#dreams. all this to say i was very fucking tense. and when i got back in my car i was like shaky and panting lol

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[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.

[crushmeeren]

any thoughts about how touya would eat you out? i cannot stop thinking about his tongue piercing..

Nor can I, friend, nor can I. /ᐠ - ˕ -マ

Master List Link

⋆｡ ﾟ ☁︎｡ ⋆ FEM READER ｡ ﾟ ☾ ﾟ ｡⋆ ｡

Touya is very…. talented when it comes to eating pussy, to say the least.

He’s had a lot of time to kill over the years. Seeing as how nobody knew he was alive after he essentially became his Father’s human sacrifice to whatever deity he believed would grant his delusional dreams of having a child with the perfect quirk to surpass the number one hero.

But he digresses…..

Needless to say, Touya has had a lot of sex. Men and women alike, but he’d confess that he just gets this….thrill, eating pussy. Women are always, without exception, so soft, so fucking warm, and his cock never fails to fill out thickly when he so much as pictures the sweet, high pitched whines he coaxes from them.

And so, it’s really no different now that he’s dating you. He can come to you whenever he craves it, whenever his mouth starts to fill with saliva when he daydreams about eating you out.

Currently, Touya’s got your ass at the edge of, what used to be, a gaming chair. It’s comfortable enough, and Touya likes it when you gawk at him while he flicks his tongue against your clit in a way that you can feel in your fucking toes.

He pushes your thighs as wide as they can go, until your muscles burn, and his searing tongue parts your lips with a few upward dragging motions. Heat blisters up your spine.

“Touya!” Your voice pitches higher, and his name gets caught in your throat when the flat of his tongue creeps up along your clit, the barest hint of that metallic ball of jewelry kissing your skin before he leans back.

“What baby?” He coos condescendingly, pretty blue eyes halfway shut as he peers up at you from where he sits on his knees on the floor. He’s naked too, and he looks so hot you can’t stand it. “My ring feels so good on your pussy, yeah? You want me to heat it up?” His voice is an insufferable amount of husky and you clench around nothing. You nod eagerly.

“Then fucking say it, whore,” he snarls, palms heating dangerously on your inner thighs.

You lace your fingers through his snowy white hair with a gasp, yanking violently as you toss your head back until he moans in the back of his throat.

“Yes! Heat it up, please. It’s so good Touya,” you plead, eyes flashing open to stare down at him again. Your gaze trails the movement of his fingers as he circles his cock and jerks himself off lazily.

“So you’re not that fucking stupid after all, good girl.”

Then, Touya is moving forward with fervor. He centers that devilish tongue ring on your clit and draws steady, unrelenting circles until your thighs start to twitch. The metal is heated to the point it teeters on this side of white hot pain, and you fucking love it.

The corners of Touya’s mouth curl upward in a sly smile, tongue still swirling firmly, and his pupils are dilated wildly, making him seem manic. He pulls your clit between his lips and sucks gently. The muscles in your lower stomach tighten and all of a sudden you’re about to cum.

You cry out to him, begging him, and he drags the pad of his thumb from his free hand over your pussy before slipping two fingers inside with zero effort.

He doesn’t relent the rhythmic sucking with his lips, flicking his tongue occasionally. The rough texture of his bottom lip adds to the whirlwind of sensations and he pumps his fingers unhurriedly, curling them each time. Your pussy clings to him like it never wants to let go.

Stars are bursting behind your eyelids when you cum, mouth dropped open in a silent scream as your entire body tenses up. Touya works you through it mercilessly until you’ve deflated in the chair, releasing his hair.

He pulls away with a Cheshire grin, lips shiny and Touya decides to leave his fingers inside you for the time being.

“You’re gonna cum for me again, pretty little whore, and then I’ll let you sit on my fucking cock like I know you’re drooling to do.”

You agree easily and, in the end, Touya has to put you on your back because your legs are too much like jelly to ride him.

[artdcnaldson]

Has reader ever just had a "i have to get out" moment in the changeover universe?

Like art is trying to talk to her after sex and shes just staring at the wall re thinking her decisions.

They are very toxic and i know the reader has feelings for them so i think art would have been very smothering ir clingy if reader made any atempts at going out with another circle of friends and distancing herself

(im sorry i over analyse many situations 😭)

Anon… i love u <3 I love this messy main character bc i too would throw away my scruples for this man.

Rating: M

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Toxic situationship, manipulation kinda, mild angst

Summary: You say something you shouldn’t. It messes up the fucked up equilibrium that you and Art had found in whatever you could call the relationship you had together.

FEBRUARY 2007

For Valentine’s Day, you got Art a teddy bear and a box of chocolates. He got you nothing. He wasn’t your boyfriend, so you didn’t know why you were upset about it, but you were. It stung like a fresh wound, one you could never just let be.

The two of you fucked, because that’s what you always did. The feeling of his mouth on yours, warm and tasting of mint, almost made you forgive him for not getting you anything. He called you beautiful, let his hands trace your body reverently, made you cum once, twice before he pulled you into his lap and let you sink onto him.

His forehead was against yours, breath coming in pants as you rode him, bodies pressed so close it almost felt like making love. Maybe that’s why you said it— the words tumbling out like a prayer.

I love you, Art.

He was tense, for a moment, brows furrowed slightly, before he kissed you and laid you onto your back. He pulled another orgasm from an impossible place within you, one you didn’t know existed. He came, messy on your thighs, and rolled over onto his back.

It was quiet, and you felt so far away from him. Your fingers brushed against his hand, testing, but he pulled them away and stood to redress. It was so quiet that you could hear blood pumping in your ears, like an ocean.

”You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” was what he finally said.

Your lip wobbled, just slightly. And then tears pooled on your lashline. “Sorry,” you said weakly.

“It’s fine.” But you had a sinking suspicion that you’d really fucked up. He handed you a towel, and you cleaned yourself up as best as you could while fighting frustrated tears.

