knock a Sumpter Beast unconscious. You only have a few drinks, not wanting to be hungover on a weekday. At one point, a familiar voice drifts its way over to you.

“(Name), over here!”

It’s Kaveh, and… Alhaitham next to him is drunk from the looks of it? His face is flushed and he stumbles as he walks with Kaveh being the only thing stopping him from faceplanting onto the floor. 

“I thought Alhaitham could handle his alcohol?” you ask as you sling one of his arms around your shoulder and make your way out the tavern. 

“He does, but he tried a new type of alcohol tonight that was stronger than he expected. Fire-something… it’s from Snezhnaya, if that explains anything.”

You glance at his heavily flushed face again and sigh.

“Yeah, that explains everything.”

After lugging Alhaitham across Sumeru City and up the many steps leading to the Akademiya, you’re prepared to say goodnight to Kaveh and head back to your dorm when you feel something latch onto your shirt. It’s Alhaitham and even in his drunken stupor, he’s surprisingly strong.  

“Wait.”

“What is it?” you ask after a moment of hesitation. His answer is instant.

“Don’t go,” he slurs out. 

He’s drunk, you remind yourself. Don’t take anything he says at face value.

But even so, you spot the opportunity to tease him. 

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because… you’re one of my only friends.”

You go quiet at that. Nothing could have prepared you for that response. Every witty remark and sarcastic jab you had prepared on the tip of your tongue fizzled out instantly. Even Kaveh, who has no shortage of words when it comes to Alhaitham, falls silent. 

In the year or so that you’ve known Alhaitham for, he’s never been one to get close with people, instead preferring to keep them at arm’s length. Most likely, it’s the alcohol inhibiting his filter, but you can’t ignore the little flutter in your stomach at his words. 

“I guess you are one to me as well, Haitham. I-”

“Say that again.”

His sudden demand makes you pause. Despite his drunken state, there’s a fire in his eyes that briefly makes you question whether he’s sober.

“... I guess you are one-”

He stops you. “No. Not that. Repeat what you said at the very end of it.”

“Haitham?”

“Call me that again.”

“Haitham.”

“Again.”

A smile creeps onto your face now that you’ve finally caught on. How cute. 

“Haitham.”

“Again.”

And secretly inside, you’re happy. Happy that someone considers you a friend for the first time. You no longer feel dehumanized from idolization or isolated from everyone else and you realize it’s what you’ve been secretly wishing for this whole time. 

“Goodnight, Haitham.”

It’s now a common occurrence between you two to drag each other to activities on the weekends. One day, it’s Alhaitham camping out with you late at night to go stargazing. (“(Name), this is boring.” “You can go home if you want. I won’t stop you.” “Hmph.”) Another day, it’s him inviting you to the various coffee shops throughout the city and sampling their beverages. (“The shop we went to last week does a pour-over better.” “You think so too?”)

Another time, you’re heading back to the Akademiya after a day of shopping and playing Genius Invocation (he lost miserably several times in a row to you, much to his embarrassment). It’s been overcast the whole day and the air has been humid but you nervously brushed off the weather’s warning signs.

Something wet lands on your cheek. You blink and look up, then at the ground where raindrops are rapidly dotting the surface. You meet Alhaitham’s gaze, the rising panic in your eyes apparently visible because he pulls you toward the souvenir shop, where you both seek shelter against the escalating downpour. Sheets of rain crash against the ground and the sides of buildings and the gusts of wind make the trees sway violently. 

(You both, like idiots, forgot to bring your umbrellas. In the middle of Sumeru’s rainy season.) 

You can barely see past your two feet but you can make out something moving nearby, and it’s getting closer. Small, gray, and most definitely sopping wet, it’s… a cat?

The small creature pauses and runs as fast as it can toward you. You take your hat off and scoop it up, where it meows pitifully and sneezes. A quick check tells you that the cat is a girl. 

“(Name), what-”

“Look, Haitham,” you whisper as you shrug your jacket off and dry the cat. “Poor baby must have gotten stranded and lost in the rain. She came running to us for help.”

The cat shakes off the last of the rain clinging to her fur and now you can see that she resembles Alhaitham quite a bit with her gray fur and green eyes. You wonder if she has his attitude as well… 

“I wonder if she’s someone’s pet cat that ran away.” 

“She’s probably one of the city’s many strays. I don’t see a collar on her.”

“She’s well-fed for one…” you grumble, noting her plump belly. “So, can we keep her?”

“(Name), you know animals, unless they’re service animals, are not allowed in Akademiya dorms.”

“That hasn’t stopped people though. Someone on my floor snuck their pet cat into the dorms and it’s an open secret among all of us.”

“But still-”

And then you hit him with puppy eyes. The edges of your mouth quiver and turn down, while your eyes soften and go wide. 

“Please?”

His resolve crumbles instantly.

“Fine. But you’re keeping it.”

You sheepishly smile. “About that…”

What now?

“My roommate is a blabbermouth and a stickler for the rules. If I kept her, she would be gone and back on the streets before noon tomorrow.”

“Are you suggesting that I take care of her?”

“Are you against it?”

“Taking care of an animal is a big responsibility, (Name). One that requires time and-”

“I can help you take care of her. With the two of us looking after her, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being optimistic or oversimplifying the problem here.” 

You roll your eyes and Alhaitham looks off to the side.

“I’ll have to ask Kaveh-”

“Kaveh would be over the moon at the prospect of you bringing home a cat. You know how much he loves animals. This cat will be in good hands under his and our care.” 

Looks like he now has no other choice but to say yes. He heaves a deep sigh and looks back up at you.

“Fine. I’ll keep her in my room.” 

Your face lights up.

“But first, we need to give her a name.” 

You scrunch your brows and think for a moment.

“How about Thamina?”

“Thamina,” he repeats. “Meaning valuable or priceless. It fits well.” 

You become a frequent visitor to Kaveh and Alhaitham’s dorm after that. It gets to the point where Alhaitham gives you his copy of the spare key so you could come and go as you please (to which Kaveh gives him a knowing look that he pointedly ignores for his own sake). At first, you primarily visited to take care of Thamina, but at some point, you began visiting primarily for him. 

Study sessions slowly move from the House of Daena to his room, with him at his desk and you sitting on his bed. Thamina bears witness to the heated debates shared between you two in the late hours of the night and the quiet moments of studying. Alhaitham is there to keep her company throughout the day, but she patiently waits for you after a long day of classes. She watches as you two steal each other’s belongings and food (occasionally joining in if she smelled fish in the box you brought home from a late-night dinner). When there is a disagreement between you two, she’s there to help you reconcile in the form of demanding affection and cuddles. 

But when she and Kaveh are fast asleep, only you two are privy to the heavy conversations that happen once and are never brought up again. 

“Tell me more about your family, Haitham.” 

He freezes, then casts a suspicious glance at you over his shoulder.

“Where is this question coming from? And why?”

You shrug.

“I just wanted to know more about the people that raised you to become the person you are today.”

“... My grandmother raised me,” he says after a moment of hesitation. “I admittedly don’t know much about my parents- only that my mother was a renowned Vahumana scholar and my father was a mentor in Haravatat. They both died in an accident, thus leaving me under my grandmother’s care.”

You make yourself comfortable on his bed and nod, urging him to continue. 

“My grandmother was a Kshahrewar scholar. By the time I was born, she had already retired. As such, she had a lot of free time. We did a lot of things together.”

He pauses to recount his fading memories of her. 

“She liked to bake. Her desserts were on the sweeter side, but I have the recipes. I can tweak them so they’re less sweet for you.”

“I’d like that very much.”

“She liked to cook as well. I’d often wake up to the smell of food in the kitchen and she’d be there at the stove. She’d make my favorites and always save most of it or the best parts for me. Unlike with baking, she never used any recipes for her cooking. I’ve tried to imitate her dishes, but it’s never exactly the same as I remember.”

Haitham’s bed is comfy, you note. You pull the covers over yourself, feeling your eyelids grow heavier. 

“Were you a chubby child who was spoiled by grandma?” you tease.

“Yes,” he admits. 

You giggle. “I wish I could have seen you as a kid, chubby cheeks and all.” 

There are baby photos his grandma kept that he now has, but he’ll never tell you that. 

“Like you, she was more of a tea person than a coffee person. She liked hers sweetened while I liked mine more plain. She never knew where she left her reading glasses and she’d always ask me to find them. When I was younger, she’d read a bedtime story to me every night. If there was nothing we were doing, I’d spend the whole day on her lap as she read the books of my choosing aloud to me. One of the last things she told me was that I was so similar to my father, both in nature and appearance. And more than anything else, she was kind.”

“You miss her, don’t you?”

“Yes. I miss her a lot.”

“Your grandma sounds like an amazing person,” you sleepily mumble. “I would have liked to meet her.”

The last thing you hear before finally drifting off is Alhaitham’s whispered response.

“She would have liked to meet you too.”

And the next night, the conversation is equally as heavy.

“Hey, Haitham.”

“What is it?” he whispers back.

“Do you think that.. I don’t know, that I’m not quite who I used to be?”

Alhaitham sets his pen down.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Do you think I’ve changed in more ways than one?”

“Well, you’re less annoying now.”

You give him a well-deserved jab on the bicep with the end of your pen. Much to your annoyance, he doesn’t even flinch and continues. 

“The way I see it, change is inevitable. We all fight and run from it, but it eventually catches up with us. It is neither good nor bad. Rather, it’s what you make of it. But to answer your question, yes. You’ve matured more mentally. You’ve realized there’s more to life now. You’re learning how to live life on your own terms now, aren’t you?’

Your silence tells him everything he needs to know. 

“Tell me, Haitham. What do you wish for?”

Alhaitham is a simple man with few desires. If all his basic needs and simple wants of books and time to himself are met, then he is content. But your question has him thinking. Is there anything else he wants in his life? 

And it turns out the answer is yes. 

“Regardless of how things turn out in the future, I’d like to be able to continue talking to you like this. That’s my wish.”

Kaveh stirs in his sleep. Thamina rolls over and makes biscuits on your lap. A small smile creeps onto your face. You turn away and resume your work. He does the same.

It’s a mundane scene- two Akademiya students pulling another all-nighter to complete their work. And yet… 

Yes, this is what I want, Alhaitham thinks to himself. Everything I could ever want means nothing if you aren’t here. 

The spring semester comes around and with that comes the finals grind. You’ve thrown yourself into your studies in a last-minute attempt to save, in your opinion, your failing grades since you aren’t at the top of your class anymore. (Alhaitham thinks you’re insane- you’re still in the top five.) As if to rub it in your face, you get a letter from your family one day.

We heard that you’re no longer at the top of your class. What happened? 

Your eyes and mind glazed over the rest of the letter until the end.

Study harder. You can end it the same way you did last year if you would spend more time on it. Don’t get distracted now. 

A rare instance of frustration flashes through you and before you know it, you’ve ripped up the letter and tossed it in the trash. 

Who told them that anyway? 

“Lisa… graduated early?”

The news comes to you over dinner one day when you ask where Lisa is upon realizing she’s not there. You’ve just finished all your finals and you want nothing more than to relax and catch up on some sleep, but news regarding your best friend makes you temporarily forget about those plans. 

Cyno nods. “It’s a whole thing now. They’re saying she’s the best student the Akademiya has had in the past 200 years. Once in a generation is what they’re calling her now.”

You bite your lip and look away. A weak “tell her I said congratulations” is all you can get out as envy begins festering deep within you. You’re ashamed of yourself- she’s your best friend, for Archon’s sake, you should be feeling excited for her- but you just can’t.

Why couldn’t it have been me instead? 

You end your second year third in the class, with Alhaitham at the top.

“Welcome home, (Name).”

The house is a little chilly when you step inside. Dinner has already been prepared- it’s sitting on the table- but it looks like it was made some time ago. Your father ushers you into the kitchen, where your mother waits expectantly, her lips stretched into a thin smile when she sees you. 

There are the usual dinnertime conversations- how has your day been? Fine, yours? Same old, same old- but they feel stiffer than usual. It doesn’t flow and you find yourself internally wincing at the heavy silence between you.

“So.”

You pause and look up at your mother, who has finally broken the awkward silence surrounding the kitchen table.

“We heard you… didn’t do so well at the Akademiya this year.” 

You freeze and internally brace yourself for what is to come.

“Only third this year? (Name), you were first last year, how come you couldn’t place first again? That’s not so hard, is it? You just have to put some effort in, stop being so lazy, and you’ll do fine! Besides, it’s only your second year, what could be so difficult about it? We know you’re smart and that you could’ve easily been first again. You’re just getting complacent, that’s all! Do you really want that Alhaitham to beat you at your own game? How humiliating would that be for us? Think of the embarrassment we, your poor mother and father, would face from others in the Akademiya- our golden child (Name), who was once someone people aspired to be, but now nothing but a disappointment!”

“Your mother’s right, (Name),” says your father. “We have high expectations for you, or should I say, had.” 

Their disappointment cuts deep into your soul, yet something quietly snaps inside you. You glare at them one more time before slipping away.

“I’m not hungry anymore. I’ve lost my appetite.”

You go to your childhood room and lock the door behind you. Your parents’ voices- most definitely talking about you- drift up the stairs and you do your best to tune them out. As if to mock you, hanging on the wall across from you are all the awards you won at academic competitions throughout your life. Trophies, ribbons, certificates, and medals line every bit of space available, all of them with your name and a first-place title proudly engraved onto them.

Now that you think about it, were you really happy with being the best? Your younger self would laugh and say “of course!”, but why exactly? 

And then the realization hits you. You personally felt nothing being the best at everything. The title, the fake smiles, and the forced compliments from others- they couldn’t mean less to you.

You were only happy because your parents were happy. Were you ever happy with yourself- with who you were as a person? You don’t know.

Stars live for an incredibly long time, but they too must die out one day. Their reserves of hydrogen gas will inevitably run out and they will either go out with a bang or a fizzle depending on their size. Larger stars go out in a blaze of glory, expanding up to several times their size before exploding and bathing the universe in the remains of their supernova for eons to come, while smaller ones condense from the gravity pushing inward and shrink down into a cold white dwarf, destined to drift across the universe alone for the rest of time. That is your fate, yet you do not know it yet. The last of your fuel has finally been spent, and the end is nigh. Whether you will go out with a bang or fade into obscurity is something only time will tell. 

You’ve had enough of the stifling atmosphere in the house.

It’s only been a few days since summer vacation began and you’re already at your wit’s end. The heavy silence hanging in the air and their passive-aggressive comments toward you make you want to tear your hair out. Or run away. Maybe both. 

There are still lots of days left before you start class again. Surely there’s something you can do until then…

And then it hits you: traveling throughout Sumeru! You were born and raised in the city, but you’ve rarely ventured outside of its borders. This could be a good chance to expand your horizons and gain experience!

So without further ado, you pack your bags, plan a route, and begin your adventures. Most of the time, you’d leave at dawn before your parents woke up and return late at night after they’d fallen asleep. Sometimes, you wouldn’t return for days, instead choosing to camp outside or stay at a friend’s house for a while. From what you’ve heard through your neighbors and friends, your parents don’t seem to care what you’re doing either. Some of your friends even say that they look happier now that you’re out of the house. The notion stings, but you don’t dwell on it for too long.

There’s a strange sense of peace you feel throughout your travels that’s foreign to you. Whether it’s camping out underneath the stars or scaling a rocky cliffside, you’ve never felt more attuned to yourself than now. You gradually discover more about yourself that you otherwise would have never known. You like stargazing even more after seeing the expanse of the night sky and all its stars for the first time without the light pollution of the city. You like to swim, as demonstrated when you dove headfirst into a river for the first time and felt the cool waters wash over your skin. You’re decently skilled with a bow and arrow after Tighnari gives you some lessons and his old bow to keep yourself safe on your travels.

Most importantly, you discover how to find happiness by yourself. After being told your whole life what you could and couldn’t do, being able to take control of your life was a liberating feeling. 

You end up seeing Alhaitham quite a bit during this time. Strangely enough, he was always one of the first people you’d see returning back to Sumeru City. He’d always give you a subtle nod when he noticed you staring at him before leaving. Sometimes, he’d even be there to wish you a safe trip- no, not sometimes- almost all of the time. It’s basically a given that he’ll be there to see you off at this point. How he hears about it every time, you have no idea but you aren’t complaining. 

“Leaving early as always, I see. Where to this time, (Name)?”

You pause from checking your supplies to see Alhaitham standing behind you.

“I’m heading down to Gandharva Ville to spend some time in the rainforest. But you’re up this early just to wish me a safe trip? I didn’t take you for a morning person.”

“I’m not. But someone should see you off each time, and if your parents won’t do it, then I will.”

“Y-You… how did you know?”

“Know what?” he asks while stepping around to help you with your bag. “All I know is that I’ve never seen them send you off or welcome you back.”

“So be it then,” you grumble. “It’s not as if I care.”

So he doesn’t know about our strained relationship yet, you muse to yourself. That’s surprising, considering how big mother and father’s social circle is… 

“You’re all set now. Best you head off before it gets too hot.”

“I will. You take care as well.”

He watches you leave through the city gates until you’re no longer in sight. A rare expression of longing crosses his face then and only after lingering for a few more moments (with his eyes trained on where you once were) does he leave. 

He was lying when he pretended to be unaware of your family situation. When you’re hailed as one of the best scholars in recent times in a land that has a borderline fanatical dedication to academics, everything pertaining to you will be scrutinized and monitored. Your sudden decision to leave Sumeru for extended periods of time, and the way your parents refused to talk about you or changed the topic whenever you came up… it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. 

For your sake, Alhaitham hopes you would return later rather than sooner so you wouldn’t have to hear what was being said about you. 

“You seem to have gotten good at this,” he remarks over coffee and desserts when you return several weeks later. Alhaitham notices you’ve put on some muscle. There are some new scars and the bow slung on your back is an unfamiliar sight as well. “You would be a perfect candidate for the Adventurer’s Guild.” 

You laugh. “Nah, it’s not for me. As much as I enjoy traveling, I don’t think I could earn my living through it, plus I won’t be able to keep it up once I’m all old and wrinkly.”

“Tell me about your adventures though. Where did you go?”

Your eyes light up and you begin rambling excitedly about your travels. You go into great detail about your time spent in the Avidya Forest and your spontaneous decision to travel to Liyue, which catches him off-guard.

“Liyue?” he repeats when you mention it. “So that’s why you were gone for several weeks instead of days. I’ve never been there before. Tell me, what was it like?”

Your smile grows even bigger and your eyes may as well have been stars from how brightly they were shining.

“Oh, you should’ve seen the architecture- actually, wait, I should be telling Kaveh this- but it was so pretty! The food was super good too and a friend I made shared some of her recipes with me. I have a feeling that you’ll like them so I can teach you some other time! Ooh, and you can’t miss the scenery for the world! Personally, my favorite was…”

You’re so caught up in reliving and telling your adventures that you fail to miss the fond look in his eyes and the rare hint of a smile that stretches across his face. 

You’re halfway through recounting your way back home through the Chasm when you happen to glance at the clock and the realization begins to set in.

“I have to get going now,” you explain as you hurriedly gather your belongings. “I’m meeting up with some other friends in a bit. But thanks for the coffee and sweets. Hopefully, I’ll see you around again sometime soon?”

The chime above the door jingles as you rush outside and Alhaitham is left alone with his thoughts. With a deep sigh, he takes a look out the window and decides to address the thoughts about you that have been on his mind lately. 

You’re annoying, there’s no doubt about that. You love to push his buttons and purposefully irritate him. You’re an overachiever and you care too much about what other people think. For the longest time, your whole personality consisted of your academic accomplishments and nothing else. You’re a people pleaser and you long for acceptance and praise from others- two things he thinks are utterly useless coming from other people. The moment someone questions your abilities, regardless of who it is, you begin to second-guess yourself and waver. Ridiculous, in his opinion. You know your worth and skills better than anyone else, so why are you letting their baseless accusations affect you? You’re easily affected by rumors and your self-worth is determined by what others think of you. 

But you have a warm and welcoming demeanor that’s rare in the cutthroat halls of the Akademiya that draws others to you like a moth to a flame. You enjoy traveling and you have a major soft spot for animals, especially cats. Whenever you’re in the city, you always stop to pet all the strays roaming around, no matter how long it takes. You enjoy sweets- not the overly cloying kind, but the ones that have a touch of sweetness to the point where you can just taste it. Your favorite dessert is the Padisarah Pudding sold in the Grand Bazaar and he’s stopped by so often that the vendor knows his name, face, and order by now. You’re more of a tea person than a coffee person, but he has your coffee order memorized just in case (iced, with two sugars, a splash of milk, and rosewater) and he’s the one that has been mysteriously supplying your favorite tea whenever it’s running low. He notices you like to ramble about things you’re passionate about (and he willingly- gladly- listens too). 

And he’s come to realize that maybe you’re not as insufferable as he thought you were. You have a brilliant mind and you’re one of the few that isn’t put off by his blunt nature. You don’t just tolerate him- you appreciate him, flaws and everything. 

You’ve always been envious of him- he’s known that ever since he met you. Because of him, you have strived to prove yourself as better in all aspects. A stupid rivalry is what it started off as with your pride getting the best of both of you. But throughout these three years, you’ve only brought out the best in each other.

At this point, he doesn’t feel complete without you. 

He’s well aware of the question hanging over people’s minds whenever they see the both of you together. You are the sun, the golden child of your parents who are renowned within the Akademiya and held to the highest level of scrutiny. Their judging gazes, eyes that fixate on every move of yours, comments whispered behind your back- you take them all in stride. Meanwhile, Alhaitham’s presence is glossed over when you’re there. To many, he is just another Akademiya student that they will see in passing and forget about immediately. In that aspect, he is the moon that hides from others. Those who were acquainted with his parents or his late grandmother may recognize him and speak with him, but he mostly goes unnoticed and ignored. 

But free from the prying eyes of others, Alhaitham is able to sleep peacefully at night. Your fitful sleep, on the other hand, is plagued with dreams of what-ifs and the looming fear of disappointment from others. You’ve always succeeded, not because you craved success, but because you feared failure and how others would react.

The rising moon admires the sun because of the boundless love they receive from others. On the other hand, the setting sun is envious of the moon for his sweetest dreams that they can only long for.

You enter your third year with a sense of apprehension that wasn’t there before. Your high hopes for yourself are still there, but they’ve been dashed considerably. But despite your lack of ambition now and your experiences from last year, you still (attempt to) throw yourself into your studies, knowing that this year is where the challenge begins. Your first two years were just warmups, or nothing, according to your parents. 

Your first few weeks go well, but before you know it, you find yourself lost and overwhelmed by the material.

I… don’t understand any of this. But how could this be? I’ve spent so much time. 

Your test scores don’t reflect your efforts either.

45%. 50%. 63% 67%. 55%. 38%.

“Damn it!”

You slam your fist onto your desk table as the results of another failed test greet you. You had spent so much time preparing for this one, only for your efforts to be rewarded with a slap to the face. 

You can’t keep going like this. You need help, and desperately at that, but you can’t bring yourself to ask for it. 

You’re smarter than everyone else, you don’t need help, a familiar voice comes into your mind. You’re the pride and joy of our family because of your grades. Don’t let us down now. 

You look out the window, the heat still simmering in your stomach.

“What a load of bullshit.” 

“... I saw your test scores earlier today.” 

You glare at Alhaitham with poison in your gaze that was never there until now. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he feels strangely uneasy, like his body is warning him to stop. 

“And? Here to mock me for it?”

“No. On the contrary, I want to offer you my help.” 

Oh, the humiliation. Look at how far you’ve fallen. 

“Forget it,” you snap. “I don’t need your help.”

You get up and leave, slamming the doors shut behind you. It echoes through the House of Daena and the other students there turn to stare at Alhaitham in silent shock. He’s stunned too. Although you can have quite the sharp tongue at times, you’ve never lashed out at him like that before. 

A few weeks later, the results of another test are announced. Alhaitham’s name sits at the top like it always has. His name is on everyone’s tongue as they jealously grumble over the results once again. His eyes examine the list, searching for one name in particular, until he finds yours at the bottom of it.

He pauses, then turns around in time to see you storming out. He doesn’t miss the looks your classmates give you- mocking, ridiculing, scornful, and disgusted sneers that relish in your downfall. The jealous grumbles about him now turn into titters and sneering whispers with your name now being trampled upon by those that used to extol your virtues. It’s all noise and it grates his ears until he can’t stand it anymore.

“What a waste of time.”

The noise stops and everyone turns to look at him. 

“You all have the energy to complain about your own scores while making a laughing stock of someone else. It’d be better spent on improving your own scores- unless you’re just that incompetent?”

Later that night as you’re studying, you get a message from your parents through your Akasha. It’s the first time you’ve gotten anything from them all year. After hesitating, you open the message.

It’s short and simple but your heart sinks and your temper flares after reading it. You rip your Akasha Terminal off and toss it to the side. 

Don’t come home this year. 

“I need your help. I’m asking for a friend.”

Alhaitham looks over his book at you. It’s the first time he’s seen you all week and to be frank, you look awful. Your hair is a mess, your uniform is wrinkled, and your skin looks dry and dull.

“Do I know them? If not, then I won’t help.”

You roll your eyes and throw your hands up exasperatedly.  “Ok fine, yes, you know them.”

“Well, why won’t they just ask me themselves? Why trouble you?”

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter right now. Just answer the damn question.”

He leans back and knowingly looks at you. 

“They’re going through a tough time right now,” you explain, choosing each of your words carefully. “They aren’t doing good in their classes and they’re trying to get back on track, but they don’t know how to.”

“... This is for you, isn’t it?”

Damn, he saw right through you. Were you that obvious?

Alhaitham goes back to reading his book. “I can’t say I would be of any use here. After all, I’ve never been in that position nor would I let myself get there.” 

You feel your temper flare once more. You clench your jaw and try to reign in your anger before speaking to him. 

“Well, duh. You’re also not helping either.”

“Really? I think it’s a perfectly reasonable answer.”

“Put yourself in my shoes for once, would you?”

He sets his book down and looks at you.

“You asked me for my advice and I told you what I would do in that situation. I don’t understand why you’re getting upset.”

“That’s because it’s not the answer I’m looking for!”

“That’s on you for expecting others to somehow know what you want without telling them.”

“You-!”

You groan and run your hands through your hair.  Is it just you or is he being more insufferable today? Can’t he read the room for once? 

He continues. “If you wanted someone to only tell you what you wanted to hear, a mirror would be a better audience.”

“Alhaitham, all I’m asking from you is a little empathy. Is that so hard to have?”

“And is it so hard for you to stop throwing a hissy fit just because I didn’t tell you what you wanted to hear?”

His words are all spite and knives meant to hurt. They lack the usual lighthearted tone he has with you. You feel it coming- the barbed words that are poised to strike and cut deep, but it doesn’t help when he begins speaking again. 

 “You asked for my help and I gave you advice. You’re not in a position to be complaining here.” 

“Yeah, well, your ‘advice’ isn’t what most people would consider as help.”

He scoffs and looks away before looking at you once more- like he’s looking down on you, you realize. There’s something akin to disgust and impatience in his gaze that makes you freeze despite all your sharp words earlier. 

“How irrational could you be? You reject everyone’s help even though you need it and you don’t listen to anybody’s suggestions. You’re too caught up in the conception that you’re always right and everyone else is always wrong. You’re childish, (Name), that’s what you are. You’re like a child still naive and ignorant, content with playing with their toys and games and ignoring reality. You’re not cut out for the Akademiya. You never were.”

He laughs and now you realize just how much it hurts when it’s directed toward you. 

“And you’re telling me that my ego is overinflated. No wonder you’re failing everything. Archons, (Name), you’re utterly hopeless. What did I ever see in you?”

The silence that fills the space afterward is enough to make Alhaitham immediately regret his words. You angrily glare at him and Alhaitham’s heart sinks when he recognizes the emotion present in your eyes.

Utter hate.

“... For all these years, I've heard so many rumors about you but chose to brush them off,” you begin. “I was so stupid! I should have listened to them! They say you’re cold and heartless and only now do I realize that they were right. They say you’re not human from how cruel you are- archons, dammit! Look at me!”

The sudden demand makes Alhaitham nervously glance toward you after avoiding your gaze this entire time. You sniff and wipe away the few tears that managed to spill over. Losing your composure in front of him, the perfect and poised genius, was already humiliating enough, but you hold his gaze long enough to let him see. Let him witness the results of his own actions and the prospect of losing someone he cared about (all over again).

“You’re an absolutely horrible person, Alhaitham. I hope you remember this.”

Alhaitham. It’s the first time you’ve used his full name ever since you befriended him and the implications of it sting. 

He reaches out toward you. “Wait-”

You slap his hand away. 

“No, we’re done here. I thought you could at least understand, but you’re just as uncaring and self-centered as everyone else here. And I once thought that you were better than anyone else here, but only now do I realize how stupid I was."

You laugh sardonically one last time.

“My parents were right. They would have been so much happier if you were their child.”

Alhaitham doesn’t see you again for several weeks after that. It’s as if you’re purposefully avoiding him and it gets to a point where he’s beginning to get concerned about your health and safety. 

Currently, he’s meeting with Tighnari. Out of everyone, the fox hybrid had the highest chance of knowing with his keen sense of hearing.

“I’m concerned about (Name).”

Tighnari’s ears twitch in response. 

“They aren’t the same person anymore. You’ve seen it too.”

The fox hybrid sadly nods. “They’ve been consumed by rage and self-hate. I see it in their eyes and the way they lash out. They’re angry at themselves and at everyone around them and it’s completely understandable considering the situation and the response of those they trusted most. Still, it’s not healthy if they continue like this. Speaking of which, were they always this temperamental?”

Alhaitham shakes his head. “No. To be clear, they’ve always had a sharp tongue but it was always lighthearted. They only started getting truly angry this year.”

“Lashing out or displaying signs of anger is often a common symptom of burnout. I’m fairly confident that’s what (Name) has. Specifically, academic burnout. But I’m sure you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Alhaitham uncomfortably avoids Tighnari’s prying eyes. 

Tighnari’s eyes narrow. “Look, (Name) is a great friend to me as well, but why are you telling me about this? You’re in their Darshan so shouldn’t you know more?”

“I haven’t heard anything about them either. I got concerned after they didn’t show up at the library for a week. From what I’ve heard, they haven’t been showing up to class either for the past few weeks, which is strange for them. I’m asking around- maybe I’ll find something out that way.”

Tighnari shakes his head. “Sadly, I don’t know why either. If it helps, some people have said they haven’t even seen them. Not just at the library or at class but in general. It’s almost as if they’ve just… disappeared.”

There’s a moment of silence that passes between them. Tighnari stares at Alhaitham curiously and he rests his chin on his hands.

Alhaitham doesn’t have a good feeling about this…

“Speaking of which, does the fight from earlier have anything to do with this?”

“You knew?”

“Please. When two of my closest friends get into an argument as big as that, I’m bound to find out eventually. So, did it have anything to do with this?”

“... Yes,” he admits. “I feel guilty and I want to apologize to them.” 

“Well, better late than never,” grumbles Tighnari under his breath. The stink eye he sends his way doesn’t go unnoticed by Alhaitham. 

“Why do you care for them so much?”

The question comes out of nowhere and leaves him reeling. 

“I suppose it’s… because I consider them a friend?”

Archons, that answer sounds even more pathetic out loud than it did in his head and Tighnari knows it. 

Tighnari heaves a long sigh that makes Alhaitham pause.

“You absolute lummox!” he snaps. “I always knew you were somewhat emotionally constipated but I didn’t think you’d be this dense…”

He suddenly stands up and stares the ashen-haired male in the eye, his tone softer this time. 

“You’re in love with them, Alhaitham. That’s what you’ve been feeling lately.”

Alhaitham immediately scoffs. “No, that can’t possibly be-”

“You, who hates sharing what you consider yours, share your notes with them.”

“It’s a win-win situation for both of us. We’re in the same Darshan and we’ll be able to learn better from each other.”

“But them, specifically, when there are countless others that would kill for the chance to learn from you?”

“They can figure the material out themselves. Plus, I stand to gain no benefit from what they have to offer.”