”Are you leaving?” You asked. He was standing in between yours and your roommate’s bed, like he hadn’t quite decided yet. You pulled on a tee shirt and underwear and gave him a pathetic, pleading expression. ”Don’t leave, please. I didn’t mean it. We can watch a movie.”

He acquiesced, and let you cling to his side pathetically after you pulled out a portable DVD player. You split a pair of headphones and watched The Royal Tenenbaums.

Halfway through the movie, clarity hit like a lightning strike. Or maybe it was more like a sinking feeling of dread— of being neck deep in quicksand before you realize you should be crawling out.

You couldn’t keep doing this. Because Art was a dream, really. Handsome, and talented, and smarter than you’d expected him to be. And he was so sweet, when he didn’t realize that he should’ve been discouraging your affection. Or maybe he liked it, but only when it was quiet and he didn’t have to acknowledge that what he was doing was wrong.

Maybe it wasn’t wrong and it was all your own fault for wanting someone who made it clear they weren’t emotionally available. Maybe you were pressuring him into something he didn’t want and it was all unfair to him too.

It didn’t matter. It was fucking killing you.

When the movie ended, he stretched and said he’d see you in class. You nodded, smiling the sad smile of a dog unknowingly being left at the pound.

Once the sadness faded, it was replaced with a molten resentment, an anger at him and yourself over your time being wasted. He still sat next to you in class, sneaking peeks of your notes, but you ignored him as best as you could. Days passed, then a week. You started to feel human again.

A couple weekends later, you ignored the text he sent asking for you to join him at a mixer the tennis team was planning on crashing. You ignored the follow up too.

You wound up at a party on the opposite end of campus with a few girls from the service org you were in. You flirted with a new guy, felt like maybe you were worth more than a casual fuck buddy.

So the sight of him sitting at your door when you finally stumbled home was the last thing you wanted to see. All sad, slumped against your door.

He scrambled to stand, expression filled with longing. “Don’t be mad at me,” he pleaded. “I missed you so fucking bad these past few weeks. Felt like I was going crazy.”

Your heart skipped, and hammered against your ribs. You wanted to reach out and kiss that sad, longing expression off his face. You wanted to tell him to leave. It was all very confusing.

“Don’t say that, Art, please,” you said weakly, lips turning down into a frown. You tried to sidestep him, to get the keys into the door, but he pulled you against his chest.

He smelled so nice— like cologne and cinnamon gum. You gave a pathetic sigh at the warmth of him, wrapped all around you. “I missed you,” he repeated. “It’s like a part of me has been missing. I wanted to talk to you so badly, to kiss you, to watch boring movies with you.”

Annoyance and longing bubbled hot in the pit of your stomach, you had to force yourself to push him away. “You just missed having a cheerleader you could fuck whenever you felt like it.”

He frowned. “That’s not true.”

”What’s my major? What’s my favorite place on campus?” He swallowed hard, exhaling sharply through his nose. “What’s my favorite movie?”

“How would I know that?” He asked, resignation flat on his features.

You rolled your eyes. “Because I tell you about it all the time. Because I’ve taken you there. Because I made you watch it. Twice.” You finally got into your room. When you didn’t slam the door, you realized that you were aching for him to follow. You wanted him to be near you, even if you were seething.

When you turned to face him, you hated that even though you were incredibly mad, you still wanted him to just prove you wrong. To convince you that you were being crazy and he was innocent and the only problem was you being a weirdo about your feelings.

God, he was so pretty. And he looked so sad.

“I’ll try to be better,” he said. “I’ll take you on dates, and buy you flowers, and give you what you deserve.”

But you’ll never be his girlfriend. You knew it, deep down. Even as you caved and gave a sweet, sad little nod. He was across the room, holding you against his chest as you felt annoying tears slipping down your cheeks. Tears of relief, of frustration, of resignation.

“I’m not Tashi,” you said when he pressed his lips to the crown of your skull. It was annoying that he had the power to quell all of your uncomfortable emotions with a single romantic gesture. He pulled back and met your gaze, and you softened. “I know she’s always been your first pick, and I don’t blame you, but I’m not ever going to be her, if that’s what you’re waiting on.”

Something passed over his expression, briefly. “I know you’re not.” It was more of a lament than it was an attempt at comfort. “I’m not waiting on anything.”

His lips trailed down, along your jaw, at the corner of your mouth. He pulled back, looking at you expectantly. Are you going to let me?

Your lips parted softly as you kissed him with lips that tasted wet and salty. It was chaste, and sweet. He pulled back and ran his thumb along your cheekbone. “Let me hold you until you fall asleep? Please?”

It was hard to stay mad at Art Donaldson, even when you knew you really should.

Thank you for reading! If you have any requests in the Changeover universe, or otherwise send me an ask :)

[somuchbetterthanthat]

Thinking of Vander, two weeks after they buried Felicia, a week after he tried to murder Silco, putting two traumatized girls to bed and getting back in his bar and everybody has been roused by alcohol and the tone is belligerent, tonight; like the moment of sadness has passed, and people are discussing, arguing, debating, wondering- the fuck, you know? They lost so many, and for what? And though Vander was part of it all, was the main face of it all, they all rage over Silco, how extreme he'd became the past few years, how he kept wanting more and more and more -

And it's the first time Vander hears it from outside is head and it's wrong. He knew, deep down, that Silco was less liked than him, even before - too smart, too cunning, to be fully trusted in a world where betrayal is as common as breathing; but they'd built something here and part of it all belonged to Silco and Vander ended up betraying it all. Vander's the traitor here.

It's unbearable, suddenly, to be in this room, with those people who agree with him. Yes it was too far. Yes it was too rash, too soon, yes it wasn't worth it. But was it worth drowning the one man he craves the presence of so badly right now? Was the loss of Felicia worth the loss of Silco, too?

Vander's half drunk when he gets out of the bar, blindly going back to where it was all planned, to the very beginning of their dreams. Nobody's there. He stares at the dust accumulated, of their jackets, still there, and there's still paper here and he tries different sort of letters - but, shit, how do you say, I'm sorry I tried to murder you? How do you even apologize for that? he gives up after seven or twenty attempts, go back outside, throw up, trembling and furious at himself and wanting to break something or someone's head and that's the problem, too, isn't it? Can't deal with his fucking feelings without his fists, hasn't ever have to learn to be patient, or cool off, or think and speak after because there was Silco for all that.

Falls asleep outside of the mines, wakes up cold, groggy, hangover, curses because the girls, fuck it, the girls - so he rushes to the bar and they're up, and Vi's got that serious expression she's gotten in the last few days - determined, closed off, responsible, as she tries to make eggs for little powder, who's still half asleep against her plushie. "Scoop over," he says. "I'll teach you. Might not always be around-" Powder stares up, eyes already filling with tears, and Vi tenses up, and he stumbles going: "In the mornings, kids. You guys sleep less than I do, is all I meant."

(he can't do this on his own, he thinks, afterwards. Screw shitty letters. He needs to find Silco. He needs to make things right. Won't trust him again, and that's - warranted. Fine. He'll get it. He'll stay back. But there's gotta be a way where they work again together. For Zaun. For Vi and Powder. He just needs. To find Silco back. And he will. He won't give up. Not on him, nor on the promise they made.)

[https-murdock]

Love Like This - Matt Murdock

summary: Matt has never felt anything like this, never mind a love like this.

word count: ~1k

warnings: porn with plot (finally!!) - oral (F receiving), p in v, suuuper lovey dovey stuff - 18+ MDNI

note: felt like writing something super loved up! hope it’s ok :))

Matt often wonders how someone with a heart like yours has fallen for someone with a heart like his.

When he comes home from work and smells you. Sitting on his couch, he knows you have your eyes glued to the tv by the way you don’t even realise he’s walked in.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He smirks, glasses and cane placed in his usual spot.

“Oh, hey! sorry i got really invested again.” You’re laughing now, and he can feel the vibrations through his chest.

There has always been something about you that made Matt feel like the world would heal again. The way you laughed, the way you grab his arm when he makes a good joke, the way you hum to yourself while you clean - everything, right down to the way your breathing hitches slightly in your dreams. There was always something about you that Matt just got.

“You know how much i love you, right?” He says, tie now across the back of the couch, few buttons undone, as he sits next to you with one arm around you. “Course i do. and you know how much i love you?” You’re very aware of how soppy you’d sound to other people, but these moments come rarely with Matt so you take them as they come.

You move to straddle him on his couch, holding his stubbled cheeks in your hands as he smiles up at you.

“I do.”

Matt’s lips meet yours in a loving, gentle moment - and it almost makes you wonder what has made him so lovey today. He always loves you, and he’s no stranger in showing you that, but it’s not often he’s so open about his feelings.

As the kiss is becoming deeper, tongues meeting, his hands move under the t-shirt of his that adorns your skin nearly every night.

“Mmm, so beautiful,” He mutters to himself, lifting your t-shirt over your head and letting your fingers work across the buttons of his suit shirt, “Can never get enough of you.”

“Need you.” You speak, lips still attached to his.

Tough hands flip you onto your back, leather couch sticking to the slight sheen of sweat against your skin. Now only in underwear, you feel much more exposed than him. “Matt, need to see you, please.” You smile, and he doesn’t even reply before taking off his shirt and undoing his belt, letting his suit pants fall to the floor with the rest of your clothing.

“Wanna make you feel so good, sweetheart.” Matt whispers, leaning down and letting his nose meet your naked thigh, biting gently and relishing in the muted moan that leaves your lips.

Silently, you sit begging for his touch, only hearing your breaths between each other. He knows what you want, what you need, but he’s just existing in the moment.

“H- Shit.” Words have now left you, as he licks a long stripe up your folds, leaving you breathless at his touch, “Taste so good.” Matt talks between your thighs, running his tongue in circles around your clit.

All thoughts leave your mind, your body the only thing existing with the way it feels under Matt’s touch. His hands hold your wrists down at the side of your body, feeling how tense your arms become when you can feel an orgasm building,

“Always so wet, all for me, love.” He smirks, letting his teeth graze your clit softly, before going right back to his little kitten licks. All that can be heard in his loft is your breathy moans, Matt relishing in the way you sound each time he touches you.

Before you know it, you’re right on the edge of the point you desperately need to tip over, and you’re begging for more. “M- Please, fuck i’m-“ You’re well aware you don’t make much sense, but all you care about is the way his mouth is making you feel. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

His deep, growling voice was all you needed to fly across the line. Hearing muffled, your back arches off Matt’s sofa, his hands moving to your hips as his mouth doesn’t slow down, leading you through your orgasm.

“Matt, fuck me.” You mumble, pins and needles still running through your fingertips from your erratic breathing.

“Patience, love.” He giggles, standing up to strip himself of his boxers before sitting down with his back to the couch. As you straddle him again, you think of all the memories you share and the nights spent on his sofa together.

As you sink down onto him, his head falls to your shoulder, groaning to himself about how right you feel around him, “Always wrap around me so well.” his hands graze up your skin, meeting both of your tits, thumbs running across your nipples as he listens to how fast it sends your heart rate.

“M- Feel so good, so good.” You babble, bouncing softly up and down, feeling how deep he’s reaching inside your walls.

The way your slick is slowly hitting the base of his cock is sending Matt’s brain wild, the feeling of you so tightly around him making him realise how he fell so in love with you so quickly, everything about you feels amazing.

“Ahh- keep going, beautiful.” He realises it sounds like he’s begging, and maybe he is.

“Please, come inside me.” You’re now doing the same, letting his thumb meet your clit, rubbing tight circles craving the way it feels for you to finish around him once more.

You both come together, lips tensely meeting, teeth clashing. A throaty groan comes from Matt as his hips falter, feeling the way you clench around him as thick white ropes paint your walls.