“What, so only (Name) can keep up with you?”

“Precisely.” 

Tighnari sees the opening Alhaitham has created and takes advantage of it.

“Are you sure that you’re still rivals? Even though (Name) is…”

“Of course. It’s been like that since day one.”

“Huh, that’s interesting. Because from what I know, academic rivals don’t go out to lunch together. They don’t go stargazing even though a certain someone finds it mind-numbingly boring. They don’t sneak out past curfew and break Akademiya rules on a daily basis, and they certainly don’t spend hefty chunks of Mora to make the other happy.” 

Tighnari has Alhaitham backed into a corner and he knows it. 

“Kaveh knows as well.”

“And?”

“And you still let yourself get roped into his schemes to make them happy. Look, I know this isn’t a good time to bring him up considering…”

He gestures at the empty space, a silent indication of Kaveh and Alhaitham’s broken friendship. 

“But there’s no denying that Kaveh did and still does care about you. Why else would he be willing to put in so much time and effort to make them happy? Because in addition to being their friend, he knows that when they’re happy, you are as well. And if that doesn’t mean something, then, I don’t know what else does.”

“We’re just friends,” he argues once again. Tighnari glares at him.

“You’re an idiot to think it doesn’t go deeper than that. You also saw them off every single time during the summer.”

“That’s what friends do. Besides, their parents should have-”

“Uh-huh. Go on, keep lying to yourself like that. Do I have to hit you over the head with a brick in order for you to realize your own feelings? You’re sounding like a broken record here.” 

“I-”

“There’s no use in denying or lying to us, Alhaitham. We’re your friends, after all. But the one who’s going to have to decide what to do next is you.”

He gets up and gives Alhaitham a pat on the shoulder. Before leaving, he looks at him one last time.

“It’s going to hurt even more when you lose them for good. You’ll only wish you could have done something sooner. But I think you already know that by now, right, Alhaitham?”

“Do you know where (Name) is?”

It’s a rare occasion today- Alhaitham actually showed up for class. But it wasn’t to listen to whatever the professor had to say- no, it was to ask your classmates where you went. He’s been trying every day to find you, but only to no avail. 

He’s gained some valuable information, however. Your roommate moved out a while ago, leaving you the sole occupant of your dorm room. He also managed to find your dorm room number after asking some of your “friends”, who after relentless prying, reluctantly opened up. 

“I can’t say for sure, but I heard they’re in the hospital. They somehow ended up there over the weekend.” 

“The hospital?” he repeats. “Do you know why?”

“No idea. Sorry.”

He shows up at the Birmarstan after the class ends, fully expecting to see you. He gives the nurse his name and a few minutes later, she returns with an apologetic smile. 

“Sorry, but the patient is not accepting visitors at this time.”

A slight pause. Barely perceptible.

“I see.”

You look at the window to see Alhaitham’s retreating form. The nurse enters your room a few minutes later and crosses her arms.

“He’s the first person who’s asked to visit you ever since you came in. I’m surprised- I thought you’d get more. Most people usually do.”

You pull the covers over your head and roll over. Such is the way of life in the Akademiya. Friendships were formed out of convenience as a way to climb up the ladder later in life. As soon as you were no longer useful or fell from grace like you did, others were quick to abandon you without a second thought. 

So why did Alhaitham visit then? To you, your relationship (as enemies? Friends? Or even…) was built solely on how you could assist each other, and nothing more. By your prior logic, there is no logical reason why he should visit you.

Unless… 

“Is there any reason why you didn’t want to see him in particular?”

Even if your hypothesis proved to be true, it doesn’t excuse or undo the hurt he caused.

“He’s the last person I want to see right now.”

A few days after being discharged from Birmarstan, there’s a knock from the door that wakes you up from your sleep. Still disoriented, you look up and roll over, opting to ignore it and go back to sleep.

The knocking continues. You cover your ear with a pillow and squeeze your eyes shut even more.

“I know you’re there, (Name). Several people told me so.”

Shit, it’s the last person you want to see right now. Your mood sours instantly and now you’re fully awake. 

“What do you want?” you snap. 

“I just want to talk.”

It doesn’t seem like he’ll be going away anytime soon, so you get up, kicking the trash that litters the floor to the side, and carefully cracking open the door. He looks down to see you. You pull the sleeves of your shirt down as he does so. 

“Can I come in?”

You look behind at the mess that is your dorm.

“... It’s not exactly clean right now.”

“That doesn’t matter to me.”

You flick the lights on and hide the worst of the trash underneath your bed. He follows you, his gaze traveling around the room. He notices the side with the unoccupied bed is considerably cleaner (that must have been your roommate’s before they moved out, he reasons) and your desk looks like it hasn’t been used in a while. He takes a seat at it and examines the table. Your Akasha Terminal is lying in the corner and collecting dust. Your textbook is open to a section that was taught a while ago and it looks like you just started taking notes. 

(Although, the frustrated scribbles that occupy most of the page have him concerned. Additionally, certain parts of the paper are wrinkled, as if they have dried after getting wet. The shape and spot where they are concentrated in is another cause for concern as well. Were you… crying?)

You pull the covers over your form and glare at him. 

“Well? What did you want to tell me?”

“I’m sorry.”

You pause, then shake your head.

“That alone won’t be enough.”

“I know. And that’s why-”

He gulps, his voice shaking toward the end. It’s just a simple apology, so why is he so nervous?

(But deep down he knows the real answer: this is his last chance to ask you for forgiveness before losing you for good. And it was the thought of losing you, the one that had managed to worm their way into his heart and appreciate him that scared him the most.) 

“I’m sorry. I really am. I shouldn’t have said those things back then. I should have been more understanding of your struggles and, like you said, had some more empathy. I realize that I am far from an ideal friend in many people’s eyes and if you feel the same, I will not hold that against you.”

His chest tightens and he subconsciously looks away.

“I’m aware of how people see me- valuing logic above all with a mind fueled by equations and facts over feelings. A genius with no regard or need for others. But I’m still human. I feel regret and remorse the same way as anyone else. I know when I’ve messed up and when I need to apologize. Now is one of those times, more than ever.” 

You turn around and open the blinds, letting the light flood the room before sitting back down, watching him carefully. 

“I don’t want to forgive you. Do you have any idea how long your words lingered for?”

The words sting Alhaitham. Your voice shakes and you feel the familiar burning sensation in your eyes. 

“But I know you. I know your bluntness and sharp tongue. You often say hurtful things but don’t mean them. You’re stubborn and slow when it comes to apologizing, even if the guilt eats away at you. You don’t wear your heart on your sleeve and you’re not one to dish out praises, leading others to believe that you’re cold and unsympathetic.”

You suddenly lean in, staring into the eyes that had kept you awake at night for so long. His eyes widen slightly and you smile faintly to yourself. 

“But I like to think that I’ve gotten to know you a bit. You show that you care with your actions, not your words, but that takes time- time that most people aren’t willing to give because of their first impression of you. You take the time to learn about the people you care about and prefer acts of service to words of affirmation and physical touch as your love language. You show that you care in a way of your own.

“So yes. I forgive you.”

Alhaitham finds himself sighing with relief. Yet a question still lingers in the back of his mind.

“Why?”

And there it is again, for the first time in a long time. Your smile. It’s a little stiff and awkward, as if you haven’t smiled in a long time, but it’s undoubtedly yours. 

“The same reason. I missed you too.” 

And now begins the uncomfortable process of recovery. 

“How long were you gone for?”

“... Longer than I’d like to admit. Catching up is going to be a difficult task, isn’t it?”

“I won’t sugarcoat it; you’ve missed a lot.” Alhaitham flips through your books and notes from prior years. “However, you have a strong foundation from your earlier years. That should help you. But first, let me ask you a few questions so I can outline a study plan for you.”

You raise your eyebrows at his statement.

“You’re taking this quite seriously, aren’t you?”

“Naturally,” he replies. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Knowing you, you’re not the kind of person to go out of your way for others,” you grumble. “So going to such lengths just for me…” 

“You discredit me if you think that I would do that. But why do you think you felt burnt-out in the first place?”

You look out the window and think for a bit.

“... I think it’s because of my own pride. Had I asked for help earlier on, I have a feeling I wouldn’t be in this position, or things would be better, at least,” you admit. 

“But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

You sigh and hold your hands out in defeat. “You surely know more than you’re letting on. But I think it’s also because I never learned how to study.”

Alhaitham pauses at that. “Really?”

There’s no mockery or derision in his question- just curiosity. 

“People goaded me on as a gifted child and I was expected to somehow know how to do everything perfectly the first time, you know? It’s just how things were.”

“Well, that’s something we can fix for sure.”

Your first few days back are the worst. Whispers and stares follow you wherever you go and your professors, who once showered you with praises, look at you strangely or even ignore you. 

“Don’t mind them,” he says when he notices you sulking in the library later that day. “You and I both know that’s just the way the Akademiya is. We’ll see who gets the last laugh.” 

Much to the envy of your classmates, he also personally tutors you in all your classes. He accompanies you to all your classes (even the ones he isn’t taking) and sits in on them, whispering and writing little notes of clarification and elaboration. 

Bit by bit, you see your scores slowly improve. Alhaitham teaches you an array of study techniques, many of which have been personally vetted by him.

“Try each of them out,” he says. “Different techniques work for different people. There is something out there that works for you.”

He’s able to bear witness to the fruits of your labor one day when he hears your excited footsteps running toward him.

“Haitham, look!”

You practically shove several papers into his face. “I got a perfect score on the latest exam! And guess what? I tied with you, meaning that I also placed first!”

A rare smile, solely reserved for your eyes, creeps onto his face. 

“Good job. Your score is well-deserved after all the hard work you’ve been putting in.”

He sees it now. Slowly but surely, you’re regaining bits and pieces of your old self. You’ll never be exactly who you once were, but that’s ok. You’ll pick the broken yet salvageable parts up and put them together to create something new yet still distinctly you.

He only looks forward to seeing what you’ll become in the future. 

You’ve finally graduated.

It’s a joyous occasion today, filled with speeches, hugs, and promises to keep in touch. Families and friends crowd outside the Akademiya to congratulate their loved ones. The diploma in your hands and the cords around your shoulders are a sign of your achievements and your persistence despite all the roadblocks you faced along the way. 

Your heart feels simultaneously burdened and relieved. You had graduated squarely in the middle of the class. You knew it was something to be proud of, yet that part of your former self that you could never suppress couldn’t help but feel disappointed. 

Not that it really bothered you anyway. When you walked across the stage to the smattering of applause accompanying your name, you had immediately locked eyes with Alhaitham in the crowd. He was clapping, but what caught your attention the most was the smile he sent your way. It wasn’t one of his once in a blue moon microscopic ones.

No. It was one where you could see a sliver of his teeth and where the edges of his eyes crinkled from it, the sight of which sent your heart ablaze. There was pride in his gaze and in that moment, you felt as if everything had been worth it- even if it wasn’t the outcome you expected. 

And when he walked across the stage, you were the one to clap for him the loudest. 

You push your way through the heavy crowds, searching for one person in particular. He’s not anywhere in the crowd, so you head down the walkway and there you see him. He’s waiting for you with a large bouquet of flowers in his arms.

“Took you long enough,” he remarks. Alhaitham holds out the flowers to you and you accept them gratefully. 

“Oh, you remembered my favorite flowers!” you exclaim as you examine the bouquet. “I have something for you as well.”

You hand him an envelope and he eyes it curiously when a voice interrupts you. 

“(Name).”

You hear an awkward cough behind you and you turn to see your parents. They stand there awkwardly, fidgeting with their hastily-purchased bouquet of flowers that pales in comparison to what Alhaitham got you. 

(You don’t even like the kind of flowers your parents got for you and you’ve told them that before…) 

“Congratulations on gradu-”

“Oh, you must be Alhaitham!”

Your mother’s sudden remark takes all of you by surprise. She rushes forward and eagerly shakes his hand.

“I’ve heard so much about you! You just graduated and you’ve already made a name for yourself in Sumeru as a genius! How incredible is that? Ah, if only my child here could learn from you, but they’ve already graduated, so it’s a little too late for that now…”

You bite your lip and look away. The action doesn’t go unnoticed by Alhaitham. He retracts his hand. 

“It was nice to meet you. We’ll be taking our leave now.”

“We’ll?” 

Alhaitham ignores them in favor of holding your hand and leading you away.

“I think a celebration is in order. The owner of the stall that sells your favorite Padisarah Pudding is offering us free dessert today.” 

The heaviness that was hanging over you just a moment ago is now gone.

“Free desserts? I’m in!”

“Then it’s settled.” 

Later that night, Alhaitham remembers the letter you gave him earlier and pulls it out. He glances at the clock. There’s still time before he has to leave and meet up with you.

Dear Alhaitham,

Thank you for being by my side throughout these four years when no one else was. I owe my entire academic career to you. Perhaps even my entire life. I don’t know if I’d be writing this letter if it weren’t for you. 

When I saw you on the first day, I wondered what you were doing here. You were short, scrawny, and shy back then. I thought you were one of those child prodigies. Who knew you’d turn out to be the buff man skilled with the sword that I know today… 

Honestly, I didn’t think that you would help me. You were the envy of our class, unlike me. I wouldn’t be surprised and I wouldn’t blame you if all that praise got to your head. I guess I didn’t know you well enough back then, though, because you defied all of my expectations. Not only did you not care for status or fame, you also took time out of your own day (which I know you hate doing) for me. 

You really are an enigma, Haitham. You’re a person with several layers and hidden secrets like an intricately-designed mechanism. But I think that’s one of the reasons that drew me to you. Everyone has their own secrets and burdens. By slowly learning more about each other, you learn more about yourself. 

You and I, we are inseparable now. Earlier today, I had someone come up to me and ask where you were. They were surprised that you weren’t next to me like always. At first glance, we seem more different than similar, especially with our contrasting personalities. But take a closer look and they’ll see that we share more in common than in differences. Opposites attract, but similarities bind. 

Like those dusty old philosophers and figures that we had to learn about in class, we are parallels of each other. You are simultaneously my biggest critic and supporter. My biggest rival and confidant. My biggest headache and source of comfort. 

But most importantly, you are my biggest friend. 

Remember that one night where I asked you what you wished for? You had said that you wanted to keep talking to me regardless of how things turned out in the future. I didn’t really have a response at the time, but now I finally do.

My wish is selfish. I wish for you to stay the way you are. A little arrogant, blunt, curious, and caring in your own way. Because I can’t imagine a future without you in it now. 

With all my love,

(Name)

The house is too quiet for Alhaitham’s liking. He appreciates silence when working and Kaveh’s incessant noise from working on projects at midnight is downright irritating, but there is a time and place for everything.

Now is not that time. Thamina is sleeping on the cushion next to him. Kaveh is out in a meeting with a client (for once) and you’re-

“I’m home!”

Speak of the devil, there you are. Thamina’s eyes open and she jumps off the cushion to greet you with a loud meow and a head rub against your legs. Alhaitham takes his headphones off and sets his book down before getting up to greet you after a long journey back from Mondstadt. You’re tired, your uniform is wrinkled, and your Kamera has been hastily shoved back into its case, but Alhaitham has never been more grateful to see you. 

“Missed me?”

“You’ve been gone for too long,” he grumbles before pulling you into a tight hug and burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Love, it was only for a month!”

“My point still stands.”

You scrunch your face up and eventually manage to wiggle your way out of his grasp. It’s been a few years since you’ve graduated. Alhaitham has dutifully taken on the responsibilities of the Akademiya’s Scribe while you now work as a reporter for a newspaper company. You love the job because it puts your Haravatat degree to good use and you get paid to travel, although you don’t like the part of being away from Alhaitham for extended periods of time.

“Are you still up for dinner and dessert even though it’s getting late?”

“At my favorite place?”

“Our favorite place,” he corrects.

“Oh, you like it now as well? Did some of my tastes rub off onto you?”

“The pudding runs I went on for you did that a long time ago.”

Comets are ephemeral in nature. Some of them are only seen once and then gone, lost in time and never to be seen again. But occasionally, in a twist of fate, they can be rediscovered although it may take hundreds or even thousands of years for them to return.