Once you’ve both cooled off, cleaned up as per Matt, you finally get to sit down and talk about the day.

“Hmm, doesn’t matter.” he mutters, lying back in the bed with you on his chest, breathing returned back to normal.

“What matters then? i wanna know ‘bout your day.” You laugh, leaning upwards to look at the way he’s sitting, eyes closed, fully relaxed in the sheets.

“You.”

—

tags

@lambmurdock @parker-murdock @silas-aeiou @blushingrn @audreyclimbs

[rosenclaws]

Past memories || Logan Howlett x Reader

prompt: comforting him after really nasty nightmare when he's calling his...mama in his dreams to comfort him

warnings: angst/fluff, comfort, he scratches u in his sleep, bad childhood

wc: 874

600 follower drabble masterlist

a/n: Finally got to the second request from this anon done!! Hope its what you wanted <3

This night was worse than the others. Why? He doesn't know. He couldn't tell you what makes some nights worse than others. All he knows is that sometimes, they get really bad. Memories seep into his brain that he has suppressed for a long time.

It starts like a normal nightmare. Tossing and turning. The quiet mumbling that turns into something louder. You're awoken by what sounds like a cry. You eyes open and you feel Logan kicking the sheets.

"Honey?" You mumble still half asleep.

Though the sleepiness disappears when you turn to see the state he's in. His face is scrunched up in what looks like pain, sweat dripping down his face. His movements are becoming more erratic, dangerous even. He would never hurt you when he was awake but his nightmares turned him into someone else. Not that you'd ever blame him but he would blame himself.

"Mother..." Your ears perk up as he starts to speak again.

He never talked about his family. His memories had slowly returned to him over the years but that man had lived a century's worth of events. Still his family was off limits. You knew nothing of how he got his name or his childhood.

"Logan?" You gently shake his shoulder and his hand swipes at yours. You scramble back as his claws come out.

The sharp adamantium barley scraping your wrists as he grows even more restless. He's told you before that if he ever gets like this to stay away from him. If he hurts himself he'll be okay. Still it's hard to sit and watch the love of your life cry out in his sleep and do nothing about it.

"I'm not a monster, Mother please!" He cries and you feel your heart break.

"Logan honey." You resist the urge to reach out to him as he slices through your newly bought blankets.

"Mother!" Logan sits up straight in bed. Gasping for air as he shakes off the lingering nightmare. Everything in his head is screaming at him.

The sound of his own mothers voice echoes throughout and he can't get it to leave. He doesn't want it. It takes a few deep breaths until he's able to take in his surroundings. His sense still on high alert. He rips the blanket off of him, it's too scratchy and hot. He tries to focus on the wall in front of him. A vase of roses sit on the desk. He bought you those. He counts the petals that he can see until he feels his heart start to calm.

He reaches out for you but you're not there. Then he catches a whiff of blood and he freezes. His head whips to the side and his eyes widen at the sight of you standing by the bathroom door. Three very distinct claw marks on your wrist and tears in your eyes.

"Baby I-" You don't let him finish, you don't want to hear it from him. Beating himself up over something he didn't have control over. You launch yourself into his arms. Holding him as tight as you can.

"I'm so sorry." He mumbles as he rests his chin on your head.

"Shut up." You say as you cup his face in your hands. Maneuvering the two of you until he's wrapped up in your arms, his head resting on your chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You ask as you always do.

No he really doesn't. He never wants to talk about them. Why burden you with his fucked up life? With memories of a mother who saw him as a monster when all he wanted was her comfort. He needed her. He was young, frightened, he didn't understand what was happening. Claws protruding from his small hands.

"You don't have to talk about it, but you know I'm here for you. Always." You tell him. His thumb can't stop rubbing where he scratched you. The small drops of blood overtaking his sense of smell.

"You're not a monster, you never were and you certainly aren't now." He tenses for a second as you comb through his hair. He wonders what else he revealed through his shouting.

"Her name was Elizabeth." He reveals.

You hum quietly, letting him decide if he wishes to keep talking or not. He doesn't but that's okay. It's already more than he's ever revealed about his family. The other parts will come eventually if he so chooses. He waits and listens for your heartbeat to steady, a sign that you've fallen back asleep.

Your hand going limp in his hair as the sleep takes over. Silently he sits back up in bed, tucking you in with what is left of the blankets. He lays back down on the bed and you curl into him in your sleep.

"I love you Logan. You're my hero." Your half asleep as you talk but you mean every word.

A Hero, he doesn’t think so but you always see the best in him even when he tells you not to. You're stubborn like that. He kisses the top of your head and closes his eyes. Letting your sweet words chase away the bad memories for tonight.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Do you think you could write some hcs about HSR men comforting reader who woke up from a nightmare?

Bonus if the source of the nightmare was Silver Wolf telling scary stories.

Argenti

Would immediately wake up the moment he senses that your sleep was being disturbed.

‘My sweet, what’s troubling you?’ He’d ask you, his eyes shone with concern.

‘Just got spooked by the story Silver Wolf told last night.’ You tell him.

‘Aww my beloved rose.’ He coos softly.

‘I know it’s stupid.’ You scoffed.

‘Oh no, not at all.’ He replied as he scooted himself closer to you and brought his hands up to hold your face and used his finger pads to caress your skin soothingly.

‘It’s okay to be scared for it is a reaction shared amongst all beings, but you should never feel such a way when I’m here to keep you safe.’ Argenti said as he presses his forehead to yours and began to hum a sweet, tender melody that swiftly had you drifting off back sleep within seconds.

‘Goodnight my beloved rose.’ He whispered after performing his song, pressing a kiss to your forehand and followed you in the dream realm where he could continue protecting you.

Welt

When Welt saw you had woken yourself from a nightmare and were obviously still reeling from the effects, he would wordlessly bring you into his arms slowly enough as not to frighten you and have you rest your head against his chest.

‘Are you comfortable in telling me what happened?’ He asks barely above a whisper.

‘It’s stupid.’ You replied, voice muffled from the way your face was pressed against his chest.

‘Not if it’s got you frightened this badly.’ He says against your head, his hands rubbing up and down your back soothingly.

‘It was the story Silver Wolf told last night.’ You finally tell him after debating on it for a bit.

‘It was truly a well put together story,’ Welt began as he recalled the events of last night and how tense you were the entire time, ‘I must admit I was slightly taken aback at times.’

You raised your head from his chest to look him in his warm eyes. ‘You were scared too?’ You asked.

‘Kind of.’ Welt chuckles as he brought your head back to his chest and press several kisses to your forehead. ‘Now if I’m allowed, I would like to tell you a story of my own. I must preference this beforehand that it’s not a well written one, but I hope it brings you comfort regardless.’

‘Please.’ You pleaded as you burrowed yourself further against his chest, practically clinging on to him. ‘Anything you say is better than nothing.’ You added.

‘Very well then.’ Welt cleared his throat. ‘There once was a young lady with vibrantly pink hair who had an…habit of wandering into places she probably shouldn’t have. This is merely one story out of many, many, many others…’

Blade

Is an extremely light sleeper, so any movement you made was picked up almost immeditly and he was more than ready to grab his sword when he felt your breath hitch in your throat.

He genuinely thought you were in danger, only to find out you had just woken up from a nightmare.

‘What’s wrong.’ He’d ask gruffly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

‘Nothing.’ You replied.

‘Bullshit.’ He scoffs.

‘Fine it was the scary story Silver Wolf told.’ You admitted and Blade raised a brow.

‘You do know none of it’s real right?’ He then asks while biting back a yawn.

‘Yeah no shit but that doesn’t stop the fact that it really freaked me the fuck out.’ You told him as you looked away from him, knowing you weren’t going to get much comfort out of him, seeing as how he’s never known a day of it.

Blade sighed when you showed him your back, knowing you were expecting to be comforted, as he then shuffles himself behind you and puts his arms over your waist all the while caging you against his chest.

‘Nothings going to get you, I won’t allow it.’ He reminds you as he burrows his face into your neck. ‘So there’s no need to be afraid when I’m here and am willing to put body on the line if it meant you sleeping soundly. What’s a few new scars compared to the old.’ He adds as he kept his eyes locked onto the door to the bedroom for a while, just long enough for you to comfortably go back to sleep before following soon after.

[auspicioustidings]

Kinktober Day 6

DUN-CON BY VIRTUE OF THE SOMNO CONCEPT

Moniker: Gaz Risk Level: Low. Gaz has never been detained and is visiting freely. Brief: Somnophilia, anal Safeword: Refer to first brief.

Gaz will not hurt you and he is the safest man I have ever met when it comes to the bedroom, enjoy him - Price

The first time you woke up before he even got his tongue on you. Just the puff of breath on your tight little hole was enough to have you flinching out of sleep.

You were desperately tired on account of being told to stay awake last night in preparation for today. It turned out what that meant was this stupidly charming man wanted you to sleep through him fucking your virgin ass.

Pretty fucking ambitious you thought as he held you tight until you drifted back off to sleep in the very cosy bed.

—

God you were so fucking delicious looking. Gaz had never felt such an ache in his teeth to bite someone before, but looming over you as you slept he was considering abandoning the plan all together and marking you up. Would you squeal as he tore into flesh? Keegan had boasted about how you sounded when he spanked you and he had been painfully hard just listening.

He hadn’t even intended on coming back to the Kennel if he didn’t have to. Yes he liked seeing Ghost but he hated being here, knowing that he got to leave and Ghost didn’t. He had been angry at Price for a long time when he had been detained. Had raged at him. It was Ghost himself who showed him the photos in the end of what he had done to that poor girl.

Gaz was pretty sure it was actually Soap and Ghost blamed himself for not controlling him well enough so took the fall, but he respected the sacrifice enough to keep his mouth shut about it.

Now here he was in the Kennel. How could he not when Soap had called and waxed poetic about the pretty girl with the prettier cunt? When he whined about how Price barely let him tongue fuck her soft arse before stopping him? That was it for him, he had to have a taste.

He tried to hold back his groan when he got behind you and managed to get his tongue on your hole without you waking up. He knew you had never done this before and it made you being unaware of it happening all that sweeter. Soap never would have had this level of patience, but he enjoyed the challenge of it, the tense pain of being so fucking hard but having to take his time before his cock could get inside you.

“Jesus, tight even in your sleep pretty girl. Come on, relax” he said, damn near pulling his tongue from eagerly trying to get it inside and being met with resistance.

Fuck he should have negotiated some poppers into that brief but at the time, like a fucking fanny as Soap would say, he was so sure he would be able to open you right up as you relaxed into sleep. His arrogance was going to be his undoing as he desperately licked and sucked and tried to get that little pucker to stop bearing down so hard against his attempts to get inside.

You startled awake.

“What’shappenin’?” you croaked, still thankfully half asleep which meant if he was very careful it wouldn’t take long to lull you back.

“Shh, hush now. Go back to sleep pretty girl hm?” he said, sweet as anything as he ran a soothing hand up and down your flank.

You weren’t so different than the skittish mare he had ridden during horse training. She was always so easily soothed with sweet words and the reassuring weight of a hand on her rump. He was salivating at the thought of how smooth a ride you would be.

“S’wet” you mumbled, feeling the spit pooling around your ass.

“Must’ve been having a pretty dream” Gaz said with a chuckle, dipping a finger into your slit and finding you wet all on your own. “Go back to it, shh, there you go.”

He was ever so careful, his finger working to relax your body rather than get you worked up. He did consider if a quick orgasm might get you tired out, maybe if you woke up again he’d go for it. Price would indulge him some wriggle room outside of the brief because, as he was unashamed to admit, he was his favourite. But he didn’t want to push it if he didn’t have to.