That comet he had wished upon several years ago had finally returned to him.

[dduane]

Hi! I'd love to hear ur take on the whole Spirk Canon discussion going on right now as someone who's written licensed Trek books. Like besides the whole "did Unification 765874 make spirk canon" thing, is it even fair to talk about spirk being canon or not? What would it take for spirk to "be canon"? It strikes me as a very fandom-y (positive) way to interact with media, which is funny since k/s invented fandom culture. But at the same time ur Supernatural comparison was right on the money and paramount has been VERY weird about addressing their relationship in nutrek. What are ur thoughts??

First of all: Despite the excitement of any given moment, people need to be careful about mistaking anything I reblog without further-amplifying comment, on any subject, as necessarily implying agreement or approval. Lots of times I reblog things just to direct attention to them (and sometimes because I think they're funny).

"ur Supernatural comparison" was not mine. It was somebody else's. I reblogged it to direct attention to it. (And maybe I thought it was funny.)

...Also, wut iz dis "nutrek" u speak of? When you've been working in this universe for long enough, with the necessary perspective to look up and down the length of it without idiosyncratically-added heat... then all Trek is Trek. The spectrum along which its varying species all coexist is ever more complexly and interestingly braided than it once was, sure. But that's all. I've got enough on my plate at the moment not to have time to waste trying to force different aspects of Trek into cage fights with each other.

And: "Paramount"? Who is that, exactly? At the pointy end, all corporations are made up of people. Which ones are we talking about? Which production entities? Which creative teams? Which execs, working under whose supervising auspices, and when? Working with whose (character/worldview/policy) decisions, and for how long?

None of this stuff is simple to work out, and it's not helpful to try to come at it as if it's necessarily going to be easy to tease out who's doing what to whom. Briefly: it's normal for it to look weird. But don’t mistake a Big Corporate Monolith for something actually monolithic.

Also, for the moment, ffs, let's all just step away from the business of defining what K/S and/or Spirk actually involves. Enough ink and electrons have been spilled over this whole spectrum of character relationship since the 1960s, and frankly, life's too short. Definitely too short to be trying to resolve it all in terms of something that dropped...when? About this time last night, or the night before? :) Jeeeez, people. Take a breath or three and let things settle.

So I don't think anybody needs to be hearing my deep cogitations about the new short film right now... because there aren't any. No question, Unification's beautiful to look at—and I've told Dave Blass he did nice work, about which i don't think there can be any possible doubt. (Not to mention the high-end technical aspects dealt with so seamlessly in such a small tight package, which have left my jaw on the floor.) The Giacchino score's also quite lovely, but that also is more or less a given.

As for everything else: I decline to spew opinion all over the joint until I've had a chance to assimilate what I've seen, and actually acquire a useful opinion from somewhere or other. Meanwhile, y'all just keep doing what you're all doing, and I'll go make some more tea. :)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your legs feel empty, like there’s no blood flowing beneath your waist. You walk beside Rogers, feeling as if you might fall on your face at any time. That’s probably not a good idea seeing as you’ve already knocked out twice within the last hour or two. 

He stops and steps ahead of you. He points to a door before he pushes it open, “in here.” 

You enter as he waits. For a moment, you worry it could be a sinister trick. That he’ll slam the door and lock you in. But why would he do that? Well, why would he beat a man in the middle of the street? 

Thinking of it again, you feel nauseous. 

You look around the room. There’s a desk with folders stacked on it. The chair looks like it was manufactured during your great grandfather’s war and the rug can’t be much newer. The curtains are damask and the walls are real hardwood. 

“It’s... nice,” you say, “vintage. Looks like the floor’s been refinished.” 

“You’re not here to discuss the decor,” he retorts. 

“Of course,” you agree as you twiddle your fingers. “What exactly am I here for, er, sir?” 

“You’re an accountant.” He states. 

“I am.” 

He sighs and crosses to the desk. You cautiously follow. You could tip over all over again. 

“Sir, do you mind if I sit?” You ask. 

He just waves a hand toward the chair. You thank him and gratefully claim the seat. Who knew fainting was so exhausting? 

“Man named Warren. I need you to tally it all up. Tell me what you find.” He explains.  

“Alright, so I’m balancing his ledger,” you nod. 

“Sure,” Rogers sniffs and tucks his hands into his pockets. He backs up and paces across the end of the rug. “You need some water? You gonna check out again?” 

“Oh, I have some,” you put your briefcase on the desk and pull out your water bottle. “Thank you. That’s super kind. I can, uh, start on all this.” 

He turns back to you, “fine.” 

You smile as best you can as his hand runs up his lapel and draws your attention. Again, his knuckles fill you with queasiness. The bruises are the cherry on top of this whole messed up situation. 

He pulls his hand back and looks at it. You realise he caught you staring. You clear your throat. 

“Looks pretty bad,” he remarks. 

“Um, yeah. Pretty bad,” you agree softly. “Look like they’re swelling. Could probably use some ice.” 

He examines his hand further and clicks his tongue, “probably.” He drops his arm. “Well, get to work. Don’t got time to waste.” 

“Got it,” you assure him and reach for a folder. 

He goes and you glance up right as he disappears through the door. He might be gone but your anxiety lingers. These are dangerous men, this is a dangerous place. 

While you wouldn’t want an old lady like Geraldine caught up in all of this, why did it have to be you? It’s just like Mr. Brenner to be tangled up with criminals. And now you’re looking through promissory letters and gum wrappers with scribbles on them. This isn’t going to be easy, especially without a computer. 

Rogers returns. He sits in the leather armchair near the window. He holds a bundle wrapped in a cloth against his hand. It must be ice. 

You pull out a receipt. Half of it is illegible beneath the crimson stain. Little droplets trail over the numbers you can kind of make out. Oh. 

“Is that blood?” You ask out loud, then feel yourself plunging forward. 

Your head hits the desk. You’re a bit foggy but still awake. You gurgle and push yourself up. You fall stiffly back against the chair and it lurches with your weight. 

Rogers appears across the desk from you. You stare at him as you grip the armrest and blow out between your lips. He squints as he comes around to your side. 

“Hey, sweetheart, stay with me,” he grabs your chin and you whimper. “Eh, don’t--” 

He taps your cheek with his fingers. It’s a gentle gesture. His hand is cold from the ice. 

“I’m good,” your murmur. “I just... I’m not a violent person.” You carefully touch his wrist and he lets you go. “Not that I’m saying anything about you. Or what happened earlier. I’m just... look at me, right? Just an accountant.” 

He nods.  

“You think I overreacted,” he intones. 

“I didn’t say... it’s none of my business, right?” You move aside the bloody receipt and wheel closer to the desk. “Numbers are my business.” 

He hums, “sure.” 

You concentrate, or pretend to, on the folder before you. There’s a lot to sort out, and you mean, more than the clutter. Your mind is racing and you can’t quite decipher anything you’re reading with the fear coursing through you. 

“I’ll be back,” he says abruptly as he backs away. “Don't leave this room.” 

You don’t need him to give the command. You wouldn’t dare wander around this place on your own. You nod, “I won’t, sir.” 

He spins on his heel and struts across the office. You only look up as he gets to the door. He leaves and you lean back in the chair. You can’t let your panic take over. The quicker you get through this, the quicker you can get out of here, and hopefully, never ever come back. 

You set yourself straight, fixing your posture, and set to your mission. You might not have the most experience, but you’re determined and you do know what you’re doing. All those places that never replied or sent you those template rejections, they have no idea. 

You hunker down, filling the margins in the ledger, row by row. You are enthralled the more you do. It’s like a story unfolding before you. Dates, amounts, locations. Huh, well, this might be some bad news. You really don’t want to be the one to deliver it. 

Don’t be too eager. That’s only the first folder. You scratch down another number and flinch as something lands on the desk. 

You sit up and stare at the paper bag. Rogers watches you across the desk. Your brows twitch in confusion. He huffs and opens the top of the bag. 

“Figured you might not pass out if you eat something,” he takes out a wrapped bagel and holds it out. “Cream cheese, sesame seed.” 

“Oh, yum, I mean, thanks,” you accept it. “That’s really... considerate.” 

“I can be,” his eyes narrow. 

“Of course, I wasn’t saying... anything. Just thank you,” you slowly unwrap the bagel. 

He takes out his own and sits in the armchair. You peel back the paper and take a quarter of the bagel. You bite into it, careful not to get any crumbs on the desk. 

It might not be the best day, very close to the worst, but you can’t complain for a free meal. 

[missnxthingg]

𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Lando Norris x Actress!Reader (Enemies to Lovers & Fake Dating AU) 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Lando Norris really messed up on the first time meeting one of Hollywood's newest and hottest stars, Y/N L/N. But when his reputation gets too bad, she might be the only one who can save his career from being completely doomed. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 - 2.2K | 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - Swearing 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 - My first Lando series! And this time, I promised to finish it all because it's been already mostly written. I was just in need for some cliché shit, and I just threw in some of my favourite tropes together. Hope you have as much fun reading it as I did as writing it!

series masterlist | main masterlist | main blog | taglist

𝐎𝐍𝐄 - 𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄

In a world of celebrities, reputation matters. It doesn’t matter if you’re a singer filling up stadiums, actors earning big awards or a famous race driver, how you are perceived by the public eye is extremely important for your career. Lando Norris knew that. Yet, he continues to fuck things up day after day. The nightclubs, the girls, and the lack of winning on the tracks weren’t doing him any good. It got to the point where it didn’t matter if he did good on the race, climbing from P13 to P2, because, in the end, all everyone talked about was how his personal life was getting in the way of his professional one.

“He’ll never get a win if he continues to party like a teenage boy”, said a comment on one of his Instagram posts.

His PR team wanted to pull their hairs, bending backwards trying to clean off his image and making everyone forget about all of those bad things. As much as Lando tried to keep everything very private, things get leaked when you’re a public person. No secret stays hidden for long, especially if you’re not trying too hard to keep it hidden. But there was an old trick under their sleeves that would probably work, although the McLaren golden boy wouldn’t be very trilled with their drastic decision.

“No fucking way”, he shot once the idea was put on the table during a meeting scheduled at the McLaren Technology Centre, where he was spending the weekend to discuss new strategies for next week’s race. “You realize what you’re asking me?”

“Lando, your reputation is completely fucked. We quite literally have nothing else we could do to clean up the mess”, one of the members of the team said. “And we know lying isn’t easy, but this doesn’t have to last forever. We promise that by the end of the year, you can put off this bullshit silently”.

“It’s not the idea that is bad. Is the person you assigned me to lie with”, he crossed his arms and looked away. The head of his team sighed, knowing it would be too hard to make him break and cave into their idea.

Fake dating has been a good old trick in the celebrity world for a very long time, and it almost always works out. When the team came up with the idea, it looked almost flawless. All he needed was a girlfriend, making him look all fluffy and cute for the media once again, making everyone forget about the life he had before. Of course, it would coast a lot of sacrifices for Lando. It would require quitting the DMs slidings and now his parties would all be accompanied by the same girl. He probably would’ve accepted it in the end. Unfortunately, his team did poorly on the choice of who he would be doing this with.

“We know that you and Y/N aren’t exactly best friends, but her PR agency is close to ours, so it was easy to make an agreement with her. Also, she’s quite literally the sweetest person in the world, and everyone on the internet loves her. She’s everything your reputation needs”.

Y/N Y/L/N is the newest actress to arrive in Hollywood. Last year, she made her debut as a supporting actress on a Netflix movie. But recently, she scored a leading role on an HBO show that had everyone obsessed over her. Everyone except Lando, who already had a bad encounter with her a year prior.

“I can prove them I’m serious on the tracks, doing my own job. I don’t need a girlfriend to do that”, he leaned back into his seat and crossed his arms.

“Lando, you know that your reputation is fucked. Everybody thinks you're childish and unserious about your job. We want to change that”, his manager stepped into the conversation, pulling his attention back.

“But why her? Why the person who hates me the most in this universe?” 

“Because she’s the only one who accepted this challenge”.

Y/N was very good at her job, and she most definitely wouldn’t need any relationship to get to new places. But the publicity of dating a Formula 1 driver would be very good, since the sport is doing so good on social media. Hollywood is a game, and she’s just now learning how to play it.

Before he could even ask why she agreed into that idea, Y/N shyly opened the door, opening a small smile to everyone on the table. With his blood already boiling under his skin, Lando chuckled before getting up from the table to exit the room. He passed right through her, shoulder bumping into hers on his way out.

“I guess you already told him”, she sighed, resting her bag over a seat at the meeting table. Y/N looked at his PR agent, who she had a meeting a few days ago, and that shook her head, pointing out the disaster of a meeting they just had. “He didn’t like it at all, did he?”

“He’s not very pleased with the idea”.

“Of course”, she nodded. “I’ll talk to Norris”.

Y/N walked around the entire place, only to find Lando sitting alone in another meeting room, facing a window that had a view to the lake outside. As usual, it was a gray day in England, making the atmosphere even more heavy than he wished for it to be. Without saying a word, she sat next to him and he pretended she wasn’t there by not acknowledging her presence in the room.

“Are you really going to pretend I’m not here?”, Y/N broke the silence and Lando sighed.

“I don’t want to see you right now”, he admitted, making her roll her eyes. Could he be any more childish?

“Norris, I know it seems like the end of the world, but it’s not a big deal. We just have to pretend to be together for a while and have a quiet breakup by the end of the year”, she said, making him finally look at her. “It’s not that hard”.

“But it is, Y/N”, he grunted. “Do you know how does it feel to not be trusted? Not being trusted with your work and, most importantly, not being trusted with your actions as a human. They think that alone I cannot put out the negativity around my name”.

“It’s just for a few months. And after this is done, we won’t ever need to see each other again, you know?”, she said. 

“You realize that we’re going to be together almost all the time through an entire year, right? Not to mention that we cannot be seeing with anyone else until this deal is done. It will drive both of us insane.”

“We have to make it work”, she shot, making Lando chuckle.

“Why, Y/N?”, he crossed his arms and frowned. “Why did you accept this propose?”

“The publicity is good”, she admitted. “And you know, acting is my passion, but people need to know my name, so I can climb my way up in this industry. I’ve been trying so hard to be successful, but no new roles are offered to me. If fake dating you is a way to go, then I’m doing it”.

“You hate me”, Lando stated, making Y/N roll her eyes once again.

“We hate each other”.

“No, YOU hate me. You’ve hated me since the very first time we met”, he said, making Y/N’s mouth fall agape.

“Well, I had a pretty damn good reason to hate you, didn’t I?”

The first time they met each other was at a gala event in Monaco. Lando was required to appear by his PR team, thinking that having him appearing looking pretty as all hell would be good publicity for him. The same thing happened for Y/N, who had just come out with her first big film and needed to be seen by the public eye. But unfortunately, their first encounter wasn’t what they would consider to be nice.

Her stylist chose a beautiful white dress designed by Oscar de la Renta, with feathers at the bottom, making the dress have movement and her look absolutely fantastic as she walked through that amazingly fancy party. But just as she was starting to enjoy the party, someone bumped into her, spilling their red whine all over her. Before she could say anything, the person that bumped into her spoke up.

“Watch where you’re going, doll”, he laughed after he collided with her body, passing his hand through his shirt, checking if there were any drops on his clothes. “You nearly spilt wine on my shirt”.

He was clearly very drunk, and anyone could see it in his eyes. But Y/N didn’t care. Her perfect and amazing dress was ruined, and the person who trashed it didn’t even fucking care. It made her want to burst into flames.

“You fucking idiot! Look what you’ve done!” Y/N cried, looking down at her dress, now painted pink with the splash of wine. When she looked up, Lando was laughing, mostly because he was so out of himself, that he just couldn’t filter whatever happened a few seconds ago. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

“Sorry”, he said, but proceeded to burp right on her face. Then, the man laughed again. Without any power to continue arguing with him, Y/N left the event and went straight home, not wanting to face another second of that event.

But, it seemed like fate was against her. A week later, after spending some marvellous few days in Monaco, Y/N was invited to watch the Formula 1 Grand Prix by her team. And even though her weekend was going amazing so far, the whole thing went down the drain when she met the same man who ruined her dress a few days ago. Only this time, he wasn’t drunk and he was wearing a racing suit, getting all ready to perform at the track later that day.