And yeah maybe he knew it would do a number on his confidence to eat you out after Soap had already had a go. Gaz was good, but that boy was a fucking savant at eating pussy. Eating ass he could use a bit more refinement though, so he knew he had him beat for this.

You were so cute with how you drifted back off that he was once again resisting the urge to bite, leave an equally cute set of teeth marks on that very, very cute arse of yours.

“Bloody hell luv, not even got inside yet and I think I’m in love” he cooed as he grabbed your cheeks and spread them again to give your hole a thorough appraisal that would have mortified you were you conscious.

Maybe it was through the sheer power of his will, but you relaxed finally and his tongue was able to break through that ring of muscle to push inside of you. Fuck, so dry and tight. His tongue felt like it was turning to sandpaper and he was throbbing from imagining how that would feel on his hard cock.

“I’ve got lube for you luv” he whispered to your ass, “but let’s see if I can’t get you wet enough for a finger without it.”

There was something about spitting on a clenching hole that made him rut against the bed like a fucking teenager watching their first porno. Something about tonguing his own saliva into you that made him moan low and lewd.

“Want you in doggy” he mumbled between thrusts of his tongue.

He liked how you looked on your side, all curled up with your tits and stomach melting down into the mattress, but he wanted better access. He wanted all of that cute arse at his disposal, none of it against the bed hidden from him.

You woke up as he started to try roll you and as he cooed instructions you blearily did as he asked and got onto your front, not how you would usually sleep.

“Uncomfortable” you yawned.

“Can’t have that” he said with a grin, flashing a wink to the camera.

Was it really an issue if he was doing it to make you comfortable? Just to sweeten the deal he used his fingers to spread your labia and moved his body to give the camera an excellent view of all that wet, plump flesh. He knew he wasn’t about to get in trouble because he saw how the lens contracted. Dirty old man.

“Now isn’t this a nice dream” he whispered as he licked your slit to get a taste before using his clever fingers on your clit.

You moaned lightly, still floating between the waking world and sleep. God your little fluttering hole was so eager now that it knew what it felt like to be full. It was winking at him, massaging nicely around two of his fingers when they slipped inside your pussy with no resistance.

You startled a little when there was a beep and he chuckled lightly, using the hand not currently finger fucking you to pat your ass.

“Shh it’s ok. Not doing anything wrong luv, he’s just annoyed I’m blocking such a pretty view.”

He knew he was correct because the only thing he changed was to shift over so that his fingering of your lovely, dripping cunt wasn’t blocked by his shoulders and there wasn’t another beep.

“S’nice” you mumbled, liking how he massaged you inside and out with his fingers.

You were trying to fight wakefulness because somewhere your subconscious knew that you were terrified of him in your ass and if you were fully awake you’d clench up. There was a fuzzy sort of concern that he was fingering your pussy because you didn’t remember reading that as the brief. Had he given up on your ass?

“Ah ah ah, no furrowing” he said, wet fingers going to massage the furrow in your brow away.

You whined just a little that he had used the fingers he had just taken out of your pussy rather than his other hand so he was essentially rubbing your arousal into the space between your brows. You were still on your front, one cheek pressed to the mattress, which meant now that his fingers were not in your pussy he was grinding himself against your ass.

“Fuck you’re cute” he said, licking right between your brows where the slick had been left to clean the skin. “Now back to sleep luv.”

He went back to work, nestling his fingers inside your cunt and rubbing just right with his thumb on your clit to have a gentle orgasm roll through you and send you drifting off. He resisted against lapping up that trickle of wetness that was dripping out of you, instead dragging all that slick to your little puckered hole.

For a long while he just played with the hole, letting you sink into sleep. But then he lost all patience when he saw it relax just a bit, coated his finger messily in his spit and started pressing inside.

“Come on, open up luv. Let me in, let that tight arse take me” he whispered fervently, his face practically shoved between your cheeks as he watched how you hole started to give.

Fuck you looked so good with a finger wriggling its way up your arse even if he could only get to the second knuckle. You’d look perfect with his cock sinking into it. He was drooling at the thought, letting his saliva drip down onto you. Christ alive he was hard. Would he get away with a quick fuck? Your cunt was already loose and ready from the fingering before, if he could just get off once it would take the edge off.

He got his cock out, stroked it a few times with a groan. Suddenly every inch of clothing on him felt itchy and wrong and he threw it all off. He should have put a mirror on the ceiling, gotten a birds eye view of how gorgeous your naked bodies looked together. Like a fucking oil painting.

“Yeah you’d like it wouldn’t you? A load for your pussy first hm?”

He started playing with your cunt again, fully ignored that little beep in the background as he scrambled to get himself in position to fuck you. He just needed to cum then he’d have patience again, then he’d get back to work. He let a string of drool fall down onto your pucker and hooked his thumb inside. There, nice and snug so she didn’t get lonely while he attended to your pretty pussy.

“We both know Price won’t let you misbehave that much.”

Well if Price thought that sending Farah was going to do anything to help with his current situation he was wrong. Or maybe this was a punishment, make his cock weep even more. Her light snort of a laugh made his dick twitch and he was sure he was about to explode when she walked in and ran a loving hand across your head and then his.

“Somno, anal - that was the brief she agreed to no?” she sighed as she stepped back from the bed to grab the lube from the bedside table and hold it out for him. “I’ll speak to Nova, make sure you get first go when she gets her hands on her.”

He took the lube but held Farah’s hand there so he could lean over and lick that new bead on her bracelet.

“Oh look at you Garrick, you’re lovestruck” she said, running her other hand through his hair while he went a little brainless licking at that bead.

“And you’re not?”

They both grinned at one another knowingly. How could they not be instantly enamoured? Price had chosen very well with you.

“Stick to the brief Kyle” Farah said, letting the bottle of lube go and leaving the room after planting a soft kiss to the side of your head.

You shifted a little in your sleep, a soft sigh leaving you. Gaz took a breath and moved back to pay attention to your ass where his thumb was still hooked. Comfortably he might add, like the intrusion wasn’t a bother anymore.

“Just one without lube luv, you can take one. So perfect, so fucking perfect and pretty.”

When he gently pried his thumb from that tight squeeze your hole flexed, not quite closing straight away. What a good fucking girl you were for him he thought as he used that to push a finger in.

Your pretty hole was still a mess of saliva, your own arousal and now the pre-cum still sticky on his fingers from pumping his cock, but even so your channel was still so dry and resistant. He worked up to the first knuckle and within a few slow pumps the second.

He groaned when you fucking crushed his finger once it sunk to the third knuckle, definitely waking up and feeling the intrusion. He usually was more patient than this, but he was getting so frustrated. He couldn’t even fuck your throat a little to take the edge off with Price watching and there was no way he’d be getting himself off with his own hand with you laying naked in the bed.

“W-wait, oh my God” you choked out. “Are you…?”

“In your cute arse? Only a finger luv.”

“What?” you cried, because there was no fucking way that was only one finger, you’d die in that case if he tried to work up to his cock.

“I know, not enough huh?”

He popped the cap from the lube with his teeth, in a hurry to drench you in it. Fuck he was so done, there was no way he could keep taking his time if you were already whining over one finger. The second one he slid in with no preamble, enjoying the way your body spasmed with the shock of it.

You bucked and he moved to straddle your ass, keep you right where you needed to be. God his cock was so close, he could just take his fingers out and fuck you bloody before you woke up enough to know what was really happening. Jesus, you were going to land him being detained in here if he fell any more in love with your arse.

“Fuck, fuck Gaz I, it’s so much” you gasped.

You were trying hard to relax. You had drifted back in somewhere around ‘so fucking perfect’ and the affection in his voice had just really affected you. Logically you knew this was all just sex, he didn’t know you, he didn’t care about you. But your stupid little heart wanted to please him, wanted him to keep that affection for you.

So you had feigned sleep until his finger, which you had thought must be his cock, had pushed in and you couldn’t hold in the cry. It felt like there was so much inside you, too much, far too much. Your poor cunt was clenching and gushing slick for a stuffing that wasn’t there, maybe it was your body attempting to lube up the hole that was actually being fucked.

“Shh I know, but you can take it. I know you can take it.”

At the start of this you had discussed limits and being drugged was one of them, but you wished you had allowed it now. You wished you could drift off back to sleep like he wanted because right now there was no chance you could, not with him pumping those two fingers inside of you with his cock heavy on your thigh.

When he took them out you sighed in relief, thinking he would cuddle you back to sleep again. Maybe if you were lucky give you another relaxing orgasm to speed things along. His hand went to your ass cheeks, pulling them apart to appraise you. That was fine you supposed, what use was embarrassment at this point? You closed your eyes and let the adrenaline start to taper off so you could try get back to sleep for him.

And then he fucking rammed himself inside of you.

“Fuck luv! Fuck fuck fuck!”

It burned, everything burned. He was tearing you apart, rearranging your guts. You half expected organs to spill out when he pulled back, but there was only the wet squelch of an ocean of lube being dragged in and out by his cock.

You couldn’t fucking breathe with him shoving his way into your lungs, couldn’t formulate a thought.

“You’re fine, you’re fuckin’ fine luv. You can take it, fuck you’re taking it!”

You were taking it like a multiple stabbing victim, just trying to stay alive through the assault. Although you didn’t suppose they usually did so while trying to please the knife sinking into them.

“G-Gaz” you choked out, “please, please I can’t-”

With him pinning you down so hard you couldn’t get your hand under you to play with yourself. You needed to. You needed something, anything to distract from how painful this was. God you needed to sink your fingers into your spasming cunt and hope your body would forgive you for what you were letting happen.

“I’ve got you baby” he said, knowing what you needed and hiking your hips up so you were face down arse up and could get your fingers sunk into yourself.

“F-full” you choked, not realising just how much something in your pussy would make you feel.

“Hold on a little longer, take it a little more” he hissed, thudding against your ass with every brutal thrust.

You had never expected him to be so violent in how he fucked, but you shouldn’t have judged him by his charm and sunny disposition. Just because he had never been detained did not mean he wasn’t associated with the Kennel. This man was still one of the most dangerous people in the world.

It was a miracle that you didn’t safeword out. You were sobbing into the pillow from the pain of it, feeling lightheaded from how little oxygen you were getting. Fuck, maybe he’d get you sleeping again after all at this rate. You were never going to cum from this, but you were just trying to edge enough pleasure in that the fullness didn’t completely overwhelm you.

“Gonna cum on your arse. Fucking perfect arse” he moaned.

It took three more hard and impossibly deep thrusts before he frantically pulled out which made you scream. Your poor, abused hole was unable to close immediately, still gaping open from the assault, so you felt some of his cum hit your insides as he exploded all over you ass.

He could not possibly have so much cum and yet you felt yourself drenched, rope after rope hitting your cheeks, your hole, your insides as your hips collapsed down without him holding them up.

Gaz wasn’t sure he had ever cum so hard in his fucking life. He damn near blacked out with the force of it and was about ready to collapse until he heard you sobbing and hiccupping, trying to hide the worst of it into the now damp pillow.

“Shit.”

Oh he had royally fucked this one up. He usually never lost control like that, he was the master of slow and patient right up until today. Why the hell had Price not sent Farah back in? Christ he should have barged in here himself.

He sent a bit of a panicked look to the camera and used one hand to touch each of his fingers to his thumb while using the other to start very gently rubbing your clit since you were still fingering yourself, almost like you were on autopilot.

Price came in barely a minute later and his hand running through Gaz’s hair along with his soothing voice telling him it was okay, he hadn’t done anything wrong, you hadn’t safeworded and he hadn’t caused permanent damage was what he needed to not spiral into a panic.