“You have got to be fucking joking”, Y/N muttered, low enough so no one could listen to it. Soon, she felt an arm around her, making her turn around and meet her agent, Clara.

“I want you to meet Lando Norris. He’s part of our PR agency as well”, she said, making Y/N walk towards the driver, who was listening to music as the mechanics around him worked at the car. 

Lando didn’t remember meeting Y/N on the gala. He had been so out of himself that night, with all the bad races he was coming from, that he did everything in his will to get out of that reality. So when a beautiful girl crossed paths with him and shot him an angry look, he didn’t understand what he did wrong to deserve such a hateful glance. 

“You don’t remember me?” She frowned once they were introduced again. “Oh, alright. You were so shitfaced that you forgot that you spilt wine over me and didn’t bother to apologize on that gala in Monaco. And then, proceeded to burp right in my face”.

He just couldn’t contain himself, and he laughed once again with the story. “I’m so sorry, baby. But this is actually very funny, sorry”.

Laughing at her face again didn’t do much on making Lando earn points with Y/N. Instead, she proceeded to hate him and make it all crystal clear every time they met on future events. And unfortunately, it happened more times than they enjoyed. After all, having their publicity teams so close to each other, they were often assigned to attend the same events; all of them filled with banters and fights that led them into a lifetime of hatred for each other. Which led them to this very important decision to take.

“Are you actually willing to put everything between us aside for this stunt?”, Lando frowned, not understanding why she would accept that challenge. Y/N took a deep breath and her lips curved into a sad, weak smile.

“I am willing to do anything for my career, Lando. Even pretending to love you”, that was the first time she ever called him Lando since they met. That definitely caught his attention. It definitely made his heart soften.

He knew the feeling of caring so much about your dream to the point of doing anything required to be done in order to achieve it. And for a second, Lando found something that connected Y/N to him: their passion for their jobs. Suddenly, what used to be an angry and confused look, turned soft and understanding just with a few words.

“I’ll do it”, he said, making Y/N breath normally again in relief.

“Okay”, she got up from his seat. But before she could exit the room, Y/N turned around and laughed. “This isn’t going to work, right?”

“Probably not”, Lando laughed too. “But if you feel like this is worthy, I trust you”.

It was one of those rare moments where he would fail on hating Y/N. The moments where his human side spoke louder. And she saw it; this time genuinely smiling to him.

 “Let’s do this, Norris”.

⋘ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 // 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⋙

⤳ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 - @celestialams @lizaschronicles @kapsylia @igotnorrrizz @hiireadstuff @bishhhitsaurion @mrsmaybank13 @bborra @sltwins @riccdannyf1 @kapsylia @67-angelofthelordme-67 @ctrlyomomma @lan4cha16 @alltoomaples @ellen3101 @hellyesjaehyun @tastebaldwin @sweate-r-weathe-r @carmenita122 @m0cha-bunny

crossed means i can't tag you! dm me and maybe we can get it fixed

[moon-buggg]

SCP au drabble

set a week after YN gets taken to the facility, basic au info here

warnings: yn was kidnapped by an offbrand scp foundation after they didn't get killed by Moon and thats whats being discussed and im not sure how to tag that. Yn is a little emotionally dumb, flirty sun

no word count because I wrote this in the tumblr post maker in a frenzied haze

-

"You are stuck here... because of us?" Sun asks, carefully, tentatively. His, frankly, absurdly tall body hunches over so he can be at eye level. Under any other circumstances, you'd be terrified of the strange creature trying to comfort you. As is, his presence is incredibly comforting; the sole friendly face in a sea of questionable actors.

"I mean, pretty sure they expected Moon to kill me," Sun flinches just slightly, ears tilting ever so slightly back, "so I don't think I was ever meant to leave this stupid place, anyways."

You'd fallen asleep in the darkness of what you now know as Sun and Moon's room, and had awoken to several researchers and armed guards preparing you for a barrage of tests. Those first few days had been a horrible mess of exhausting tests and tedious interviews as your white-coated captors tried desperately to discover what made you different.

Why you'd survived.

They still hadn't found anything, but at least the tests seemed to be slowing down ever so slightly. After an uneventful introduction to the more passive, daytime version of the thing they expected to kill you, it was decided that you'd be allowed to visit him once every other day.

Jury seemed to still be out on if it was worth risking another encounter with Moon.

"It's not your fault," you add after a beat of silence, "or Moon's for that matter. You're both trapped here just as much as I am."

A soft, crooning sound rumbles out from Sun's chest as he slinks back into a seated position that leaves him still about a head taller than you. Gentle lights pulse across his fur, barely visible under the harsh fluorescent lights. He seems to struggle to find the right words, before giving up.

Carefully, as if approaching a startled animal, he reaches out a hand. When you don't react to the long claws coming at you, he continues. Turning over his hand to keep those sharp claws decisively away from you, he runs his knuckles over your head in a clear attempt at a comforting gesture.

It's startling how much it works.

"Oh starlight, far too kind for a place like this." His voice is soft and quiet in a way that makes your face feel warm. You choose not to think about it too hard. "You shouldn't be locked away."

"Neither should you." The words are harsh and automatic, and seem to startle Sun who draws back as if burnt. His glowing fur brightens significantly, its starting to get uncomfortable to look at, actually.

He recovers quickly.

"There you go," the words are teasingly chiding, "proving me right starlight." He reaches a long claw out again, this time using his knuckle to gently boop your nose.

He bends, using his long neck to crowd into your space. It's hard not to feel a little threatened by those big teeth so close to your face, and Sun's widening smile does little to help. Seems like you can't help but feel flustered today.

"At least you'll have me to keep you company." His voice is just a bit too hopeful, like he's desperate for you to agree. Poor guy seems utterly starved of positive affection. The urge to comfort him is hard to ignore, so you don't.

It's easy enough to thread your fingers into the long mane of fur that frames his face. The feeling is distracting, it's so warm...

Movement brings you back to the moment as Sun leans ever so slightly into your touch. Right, right, you had a reason for this.

"We're in this together," you say in what you hope is your most sturdy, comforting voice. Sun's presence has done a lot for you in the few days you've been here so far, and you want to do your best to be a comforting presence to him in return. You don't miss the way his fur seems to glow brighter and hotter at your words.

Acutely aware of where your hands are, you realize that grabbing a giant monsters face out of no where probably wasn't your best idea.

"Sorry!" you quickly release Sun's face, your own face hot with embarrassment, "Sorry! I shouldn't have just grabbed you like-"

"We didn't mind, starlight," he interrupts, pulling back out of your personal bubble. His hand ghost over where you touched, smoothing the fur back down, "no, don't mind at all."

[sunny44]

Co-parenting (Part 1)

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x ex wife!reader

Warnings: Carlos being a bitch, fighting and maybe other things.

Summary: Co-parenting is never easy but y/n never though it would be so hard.

Next Chapter

Carlos and I got divorced 2 years ago, and currently, we share custody of our daughter, which means I have her since Carlos travels a lot due to racing, so every weekend he’s free, he comes and picks up Maeve.

But this time I had a very unpleasant surprise.

Being famous, I was always aware of what was happening with Carlos, even if I didn’t want to, and a few months ago, rumors came out that he was with some model, and when we separated, we made an agreement that any person who entered romantically into our lives, we would introduce to each other before involving that person in our daughter’s life.

But it seems Carlos had a problem when it comes to him.

I crossed my arms watching Carlos and the model girlfriend get out of the car and come towards my door, besides not notifying me about it, he simply brought her along without any prior discussion or approval.

The doorbell rang, and I walked to the front door, and there were Carlos and Rebecca, both trying to look welcoming and unconcerned.

“Hi, Y/n,” Carlos said, smiling. “How are you?”

“What is this?” I asked, pointing to the two of them.

“What do you mean?”

“You demand an agreement, and when it comes to you, you simply ignore it.” He took a deep breath.

“I know, but we’ve been dating for a while, and I thought it was time for you to meet her.”

“Meet her?” Y/n’s voice trembled with frustration. “You can’t make this decision alone, Carlos. We are her parents, and this should be a decision we make together, not something you just think is a good idea and ignore the fact that I am her mother.”

Rebecca stepped forward, with a gentle voice.

“Y/n, I really just want to get to know her. I’m not trying to replace you.”

And my frustration only intensified.

“It’s not about replacing me. It’s about us making decisions together for our daughter, and that doesn’t involve you being here.” Carlos sighed, running his hand through his hair.

“Look, it wasn’t our intention to make you uncomfortable. Let’s talk about this, okay?”

“Oh, so now you want to talk?”

“Can you stop being so difficult? She’s my daughter too.”

“Then start acting like a father instead of going around kissing models in clubs and then bringing them to my doorstep.”

“I am a father when I can be because my life is very busy, and you knew that when we had her.” He says arms crossed. “Maybe you should stop being a terrible mother making me lose the little time I have with my daughter, and then we talk about it.”

“Carlos.” Rebecca speaks as he finishes.

“You know what, if anyone here is a terrible parent, it’s you who prefers to spend your weekends in a car racing in circles and risking leaving your daughter without a father. I’m here every day doing the best I can to take care of her, but apparently, that makes me a terrible mother, so I’ll call her and you do whatever you want since it’s always been like this.”

I enter the house holding back my tears and go call her, she was so excited to see her dad that she didn’t even notice the tension between us, and I thanked god for that.

He tried to talk to me before leaving, but I just said goodbye to Maeve and closed the door, but I couldn’t help but notice that Rebecca wasn’t there anymore.

…

Hours passed and when the end of the day came, I heard the noise of his car, so I went to the door, and when I opened it, she came running.

“Mom, look.” She said showing me a bag full of things. “I’ll show you everything after I take a shower and have dinner.”

“Okay, my love, go ahead.” She smiles, says goodbye to him, and goes to her room.

“Can we talk?”

“No, I don’t want to talk to you.” I tried to close the door, but he held it. “You’ve already said what you think of me, and I’ve already said what I think of you; I don’t think we have anything else to say.”

“What I said is not what I really think.”

“In fact, it is, at least part of you thinks that way, and I’m not going to take back what I said about you because I think that way. I know it’s your career, but I won’t admit that you break our rule, tell me I’m a terrible mother, and then come back wanting to apologize.” He doesn’t say anything. “You don’t know how hard it is to see the guy you loved more than anything with someone else, but especially to see the father of your daughter say that you’re a terrible mother even though I work really hard to give her the best life I can.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That won’t fix things this time, Carlos.” I say looking into his eyes. “You don’t do anything to make my life easier; you show up, do your fatherly duty for a weekend while I stay here dealing with everything else. I don’t have the option of having only the easy parts of having a child. I have to deal with the pressure of being a single mother, having to hide from her every time I need to cry because I can’t take it anymore doing this alone, or having to leave her with my parents because I can’t even get out of bed to take care of her while you’re out there sticking your tongue down supermodels’ throats.”

“I didn’t know you felt this way.”

“And how would you know? You’re never here.” He doesn’t say anything. “I don’t need anything from you, not anymore. The time when I needed you here has passed, and I hope it never comes back.”

“Is everything okay, mommy?” Maeve asks appearing on the stairs, having taken a shower and wearing pajamas.

“Yes, my love, what do you want to eat?” I say wiping my tears.

“I want nuggets with veggies.”

“Okay, so let’s make them.”

“Are you going to have dinner here, daddy?”

“No, my love, I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“But don’t you have to go travel?”

“I do, but not now.”

“Okay.” She goes to him and then comes back to the table. “I’ll really come to pick her up tomorrow if that’s okay with you.”

“Okay.”

“Bye.” He leaves, and I lock everything.

“Mommy, where are you?” She screams from the kitchen.

“I’m coming baby.”

I’m not sure if I’ll write a part 2 but if you guys want another part, let me know.

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

FABIEN FRANKEL AND MATT SMITH DISCUSS THEIR CHARACTERS FOR FORBES MAGAZINE.

frankel talking about criston and daemon:

“They both have a great kind of violence inside of them, and they’re good at it.”

“So, with that kind of mindset, you’re therefore drawn to putting yourself in situations where you can let that violence out, to some extent.”

“I think they’re also kind of both suffering great loss.”

“I think weirdly for Criston, it’s like his loss of freedom.”

“I think once he left being a solider and became a member of King’s Landing, he lost his freedom in his head.”

“Then obviously for Daemon, it’s his brother - loss and violence, I suppose.”

matt smith added:

“I would sort of echo those sentiments, really.”

“I think strangely, as well, when you look at them, they are both at times - they are both kind of frightened little boys, aren’t they, without any real guidance.”

while seated beside frankel during our conversation, matt smith said to his house of the dragon co-star:

“You never really hear about your sort of family back home at all, do you?”

“Perhaps they were quite isolated as young people.”

“There’s a scene in the first season where [our characters] get together and there’s a mini sort of standoff, and I think there’s a recognition in them both that they’re probably more similar than they let on.”

matt smith on daemon targaryen in s2:

“Well, I don’t really judge his decisions too much.”

“I just try and engage in the behavior as truthfully as I can on behalf of him, so to speak.”

“I don’t think, ultimately, he’s very interested in power.”

“I think he’s more interested in chaos and disorder and the thrill of - I don’t know, it’s like being on a jet ski with an axe in your hand, riding towards an army.”

“He lives for whatever that feeling is, if you could kind of bottle that up.”

“When he’s not feeling something akin to that, he just causes problems.”

“He’s outlandish.”

when asking frankel for his thought process as an acting partner with olivia cooke during those heated scenes, he said:

“I don’t want to speak too much to sort of what Olivia and I have spoken about, because I think that it’s for the audience to decide what they see as the sort of justification for the relationship - be that the genuine love or infatuation, or whether it’s a strategic move on either of their parts, because there’s benefits for both of them, I suppose.”

“What I will say is those scenes, in general, really come down to having an amazing director and Clare Kilner, who helmed sort of the majority of mine and Olivia’s kind of romantic-type scenes, made that such a collaborative experience and such an easy one.”

“Thankfully, Olivia is a great friend and very easy to work with.”

i was curious as to what smith and frankel would say to their somewhat enigmatic characters, if only they could.

instead of answering for his own character first, smith jokingly said of frankel’s criston:

Well, I’d go up to Criston Cole and I’d go, ‘Mate, you need to change your wardrobe. You’re always in that.’

frankel added with his message for criston:

“I think I’d say - take a holiday, son.”

“I think he’s just like been - he needs to get out of there for a moment.”

“That trip to Essos sounds pretty lovely, really.”

“Get himself some fresh oranges and make a mimosa.”

matt smith concluded:

“I’d say to Daemon - have you thought of going dark?”

“Hair color, really.”

“Have you thought of a ‘new hair, new you’ sort of thing?”

“It might change your perspective.”

[starsjulia]

perfect just the way you are // leah williamson

leah williamson x neurodivergent reader

a/n : i’m literally editing and uploading all my drafts because im on a writing grind, please feel free to send requests! also this is not an accurate representation of neuroscience, this is just one of the ways i experience it!!

warnings : none really! just comfort

Leah Williamson had always been known for her steady presence, the kind of calm that could anchor an entire team even in the most intense moments. She was the one you could rely on to keep a cool head, to make the right decisions under pressure, and to maintain a certain level of detachment that kept her focused on the game. But when it came to Y/N, all of that went out the window.

Y/N was different. She wasn’t the kind of person who faded into the background or followed the crowd. Her mind was a kaleidoscope of interests and ideas, always buzzing with energy. It wasn’t uncommon for her to launch into a discussion about the migration patterns of monarch butterflies in the middle of dinner or to suddenly start wondering aloud about the physics of time travel while walking through a park. Y/N’s quirks made her endearing to those who knew her well, but they could also make her stand out in ways that weren’t always easy.

One evening, the Arsenal girls were out celebrating a hard-fought win at a cozy restaurant in town. Leah had invited Y/N along, as she always did, eager to have her by her side during the rare moments of relaxation they all shared. Y/N had been excited, rambling on about a new documentary she’d watched on ancient civilizations as they made their way to the restaurant.

The team had gathered around a long table, laughter and chatter filling the room. Y/N was seated next to Leah, as always, with Katie McCabe and Alessia Russo across from them. Y/N was her usual vibrant self, animatedly discussing the concept of time in different cultures with Alessia, who was doing her best to keep up.

“So, in ancient Egypt,” Y/N began, her hands moving as she spoke, “time was seen as this cyclical thing, not linear like we think of it today. They believed that everything was part of this ongoing cycle, which is why their rituals were so important—”

Alessia, though genuinely interested, was starting to get a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information. She was about to respond when Beth Mead, who was seated a few spots down, cut in with a lighthearted, but careless comment.

“Y/N, do you ever talk about anything normal?” Beth said, her tone teasing, tough Y/N sometimes had difficulty differentiating tones.

The words hung in the air for a moment, and the table went quiet. Y/N’s face fell, the light in her eyes dimming as she processed what had been said. She tried to hide it, but Leah saw the hurt flash across her features.

Leah’s expression hardened almost immediately. She knew Beth hadn’t meant any harm—Beth was like that sometimes, saying things without thinking—but that didn’t make it any less painful for Y/N. Leah felt a surge of protectiveness rise up within her, a need to shield Y/N from any hurt, intentional or not.

“Beth,” Leah’s voice was calm, but there was a steely edge to it that made everyone at the table look up. “That wasn’t necessary.”

Beth blinked, realizing too late that her comment had hit a nerve. “Oh, Y/N, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly, her tone apologetic. “I just—”

But Y/N was already pulling back into herself, her earlier enthusiasm snuffed out like a candle in the wind. She offered a small, strained smile, brushing it off. “No, it’s fine. I know I can be a bit… much sometimes.”

Leah felt her heart clench at the words. She hated hearing Y/N talk about herself like that, as though her passions and quirks were something to apologize for. Without a second thought, Leah slid her chair closer to Y/N, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into a comforting embrace.

“You’re not too much,” Leah whispered into her ear, her voice soft and reassuring. “You’re perfect, just the way you are.”

Y/N leaned into Leah’s side, the tension in her body slowly easing as she took comfort in Leah’s presence. “Really?” she asked, her voice small, filled with the vulnerability she so rarely let show.

“Really,” Leah confirmed, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “I love the way your mind works, the way you see the world. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, though she quickly blinked them away, not wanting to make a scene. “I just… I never want to embarrass you.”

Leah’s expression softened, her hand gently cupping Y/N’s cheek as she turned her to face her. “You could never embarrass me. You’re the most incredible person I know, and I’m so proud of you—of everything that makes you who you are. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you need to change, least of all yourself.”

Y/N looked into Leah’s eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity and love reflected back at her. It was a balm to the wound that Beth’s accidental, careless words had opened, and she felt a wave of gratitude wash over her. Leah always knew how to make her feel seen, understood, and cherished in a way that no one else ever had.

Katie, who had been watching the exchange with a guilty look, leaned over and nudged Beth, who was still looking mortified. “Apologize properly,” Katie whispered, her tone gentle but firm.

Beth nodded, her earlier bravado replaced with genuine remorse. “Y/N, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I was just being a bit of an idiot.”

Y/N gave her a small, forgiving smile. “It’s okay, Beth. I know you didn’t mean it. I just… I get excited about things sometimes.”

Beth smiled back, relieved. “We all love that about you, Y/N. Keep being you, yeah?”

Y/N nodded, her spirits lifting slightly as the atmosphere around the table relaxed once more. Leah kept her arm around her, though, not letting go until she was sure Y/N was truly okay.

The rest of the evening passed without incident, the conversation flowing more naturally now that everyone was a bit more mindful. Leah stayed close to Y/N, making sure she felt supported and included, even as the topics shifted to more mundane matters.

Later, as they walked back to Leah’s place, Y/N was quieter than usual, her thoughts still lingering on what had happened. Leah noticed, of course—she always noticed.

“Hey,” Leah said softly, stopping in her tracks and turning to face Y/N. “You alright?”

Y/N shrugged, her eyes downcast. “I just… I don’t want people to think I’m weird, you know? I know I can be intense, and sometimes I worry that people just tolerate me because they have to.”

Leah’s heart ached at the vulnerability in Y/N’s voice. She took Y/N’s hands in hers, squeezing them gently. “You’re not weird, and people don’t just tolerate you. They care about you, Y/N. You bring something special to every room you walk into. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Y/N looked up at her, her eyes searching Leah’s for any sign of doubt. But all she saw was unwavering love and support, and it made her heart swell with emotion.

“You really think so?” Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.

Leah nodded, her expression soft but resolute. “I do, Y/N. I think the world of you, and so do the others. Your mind, your heart, everything that makes you who you are—it’s all incredible to me.”

Y/N looked down at their joined hands, her thoughts swirling. “Sometimes it just feels like I’m too much. Like��� people don’t really get me, and I’m just annoying them with the way I am.”

Leah’s grip on Y/N’s hands tightened, a surge of protectiveness washing over her. “I know it can feel like that sometimes, but I promise you, it’s not true. You’re not too much, Y/N. You’re exactly enough, exactly who you’re supposed to be. And anyone who doesn’t see that—well, they’re missing out on something amazing.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears again, but this time they were tears of relief, of gratitude. She felt the weight of her insecurities lifting, bit by bit, as Leah’s words sank in. “But what if… what if I’m too much for you?”

Leah’s heart broke at the vulnerability in Y/N’s voice. She reached up, gently cupping Y/N’s face in her hands, forcing her to meet her gaze. “You could never be too much for me, Y/N. I love every part of you. Your energy, your passion, the way you light up when you talk about something that excites you—I love all of it. You make my life brighter just by being in it.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her hands trembling slightly as she absorbed Leah’s words. “I just… I don’t want to be a burden to you. I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me all the time.”

Leah shook her head, her thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. “You’re not a burden, not in the slightest. Being with you, caring for you, loving you—it’s the greatest privilege of my life. I want to be there for you, Y/N, in every way I can. Because that’s what love is. It’s about being there for each other, lifting each other up, and making sure we both feel safe and cherished.”

Y/N sniffled, a small, tentative smile starting to form on her lips. “You make me feel that way, Leah. You make me feel like I’m… enough.”

“You are more than enough,” Leah whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N’s forehead, letting her lips linger there as she spoke. “You’re everything to me. And I’ll spend every day reminding you of that, if that’s what it takes.”

Y/N closed her eyes, letting the warmth of Leah’s words and touch envelop her. She felt the last of her doubts melting away, replaced by a deep sense of security and love. Leah had always been her rock, her safe place, and in moments like this, she knew there was nothing they couldn’t face together.

“I love you so much,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible, but filled with all the emotion she felt in her heart.

Leah pulled back just enough to look into Y/N’s eyes, her own gaze filled with tenderness. “And I love you, Y/N. More than you’ll ever know.”

For a moment, they just stood there, wrapped up in each other, the world around them fading into the background. There was nothing but the sound of their breathing, the feel of their hands intertwined, and the steady, comforting beat of their hearts.

Eventually, Leah broke the silence, her voice soft but firm. “You know what I think?”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, curiosity piqued. “What?”

Leah smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Y/N’s ear. “I think you’re one of the most extraordinary people I’ve ever met. And I’m not just saying that because I love you. I’m saying it because it’s true. You see the world in ways most people can’t even begin to understand, and that’s a gift. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you need to dim that light.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with emotion, her earlier doubts fading into the background as Leah’s words wrapped around her like a warm blanket. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for loving me like this.”

Leah’s smile widened, her eyes shining with affection. “I’m the one who’s thankful, Y/N. Thankful that I get to love you, that I get to be the person by your side. I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

Y/N felt a deep sense of peace settle over her, the kind that came from knowing she was truly loved for who she was. With Leah by her side, she felt like she could face anything the world threw at her. Because Leah wasn’t just her partner—she was her safe place, her anchor, and the person who made her feel like she was perfect just the way she was.

[z00oo1]

Collin and Penelope Fics

We Can't Be Friends by LovelyMagnolia

Penelope and Colin are two people who have never quite managed to get their timing right, but maybe all they need is one night to fix that. Modern AU

Yellow Dress by CassandraGoth

She wants only to secure a marriage that will allow her the freedom she needs to escape from under her mother's thumb and continue writing. But the unexpected return of a traveling gentleman and a sizeable bounty placed by the Queen to unmask a troublesome author.

A Wallflower's Bloom by Enganda

"Are you mad? I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington." Brokenhearted from the words she heard from her childhood love, Penelope Featherington had decided to change her ways and prove herself worthy of being loved.

A Pound To A Penelope by FirstLadyJane

After having spent the off-season licking her wounds, Penelope comes back to Mayfair a pragmatic woman determined to take control of her fate. She's on a mission to cement her spinsterhood and accept a standing job offer in Ireland.

The Great Stage of Fools by lottielots11

Penelope is finally engaged to the man she has loved for most of her life, and she could not be happier if it wasn't for the secret which hangs over them. And with Colin's reluctance to even discuss Whistledown, how will they ever overcome their differences in order to marry?

Scattered Flowers by Cortlandia33

After her fallout with Eloise and hearing Colin's declaration to never marry her in front of the entire Ton, Penelope left high society and found a cottage in the country. Now, almost three years later, her choice comes back to haunt her when a certain someone begs for her forgiveness... and her heart.

the last one in your corner by my_middle_name_is_awkward

Penelope cannot agree to marry Colin because she knows Eloise will not approve

Kintsugi by Metamorphases

Watch as Colin Bridgerton goes to increasingly mad lengths to keep Penelope Featherington safe and sound (and away from other suitors).

Dark is the world's night without you my love by angellus08

Penelope meets someone from Colin's past and her old insecurities crop up.

Affection by lixabiz

Colin returns to London for the Season of 1815, hoping to reconnect with his friend Penelope - only to discover that everything has changed between them.

Attachment by lixabiz

(Set post S2. Some elements from the S3 synopsis, but not a prediction fic.)

Butterfly's Reverie by CassandraGoth

What might have changed had Penelope told Colin privately that her cousin Marina Thompson was with child? Not an easy scandal from which to untangle himself without the public protection of Lady Whistledown’s society papers.

Foolish One by LeighAnne_Balsdon

Colin announces his engagement to Marina and Penelope doesn't take it very well. She makes a hasty decision to run away from Mayfair, to save her broken heart. When Colin and Eloise find out that Penelope is missing they decide to look for her themselves. What they find, however, is something no one was expecting.

One of us has got to change by itsjustabee

Colin and Penelope accidentally wear matching outfits to the Bridgerton ball

My Give a Fucks are On Vacation by SuzyH_82

It’s just a pity that for the last three years, she’s also been Colin’s ‘friends with benefits’ friend. I mean, it’s not like Colin could ever want a relationship…technically he already has a very public girlfriend…his fellow presenter Marina, on his travel log TV show. However, after their latest hook-up, Penelope overhears Colin talking to the press and realizes Colin is never going to see her as anything more than a friend and she finally decides to move on with her life.

i chose this cyclone with you (my heart exploding) by Vryalys

Well perchance it is I who do not wish to marry you any longer,” she hissed furiously at him, her eyes prickling as she moved away from him to the farthest end of the coach bench. She pulled at his mother’s ring from her finger, where she was sure it no longer belonged. “I will not marry a man who loathes to even look at me.”

The Disappearance of Penelope Featherington by hippiechick7897

Penelope Featherington leaves the many scandals of her life behind to start anew while Colin desperately searches to find her and bring her back home. When they are reunited, Colin finds a threat he had not anticipated and wonders if he's too late to secure the affections of the woman he's just realized is his love.

Violet's Fifth Daughter by kermitthefrogstanaccount

Penelope faints at her and Colin’s engagement dinner and Violet gives a piece of her mind to Eloise about continuing to love Penelope after everything that’s happened.

Ruin by Sea_Dragonfly

Colin wouldn't remember the details of what his mother told him next. He would remember her hand warm on his knee, her eyes wide with concern, her voice gentle as velvet. All of it in stark contrast to the devastating news she shared. Penelope was ruined.

Dishonest Conquest by lilyeval

Colin is such a gracious helper, he ruins Penelope’s every opportunity with her suitors. So protective of her honor, he even lets himself into her very private bedroom.

Just Having Fun by Spartangal22

When Eloise arrives home from Scotland, the very first place she goes is to see her best friend and brother in their home. And since they’re family, the rules of social etiquette need hardly apply. Why should she bother knocking?

her mother's daughter by secretlydelighted

the story where Lord Debling's son is courting Agatha Bridgerton and Colin is not having it, because why is another vegetarian all up in his business?

Meet Me at Midnight by Sevens11073003

Or eight times Penelope runs into a Bridgerton on the way to Colin’s room + the one time she runs into Colin on the way to bed.

have my back, yeah, every day by my_middle_name_is_awkward

Colin had very little patience for Cressida Cowper before he and Penelope were engaged. Now, he must make it clear that he will not tolerate her comments about his soon-to-be wife.

Unreliable Narrator by WhiskeyTinCup

Eloise has a lifelong habit of overreacting to Penelope's love life and everyone knows it, even if she refuses to acknowledge it.

I Do Not Want To Stand By Your Side by magentaverse

She didn’t need a love declaration. She certainly didn’t need him to sign his life to her. She just needed his love. A few smiles and his willing ear. But Colin Bridgerton did what he did best—he changed the course of her life the moment he muttered, "I do not want to stand by your side, Penelope Featherington."

Best Laid Plans meet MissCarriage by sanoiro

Or The unconventional birthing place of - the fated to be Adventurous - Miss Agatha Bridgerton...

Why do fools fall in love by NomDeJeen

Now that they are married, Colin wants Penelope to *win* the heir race with her sisters.

Benedict offers some unexpected advice.

It goes about how you would expect.

of manmade tales & honest lies by cchampdelevande

just saw someone asking "what if penelope finds out she's pregnant right after the lady whistledown fight with colin" and i genuinely think shonda is not above torturing us like that

Newton vs The Bridgerton Men by Lovelymagnolia

In which, Newton figures out Penelope's pregnant before she does, Colin develops beef with a dog, and a longstanding battle between Newton and all the Bridgerton men is unearthed.

Cracks by Vellinae

It’s a winter of firsts for everyone. It’s Colin and Penelope’s first winter as a married couple. It’s Penelope’s first time putting on ice skates and venturing onto the frozen lake with the entire Bridgerton family. It’s Colin’s first time watching the ice crack, just barely out of reach, and seeing his wife disappear into the murky water below.

At Least It Wasn't A Duel by SugMak

When Penelope sends Colin out of the house so she can focus on his journals, he hears Fife and the Toxic Lord crew talking about Penelope's breasts. He doesn't take it well. He's not particularly looking forward to her finding out about it.

Tintiddle Talks by goddammitfandom

Anthony ruins a wonderful family picnic by bringing up Colin's past indiscretions. He gets answers that somehow make him even angrier.

Tried to Pick My Battles 'Til the Battle Picked Me by headphonesbaby

Colin always seems to find an issue with Pen's boyfriends

I Wish You Knew by threefundamentaltruths

 which Colin and Penelope ran away together to escape the queen's wrath.

Visiting A Farm by ancoraimparo_youknowwho

Eloise is back from Scotland and eager to meet Her bestie. But things start on a very wrong note because who the hell does THAT to their wife??!!! Right??

uh-oh i'm fallin' in love (oh no) by stolemystarl17

Colin didn't stop the proposal at the Queen's Ball, but he can stop the banns.

grieving for the living by itwasglorious

Penelope marries Lord Debling and Colin cannot watch. So Colin leaves and Penelope settles into married life. A year later he returns.

Stand By Me by Musicalmidget

Penelope has been keeping another secret from Colin but upon see his family together at Francesca's wedding, she decides it's time to tell him and her plan for Lady Whistledown. This is a continuation of the scene from the study and will continue until the epilogue.

An Honorary Bridgerton by My_middle_name_is_awkward

The Bridgertons have always loved Penelope Featherington as if she was one of them.

Of course, they are all ecstatic that Colin will be making her an official Bridgerton, instead of just one of honorary status.

Scraped up off the pavement by missparker

After Penelope falls out with Eloise over her popular gossip blog, all the Bridgertons cut contact with her. Penelope moves to Scotland and buys a book shop and gets on with her life.

That is, until she spots Colin Bridgerton at the coffee shop next door.

Catch & Release by TonyStarksAngstyHeart

Everyone develops a tiny crush on Penelope as they wait, betting of course, for Colin to pull his head out of his arse.

Spanning 1803-1821

P-E-To-The-T-T-Y by jerrymander

Colin may be coming to terms with Penelope’s family but that does not mean he has forgiven them for their slights against Penelope.

Plenitude by HaveredSolitude

Colin and Penelope are faced with difficult decisions when complications arise during the birth of their baby. With the help of their family, they navigate through memories and feelings, confronting adversity with the strength of their bond.

Ran out room so here the link to part 2

[ghoulishneeds]

✧ ─𝐼𝓉’𝓈 𝒜𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝒾𝓅𝓁𝑒─ ✧

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✧𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: You unwittingly accept the same bounty as Cooper. Things go sideways in a shootout and Cooper decides to teach ya a lesson

✧𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Cooper Howard x F!Reader

✧𝒞𝒲: dubcon, choking, spanking, language, smut, irradiated creampie, unbeta’d we die like men

✧𝒲𝒞: 4.6K+

◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆

◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆

You adjusted the bag, heavy on your right shoulder. Relief washed through you as you hit the top of a dune and saw the next town.

Not far at all. If you were right, he was in the town.

You approached the makeshift gate protecting the town, and the armed guard stepped out of his shack. The guy was so tanked he was barely standing. He barely even looked you up and down before opening the gate.

Top-notch security.

You pressed on through the town. It was relatively late, with firelight illuminating the majority of the square. Some vendors were still open, trying to push their wares on newcomers and bartering with regulars.

Making your way through the crowd, questioning a few people here and there, you were careful not to raise any suspicion. An old man selling rusted Vault-Tec equipment told you about a few faces he hadn’t seen before, headed towards the bar. Thanking him, you scanned the streetline. The bar sat on the far end of the town, against the other gate.

Perfect. Easy out.

Discreetly reloading your pistol and reholstering it, you headed towards the bar.

You pushed the half-broken door open and the smell of cigarette smoke and concentrated liquor hit you. You sat at the nearest corner of the bar and ordered a drink. While the bartender poured your drink, your eyes scanned the faces in the bar. You tilted the glass back, the room-temperature liquor burning your throat on the way down.

A sharp laugh pulled your eyes towards a table near the back. A short, heavy-set man was throwing back a beer and telling an elaborate story.

The target.

You watched him for a moment, making the decision that it would definitely be easier the drunker he got. You settled in, ordering a second drink.

Turning the drink back and setting the glass back down, you looked around again.

There was an interesting blend of people in here, not surprising considering the top-tier security.

There was a table closer to you, where raiders were sharing drinks and discussing the towns they’d hit. The couple next to you at the bar appeared to be older-model synths.

Your eyes passed them to land on a man at the end of the bar. Even with the shadow cast by the brim of his cowboy hat, you could tell he was a ghoul.

You looked him over. Wearing tattered cowboy attire, he looked very pre-war, you thought to yourself. Hell, he even had spurs on. Radioactive cowboy. The thought made you smirk.

When your eyes moved back to his face, he was looking back at you. You almost jumped. His face was unreadable. His eyes burned into you and you let yourself look over his features for a brief second. You could see where he may have been handsome before. Save a horse ride a cowboy. You looked him up and down. His brow furrowed and you quickly shifted your eyes away. The negative expression almost made you embarrassed.

You kicked back the rest of your drink, the alcohol buzzing under your skin, warm. You could still feel the man’s eyes on you and you chanced a glance back at him.

His eyes were on your hip, where your pistol sat in its holster. Apprehension started hitting your system. It was never a good thing when someone looked a little too close at your gun, and he looked pissed.

His eyes flickered back to your face and you held his gaze. His eyes were almost the same color as the liquor filling the cup in your hand. Hm, pretty. The thought slipped through your mind.

There was movement at his waist and your eyes dropped down.

He had shifted the tattered coat back, the revolver at his hip very visible now. Your brow furrowed as you processed what he was silently conveying.

And it clicked.

Bounty hunter.

You huffed a sigh, frustrated. He was here for the same fucking bounty. You turned your attention back to the bartender and ordered another drink, quickly finishing it.

You needed to regroup. This was a fucking problem. A bounty THIS big? It was going to come down to more than one body on the ground, and you’d be damned if it was yours.

You just had to get to him first.

You glanced at the other bounty hunter again. He wasn’t looking at you anymore and you let your thoughts slow down for a second.

Worried if you left the bar, the ghoul would just take the target right there in the middle of it. Worried if you got in the way, you’d be taken out.

The problem rectified itself when the man staggered towards the bar to clear out his tab. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he leaned over the bar to toss caps at the tender. Your eyes caught the ghoul’s through the man’s arms and your heart rate jumped.

The man and his friends stumbled their way out of the bar. You took the small opportunity and blended into their group, moving with them out of the bar. You split off slightly to the right and followed from a small distance.

Making sure to keep the bar in your peripheral, watching for the break of light that would announce the ghoul’s exit from the establishment.

They made their way towards an inn across the street from the bar. This end of the street was relatively desolate, save for a few drunks and the occasional stray.

You made the quick decision that it was now or never. You drew your pistol, intending to just take his friends out with him. Solve the whole problem. You aimed and pressed your finger over the trigger. Before you could pull, a shot rang out and metal flew past your left ear. You whipped around, gun pointed at the source.

The ghoul.

You locked eyes with the other bounty hunter, your heart racing as you both stood ready with your weapons drawn. He was lean, holding the revolver one-handed. You struggled to keep your breath steady.

The tension had a physical weight to it.

The group behind you drew their own weapons in response to the shot. Another shot sounded from behind you and you took the chance, firing at the other bounty hunter. The bullet hit him square on, but the only thing he did was shift with the impact.

Gunfire exploded around you and chaos erupted.

Dirt and smoke made it nearly impossible to see in the already dim fire-lit street. You cut your losses. There was no fucking way you were making it out of the shootout without at least getting maimed. Can’t make money if you’re fucking incapacitated.

You peeled off from the violence, skirting the fence line. Finding a gap in the sheets of metal, you paused, glancing back.

The shots were slowing now, only one or two being fired in the last minute. You could only see his outline, but even with that, you could tell he was facing you. Panicked breath pushed out of you and you squeezed through the gap.

You hauled ass through the desert.

“Fuck. FUCK.” You gritted your teeth, fucking furious. At the interruption and at yourself for high-tailing it out of there. Sighing, you drew your gun, going to reload it out of habit. You dropped the magazine out and frowned at it. You laughed. It sounded empty. No need to reload; you’d pussied out and only fired one bullet. You jammed the mag back in and reholstered it. Rolling your eyes, you pressed on.

There was another town to the east. Not far. Maybe a day and a half’s walk. The plus-side of the wasteland and this line of work, business was usually booming.

You made your way towards the town, moving for most of the night. You traveled as far as you could before exhaustion began to set in. You kicked up more sand and moved slower, tiredness making you sluggish.

Against an outcrop, you set up a small makeshift camp. You wrestled with the decision to light a fire or not, but the cold mixing with the ache in your muscles pushed you to take the risk. You were fairly confident you could handle any radroaches it might attract. You settled down onto your sleeping mat and watched the flames for a while before sleep weighed your eyelids down and you slipped away.

Your sleep was dreamless, warm and grey.

There was a sound nearby, but you couldn’t identify it.

Shink, shink.

It was a slow, repetitive sound that gently pulled you out of sleep.

You opened your eyes to the flames, blinking sleepily until the blurred image became identifiable.

Shink.

It was a slow metallic sound.

A knife?

You jolted upright, your head snapping towards the sound. Hot panic overrode any remaining grogginess when your eyes focused on him.

The ghoul.

He was sitting on one of the rocks to the right of your mat, knees bent, sharpening the blade that belonged in the empty holster on one side of his hip. His eyes were dark, reflecting the firelight, watching you.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.” His voice was a heavy drawl, sinking under your skin.

You tensed, your heart racing, adrenaline surging through you as you scanned your surroundings for an escape route. The ghoul just watched you, sharpening the knife while eyeing you up. His face was neutral, if not almost amused.

Keeping your eyes on his, your hand moved for your pistol and connected with your hip. Cold fear hit you and you dropped your gaze to your hip. It wasn’t just the gun. The whole holster was gone. You looked back up and he was holding the pistol.

“You were looking for this, darlin’?” He tilted his head, smirking. Your eyes jumped between him and the gun.

“You ran off so fast I couldn’t thank you properly for the hole you put in me,” his voice was honeyed, raspy. Dark eyes burned into you and his face set into a frown. Fear pumped through you.

“You followed me out here to settle the score?” you asked. You weren’t honestly surprised. You shouldn’t have stopped for the night; you should’ve pushed on to the town.

Fuck.

The ghoul chuckled, a low rasp almost. “Well, darlin’, I certainly couldn’t let you put a bullet in me and think you were just gonna trot off into the sunset.” He looked at you like it was obvious. Like you should have known he’d follow you out into the desert. Track you like an animal.

You mentally sped through your options. Stay put and you were definitely getting killed, run and there was a chance. Your eyes cut to the left, a clear path over the outcrop. You tensed, getting ready to move the second you had a chance. When you looked back at the ghoul, he was leaning back, your pistol on his knee.

“Oh, sweetheart, I gotta tell ya,” he stood, grinning now. “I like it when they run.”

You bolted. Kicking sand up behind you in the scramble to get up right. Adrenaline flooded through you, prompting your legs to move faster. You scrambled over the outcrop and hesitated. Your stomach dropped at the sight in front of you. The desert went on as far as you could see, in a flat barren smear of orange across the landscape. No cover.

Doesn't matter. You've got to move. You started moving again but your moment of hesitation closed the distance between the two of you.

A sharp glance over your shoulder as you scrambled down the side of the dune showed you just how close he'd been to you. You furrowed your brow. He definitely could've gotten you from a five foot distance, what was he doing?

Your feet hit flat sand and you surged forward. You hear the sand behind you but didn't bother turning, not risking it.

I like it when they run.

He himself wasn't moving particularly fast. It was almost frustrating, just enough to keep you on edge.

The thoughts that rolled through your head were cut off by a sharp sound. A whine?

You were yanked backwards quite suddenly. Kicking and thrashing as you were dragged back by the rope.

The sound had been the rope cutting through the air. A lasso. A fucking lasso?

I like when they run.

Ah.

It's a game to him.

You grit your teeth and tried to pull against the rope, but it's held firm. Panic started to set in as you felt yourself being dragged across the hot sand. Your captor was moving slowly, almost lazily, the realization that you were being toyed with setting in.

"Let me go!" You growled and attempted to kick in his general direction. He just laughed in response. It was a low and mocking sound that sent shivers down your spine. He tugged the rope again, jolting you.

"Afraid I can't do that," he says, his words playful despite the tension in the situation.

As you continued to struggle against the rope, the ghoul seemed amused, smirking as he stood over you. A boot planted on the ground, on either side of your hips.

You rolled over on to your back and glared up at him, eyes narrowed against the sun.

He smirked down at you, a hand placed on his hip. He let a bag, that’d been slung over his shoulder hit the ground, tossing your pistol and holster with it.

"I've still gotta thank you for that bullet sweetheart." His voice shot through you. A thick drawl dripping with something you couldn't place.

You scoffed and spit sand at him. "You're welcome for the fuckin' free ammo," you hissed, your voice laced with defiance.

His eyes lit up at that. Like a switch flipped.

He dropped to his knees, so that he was effectively straddling you. Your eyes widened and you bucked your hips in an attempt to get him off of you.

He placed a hand against your stomach and shoved you back into the sand. He took both of your wrists in his hand and wrapped the rope around them. Tying it off in some intricate knot you’d never seen.

You glared at your now bound wrists and snapped your gaze back to him. Much closer now. He leaned back, still straddling your hips, lazily bringing his gaze to meet yours.

You held his gaze defiantly. His eyes were still very human. Amber and whiskey. Almost…pretty. The thought passed you again.

The exertion from struggling against the rope had left you panting, chest heaving.

He studied you for a moment, almost as if sizing you up. Then, he leaned down again, his breath hot on your neck.

"I think we're gonna have some fun, sweetheart."

A shiver rolled through you, hips shifting subconsciously. He raised his eyebrows, smirking.

You yanked against the ropes again, another attempt to pull yourself free from them. He chuckled, his breath hot on your neck. Leaning back again, he took the rope binding your wrist in his hand, and yanked it forward. You were jerked up off the sand, forced into an almost sitting position. The movement pulled you even with him, forcing you closer.

You tried to jerk away, turning your face the other direction. “It’s not like it even fuckin did anything.” Your voice sounded distant. Low, raspy.

He grabbed your chin, tilting your face towards his. Thumb stroking along your jawbone. Your breath has started coming faster, more shallow. Almost panting. You’ve stopped pulling against the rope, your eyes locked on his as some kind of heat starts rolling through you. Almost hungry. Eager to see what his next move will be.

“You see darlin,” his eyes dropped to your mouth and he let his thumb brush over your bottom lip. “It’s about the principle.”

He held your gaze and let his hand move to your neck. Rough fingers traced the line of your throat while you fought back a whine.

Jesus I need to get ahold of myself. This man just tracked me through the desert like a wild animal and tied me up.

He slid his thumb along your collarbone. His hand shifting over your chest, fingers tracing your sternum. Still holding your gaze. Something hungry and heated in his eyes fanning your steadily building need.

Fuck it. If I’m dying anyway I might as well make it good.

His grip on the rope binding your wrists hadn't loosened any, keeping you in place. He leaned forward, hot breath fanned out across your throat. You tilted your head back, exposing more of your neck to him. He chuckled against you.

The ghoul suddenly released his grip on your binding and your back hit the ground. You grunted as the air was knocked out of you, and looked at him indignantly.

He moved to stand, and looked down at you like you were a fucking prize. Your chest heaved with each breath. Frustrated with the entire situation. You glared up at him and he winked at you, before moving again.

You made a surprised sound as you were roughly turned over, the side of your face pressed into the sand. He hooked an arm under your midsection, jerking you up onto your knees and elbows. He pushed his knee between yours, forcing your legs apart and you gasped as your upper body dropped flat against the sand. The ghoul placed a hand at your waist, grinding himself against you.

You couldn’t help the needy sound that slid out of you. You rocked your hips back, suddenly desperate for the contact against your core. You chanced a glance back at him. The smile on his face was absolutely wolffish. “That’s it sugar.” His voice was a low rasp now.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your pants, yanking them down. He left them at your knees, not bothering to pull them all the way off. The air was cool in comparison, shocking your core a bit, you tried to close your legs. He forced his knee between your thighs again, shoving them open, and leaned over you again.

You felt his breath on your neck. "You're gonna beg for it, aren't ya?" he whispered, his voice low and husky. You nodded, your back arched, pushing you against him.

His hand was suddenly in your hair, yanking your head back. “Sorry darlin I didn’t hear you.”

You gasp, your neck ached at the angle. “I-“

He slid a hand between your legs, the lack of response hitting him the right way. The ghoul slid his fingers between your lips. You were embarrassingly wet. He tightened his grip on your hair, the other hand between your legs, teasing your entrance. “You gonna fuckin speak up or am I gonna have to make you scream?” He growled against your shoulder.

You swallowed thickly, your heart racing. “Y-yes.” You were almost gasping for air. "Please…fuck me." you managed to choke out. You felt his smile against your skin, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

The ghoul let out a low chuckle, "Now, that's what I like to hear." He released your hair, and shoved you forward again. He let out a rough exhale as he sunk two fingers into you. You moaned, a high needy sound, and pushed yourself back. He didn't move, watched you fuck yourself back on his fingers with a smirk.

You glared at him over your shoulder, his eyes met yours and he scoffed. "Seems like you're taking care of yourself sweetheart."

“Seems like I’m gonna have to.” You quipped back, challenging him. He raised an eyebrow and then his hand was on the back of your head. He shoved your face back to the side and pressed you down. He withdrew his fingers, leaving you whining at the loss.

He leaned back and you heard the light ting of metal as he undid his belt. You heard him slide the belt through the loops on his pants. The sound was followed by a zipper, and you yelped as the belt was looped over your head and around your neck.

The ghoul pulled the belt into a tight grip, slowly tugging it back, forcing you up once again. It was almost painful, but the feeling of him pressed against you was overriding everything else.

As he pulled back on the belt, you felt the pressure on your neck increase, causing you to gasp. You arched your back again, trying to push against him. The ghoul chuckled darkly and leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over your neck. “That’s right darlin’, show me how much you want it.” He growled, tugging hard on the belt one last time. He leaned down, letting his lips ghost over the side of your neck, making you shiver. Teeth scraping across the sensitive skin, his tongue followed.

He loosened his grip on the belt, just enough for him to lean back, and line himself up with your entrance. He paused, teasing your slit with the head of his cock. "Tell me how bad you want it sweetheart." You could hear the smirk.

By now you had been reduced to a panting, drooling mess. Your mind was overheated, making it hard to find the words he wanted to hear.

"Cmon darlin." He urged you, rubbing his cock against your aching clit. You jumped at the contact, a long whine escaping you.

"Please." You almost moaned it, turning your head to look at him again. "I need you."

The brief realization that you didn't even know his name passed through your mind.

Did it matter? No. Definitely not.

He looks amused. "There ya go." His hand moved to your hip and he pulled you back against him, filling you in one hard thrust.

You let out a low moan at the fullness. The ghoul leaned down, his breath was hot on your neck. "That's it," he growled, he had already started moving, harsh deep thrusts. "Feels good, doesn't it?" You just moaned in response, the sound hitched with each thrust.

He began to pick up speed, pounding into you roughly. The pain mixed with the pleasure, making you see stars. You arched your back, trying to meet his thrusts. The belt around your neck tightened, almost cutting off your air. It was fucking exquisite.

You gasped, your eyes practically rolled back in your head. "Oh god... more..." you panted, reaching down to touch yourself. You couldn't believe how good it felt. It was almost overwhelming. The ghoul groaned and reached down, slapping your hand away. "Not yet," he growled, continuing to thrust into you.

You yelped as his hand came down on your ass cheek. A hard sharpcrack. Several more followed in quick succession, leaving your ass burning, and you panting.

You looked at him with pleading eyes, and he smirked, a wicked glint in his eyes. "You want more?" He asked, his voice low and raspy. You nodded eagerly, unable to form words. He chuckled darkly and leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over your neck. "Say it." He released his grip on the belt.

You took a deep gasping breath. “Please, I wanna cum. I wanna make you cum.” You didn’t recognize your own voice or the words coming out of you. You would have been embarrassed any other time. But now, you needed release, you were desperate for it.

The ghoul smirked, clearly pleased with your response. He pulled himself almost completely out of you before pushing back in again, hitting your g-spot perfectly. You arched your back, a moan escaping your lips. He continued the new rhythm, one hand gripping your hip tightly. He leaned over you again, his hand sliding between your legs.

His fingers found your clit and began to tease it gently, circling around it. You cried out, your hips jerking. The hand on your hip moved. His arm encircled your waist, holding you in place against him.

You gasped as he picked up the pace. His thrusts took that rough demanding rhythm back on, his fingers moving in time. The sensation was overwhelming, and you felt like you were about to explode. "C'mon honey." he growled, his voice rough and demanding, but needy in its own right. You whimpered, unable to form a coherent thought at this point. You could feel it, you were so close.

Each thrust pushed you closer to the edge.You whimpered as you felt yourself on the brink, your body tensing and readying for release. The ghoul's fingers continued to move over your clit, pushing you ever closer to the edge. His other hand gripped your hip tightly, pulling you against his hard length.

You arched your back, a moan escaping your lips as you felt the familiar tingling sensation spreading through your body. The ghoul's thrusts became harder and faster.You locked eyes with him over your shoulder.

Oh god.

It was too much. You cried out, your body shaking as you felt yourself being pushed over the edge. You cursed as you came. Not like you had a name to scream.

His thrusts were becoming rougher, the rhythm sloppier. He had to be close. You pushed your hips back, attempting to meet his thrusts.

The ghoul groaned, sliding his hand around your throat, he pressed his lips against the back of your neck. "Mmm fuck." He panted out, hips hesitating. " 'm gonna fill you up."

He released the grip on your throat, using you hips for purchase as he drove himself deeper into you. After a moment of the rapid deep thrusts, his rhythm stuttered. He pressed a hand against the small of your back, burying himself in you. You felt his cock twitching as his own orgasm hit him. You moaned, arching your back as you feel the wet heat filling you. He groaned, a low raspy sound. Very briefly, letting his weight rest against you.

Within moments he'd removed the belt from your neck. He left you on the ground like that for a moment, while he redressed, smirking at the sight of his cum dripping out of your still exposed cunt.

As you caught your breath, the ghoul squatted over you, a knife in hand. Hot panic surged through you, erasing any sense of an after glow. He didn't move for a moment. Just held your panicked gaze, before smirking. He rolled you back over and cut the rope binding your wrists.

He stood back up and watched you redress. You slowly stood, facing him. His eyes tracked your every movement.

The ghoul pointed the knife towards you, his face regaining the serious expresssion from before. "Stay the fuck outta my way."

He kicked the bag he'd dropped earlier towards you and without another word headed off towards the east. You watched him, still feeling panicky and absolutely dumbfounded.

After a moment you turned your attention to the bag and frowned. You squatted to inspect it, pulling the zipper back. You shouted in surprise, nearly losing balance.

A fucking head??

What the actual fuck?

You steadied yourself and looked again. You almost laughed. The bounty. It was the man from the bounty. You stood back up frantically looking for the direction the ghoul had gone. You caught his silhouette.

You watched him, fighting back a smile. It'd certainly be a shame if you got in his way again.

[anna-does-a-fandom-thing]

nothing serious.

professor! anakin skywalker.

a/n: hiii! so, @fuckmyskywalker came up with the idea for this concept, and I've decided to write my own fic on it! LOVEE me some starwars boy. But put him in a SUIT?? drool worthyyy.

tw!: smut. lots of smut. ahem. p in v sex, sort of breeding kink? it's small but it's there. use of the name pet!! unprotected sex! do not attempt! dumification kink? also miniscule but there. big big sir kink. Anakin loves asserting the fact that he's the top here.

Disclaimer: 18+ only please! I'm not responsible for the media you consume as an adolescent!

description: Attending the most sought after university definitely was the best decision you'd made regarding your college career, but one perverted professor almost makes you want drop out entirely. Anakin Skywalker, was in no short terms, egotistical and a hard-ass. At least that's what you knew, so why is he asking to see you after class?

Ah, Corscuscant University. One of the most popular STEM universities in the country. The same STEM university you attended. Being a biology major, it was a no brainer for you come here. When you arrived as a freshman Corscuscant felt like your dream school, but like every dream, reality had set in. Your painful reality was Anakin Skywalker; your math professor. Professor Skywalker was one of, if not the most attractive man you had ever seen. He knew he was good looking, too. Almost every person in school had a crush on him, one of those people being you. That's not to say you didn't find him annoying as hell, but you could appreciate a good complexion when you saw one. Despite his good looks, it didn't change the fact that Anakin Skywalker was an egotistical hard ass, whose courses were next to impossible.

It was easy to ignore his big mouth and jabs at any poor soul unfortunate enough to get a question wrong in the beginning, focusing on your studies and logarithmic equations. However, as the class began to get more difficult, your counselor started suggesting attending his after school lessons. Something you couldn't be bribed to attend. But alas, hell hath no fury like a college counselor.

The good thing about Anakin's tutoring is that it's only on Fridays. The bad thing, is that it's a ghost town most days. if he's lucky, Anakin might get 2 or 3 students. So by the second semester, it became just you and him.

Anakin Skywalker was now aware of your existence. He was aware you sucked at math, and he was probably aware of your attraction to college professors who made even Pythagoras hate math. So now here the two of you were.

Just earlier that morning, you'd been notified that the tutoring had been canceled, so your plans for the evening were to go home and sleep. But, before you can walk out of the classroom, Professor Skywalker calls your name. Leaning against his chair, he looks at you piercingly. "Come to my office as soon as possible. We need to discuss your grade in my class."

"Yes professor. " You stuttered, sending a questioning glance to your friend. You walked towards Anakin's office, knowing he'd already be in the room. You hesitated to enter, dreading whatever miserable information he had to bestow upon you, in private. You noticed while peering into the room that he's got a paper in his hand. 'please don't be mine,' you pray.

Once you entered, you moved to stand in front of his desk. "Are you free to stay awhile? I have some questions about your last exam." He says, seeming relaxed. You DID have plans, no, you were not free. Ugh. You guess you can't deny your teacher, so you nod politely. "Great to hear." He says, motioning for you to walk around the desk.

Anakin rolls out his seat, and moves to stand. Now standing in his personal bubble, per his suggestion, you fidget with your hands. "So, what about my exam? Did I fail it, sir?" You start to get worried. "No, no, nothing like that. You actually made top of the class once I graded it." Anakin praised. "I'd actually like to offer you some extra credit."

Anakin motioned for you to take a seat on top of his desk. "What kind of credit?" You asked, now level eye level with his chin. "Just some extra course work and a few more sessions in the week." Anakin shrugged, almost distracted. You hesitated, "I suppose I can, uhm, do that." Anakin smiled at your stutter. He placed his hand under your chin and lifted it to meet his eyes. "You're certainly obedient. I like that." You felt your brain screech to a halt. "Excuse me, what?"

Is Professor Skywalker hitting on you? This has to be a dream. You look up at him, and lo and behold, he's staring right back. He looks hungry, like you're a delicious piece of meat. "You behave when and how i tell you to. Has anyone ever told you that's attractive?" Anakin clarifies, placing both of his hands on desk, trapping you under him. You bristle at his statement. "Sir! that's inappropriate!" Anakin just laughs, and leans in. He says, quietly, "That's alright, pet. It's only inappropriate if someone finds out. I don't intend on telling a soul."

You feel your nose subconsciously scrunch up in confusion. "Pet?" Where did that come from? "You're my little teacher's pet, aren't you? It'll be our little secret." Anakin places one hand on your thigh, the other further along the desk to prop himself up. You can feel his hand wander to your hip, and you're not sure you want to stop him. You didn't know someone's hands could feel that good, with his feather like movements. You're about to let him continue, until you remind yourself that you didn't lock his door. Anyone could walk in.

"Wait, not here. Someone will see." You try to push Anakin away, but he grabs your wrist to restrain you, gently. "Yes here. I can't stop myself." Anakin ducks his head below your chin, and places butterfly kisses along your throat. You hold it in, but you want to moan at his touch. Anakin pulls away, "I'm going to give you your first extra credit assignment. Answer these 3 questions."

You try to focus on his words and not the pooling heat between your legs. "Yes sir." You're pretty sure Anakin noticed you squeezing your thighs together like no tomorrow, and he's just saying these things to rile you up. He quietly moans at your obedience. "Good girl, keeping doing that." You look at him, "What, calling you sir?"

Anakin nods, giving your hip a squeeze. "Yeah, baby. It means you know who's in charge here."

Clearing his throat, Anakin begins. "Now, question one. are you aware of how tempting your body has been to me?" You can feel your cheeks lighting on fire. He's certainly been bold. "N-no sir."

"That's okay, beauty, I'll show you. Question two: will you let me kiss you?"

Oh fuck. You knew that was coming. Oh well, you only live once. "Yes sir." As soon as the words left your lips, Anakin had cupped your cheek, pulling you into a passionate kiss. Anakin was a good kisser. You'd figured that was probably true a while ago, but now? To feel him? It was overwhelming. He pushed against your mouth, using one hand to lift your leg against his hip. Using the new angle, Anakin deepened the kiss causing you both to moan against each other.

You can feel Anakin get more and more aggressive in the kiss, to the point he's pushing the desk a little. You pull away from him for a moment, causing him to chase your lips. "Anakin.." You start, but he cuts you off with a growl. "Who, pet?" You should've expected that one. "You, sir. You're pushing the desk apart." You correct yourself quietly, murmuring your concerns into his ear. Anakin frowns in thought before donning a sultry grin. "I've got a better place for us to continue, dear pet." Before you can question him, Anakin wraps your legs around his waist and takes your mouth in a kiss. He lifts you from the desk before walking towards the couch in the corner of his office.

You yelp as Anakin gently throws you onto it, and you're once again locking lips.

"Mm, sir.." You moaned into his mouth, feeling him crawl on top of you. Anakin smiles, looking down at such a pretty sight. "Such a good girl, pet. You gonna spread f'me?" Anakin tapped your thighs, and you pulled them apart at his request. Anakin settled himself between your legs. "For the last question, pet," Anakin pulls up your skirt and hooks his fingers into the hem of your underwear. "How badly do you want me to fuck you?" Feeling your heart speed up, you replied shaking, "So badly, sir. Please."

"Good girl. you've earned yourself an A+." He rasps, sitting up and undoing his belt. Craning your head, you watch as Anakin unzips his trousers. You almost gasp when he pulls out his dick. You're not even sure you can take him, with how large he is. "It's alright, pet, no need to look scared." Anakin cooed, kissing your jaw. He lifted up your skirt, and pulled on the hem of your underwear. Discarding them, you were now bare for his eyes to see. "We'll go slow, baby." Anakin reassured you, lining himself up with your entrance. Gently as Anakin could be, he pushed into you. Whimpering, you felt tears well up in your eyes. It was both painful and overwhelming, and you instinctually pushed at his chest. "Relax, little pet, relax." Anakin grunted, already being squeezed like a balloon waiting to be popped. Anakin finally bottomed out, after what felt like forever. It felt so good. "Tell me when, darling." Anakin refused to move until you gave him a sign. Taking several deep breaths, you nodded. "No, pet. give me words. Use them, baby."

"Please, sir."

"Please what, my girl?"

You knew Anakin was getting impatient, but you were so overwhelmed with pleasure it was hard to form words. You him growl in your ear. Feeling his hand touch your soft flesh, Anakin gripped your waist and moved without warning, "I'm not going to wait anymore, little pet." You couldn't help but let out a guttural moan. Holy shit. He was so big, and you've never felt so filled in your life. "Sir..!" You cried, pulling him down and kissing him. Anakin begins to kiss you passionately, pressing you into the sofa. His mouth meets yours in a loving and desperate kiss as he starts to move faster, causing your loud whining to be muffled. If you weren't blissed out, you'd die of embarrassment at the lewd noises the two of you created. Anakin, on the other hand, loved it. Feeling him speed up, you pulled away from his mouth and almost screamed. You knew you were close, and you told him so. "Sir, please! Close, close, please.. mm," You were practically crying from how good he felt. "I know pet, I know." Anakin replied, grunting when he felt you squeeze him harder. "God, keep squeezing and I'm gonna burst, baby, fuck."

Hooking his hands under your thighs, Anakin lifted them onto his shoulders, pressing you in half. The new angle made your insides burst with pleasure, making you scream. "C'mon pet, you can do it." Anakin encouraged, hitting all the right spots harder. "Cum for me baby, cum all over my dick, yeah?" His words sent shivers through your spine, and your eyes rolled. It was too much. The coil in your tummy snapped, and you finished with a moan.

However, Anakin didn't stop. Despite your release, Anakin moved even faster. "No, no, sir! I can't!" You cried, already overstimulated to high heaven. "Don't be selfish pet, i know you can do it," Tightening his grip on your thighs, Anakin grunted over, and over, and over with every thrust. "Don't want my cum, baby? huh? Don't want your teacher to fill you up till you're full?"

Too fucked out to use your brain to respond, you squeezed around him again. It was too much for you, and now, the last straw for him. Letting out an animalistic growl, Anakin buried himself as far in you as he could, bottoming out fully. Your tummy felt so warm, being painted with his load for what felt like forever to you.

He collapses on top of you, panting softly. "Such a good girl f'me, baby. M'so proud of you." He coos at you, still out of breath from the intensity of the moment. After a few seconds, Anakin lifts his head and chuckles. "Poor thing, too dumb to respond to me?" He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze. You whine at his teasing, pouting at him. He leans to your ear and whispers, "Don't be shy, baby. You did so good f'me."