Lucky for Price, Farah had hung around just incase so he had an extra set of hands to deal with the extra aftercare from this particular session. She spoke Gaz through gently getting you off, letting your brain get away from the desperation to cum because that’s what it needed to release the tension and move on to aftercare.

Maybe the two of them enjoyed it a little too much, getting two overworked and vulnerable people to look after, but hey they were both caregivers at heart.

As Price finally tucked you in for the night he reshuffled things in his head. You needed a break. Or if he was honest with himself, he needed you.

[narcissistshandler]

𝗠𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝗠𝗘 𝗙𝗘𝗘𝗟

from the series of thoughts that I only have during the night: I really find it incredibly erotic to fuck a man who, for whatever reason, whether it be a cock ring, a chastity cage or just tiredness/stress, can't get hard. judge me, I don't care. top!male reader and bottom! geto suguru below, no specific warning, but this is a bit angst and dark. minors dni. if you haven't seen part one of season two or haven't read the manga this contains spoilers.

Suguru was tired. Exhausted to the point where he wouldn't even consider dragging himself to the bathroom and letting the icy water that threatened to freeze his bones help with the ever constant tension in his shoulders. The phantom taste of the cursed spirit that lingered in his mouth, consistent even when it had been days since he'd swallowed it. He wanted to vomit. Wanted to pass out under the stream of water. Wanted to sleep for hours at a time, not even considering waking up. It was easy to search for just one word: disappear.

Instead of all that though, he was seduced by your hungry eyes, by your deft fingers always touching him with mastery - and a gentleness that never failed to make him sick. You undressed him as you took his mouth in a deep, sweet kiss that erased the sourness and bitterness rising in his throat, not commenting on the deep, dark circles under his empty eyes, or the decreasing frequency of times he returned to what you called 'home'.

You trailed kisses down his neck and shoulders, your every hurried, warm movement giving away just how much you wanted him. And you didn't even point out loud that Suguru wasn't even hard for you.

"It's okay." Suguru opened his mouth to say, using all his remaining strength to touch your wrist where for the last five minutes you've tried to bring him to hardness. Suguru really wanted you. He couldn't think of a better way to take away the darkness that roamed the corners of his mind with memories of the past rather than with your cock inside him. But he knew he wouldn't get hard, It didn't matter how much you tried.

Suguru spread his legs wider around your hips and apparently the look he gave you - desire beneath the exhaustion - was enough. You warmed up the lube and started prepare him with your fingers.

The first finger went in easily, there was nothing but temporary discomfort, yet Suguru felt as if his skin were on fire, the stretching sensation tensing his legs. Familiar noises began to fill the room; three fingers pushed their way inside him and Suguru thought he was close to losing his mind. It felt good, very good. Your fingers opening inside him, making a wet noise each time they moved in and out of him, driving deep, rubbing his prostate. Suguru still wasn't hard, but he didn't care and he knew you didn't either.

He opened his mouth to beg for your cock, his throat dry. Only ineligible noises came out, a jumble of letters that didn't make sense along with your name. "Dema me ur psua [name]," he muttered. "[name] [name] [name]."

Somehow you got it, how could you not when Suguru was writhing in the sheets, feet tucked into the mattress working to sink against your fingers?

The tip of your cock pressed against the taut edge and began to thrust inside; thick, perfect. Suguru's eyes fell closed, a sound that was a mixture of wail and sigh left his lips and his back collapsed against the mattress, as if all the remaining strength left him.

There was barely any burn, but he still felt every nerve in his body ignite with the sensation of your length pushing its way inside him. The tight walls made way for you, his hole molding itself around you. Suguru searched for your lips like a starving man in the desert.

The sound of the waves as in a distant dream faded, taking with it the flashing memories of Riko Amanai, deeper, the smiling face of Haibara beckoning to him faded away into the darkness under his closed eyelids, only the wet sound of skins meeting was left, the grunts that came out of your mouth, the feel of your fingers digging into his thigh, the reality.

The shadows are gone, only an inexplicable calm remains.

Suguru's cock was limp against his stomach without any sign of coming out of it, even when you once again took him in your hand and started to stimulate him. It felt good, so Suguru didn't tell you to stop. He surrendered to you, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his pale skin as you began to move, in and out of him, each time faster and stronger until you were fucking him mercilessly into the mattress in an uncomfortable position that pressed his knees close to his head.

One of your hands moved up his taut stomach and began pinching his nipples hard, eliciting groans from him. Suguru knew that the next day his nipples would be sensitive, his hole swollen and red, but he didn't care, in fact he wanted this desperately: to carry the marks of your belonging on his body, so that he could remember the heat, violence and control of your touches.

His hole tightened with rhythmic contractions, the feeling of being full, of having you filling him to the brim was too much. Suguru gasped against your mouth, barely finding the will to pull away from you, even if it was a mere kiss. He pulled your lower lip between his teeth and urged you to do the same, to take all your frustrations and tiredness out on his body. He needed this.

Words weren't necessary.

Your teeth sank into his shoulder hard enough to draw blood, your thrusts became faster and deeper, nails digging into his skin. Suguru knew how to make you hurt him and he knew you wouldn't stop if he didn't tell you to. All of him craved the pain and anything else you wanted to give him. The admission was a dark and heavy veil: Suguru was yours to take and he was broken.

Desperately, he mentally begged: please hurt me more. Hit me, scratch me, bite me, pull my hair harder, fuck me until I bleed, fill me up until I taste you in my throat. Make me feel. Remind me that I'm not alone.

[gothcsz]

Dangerous Woman | Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | ~9k wc | Part 2 of the Fantasize series | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Javier does something that warrants a second visit.

Tags: stalking, lots of dirty talk, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (we're taking it raw), some plot snuck into the porn (sorry not sorry), spanking, light slapping, slight breeding kink..., some physical descriptions but overall it's pretty vague, no use of Y/N, reader is a photojournalist, reader speaks spanish, we're altering canon timeline just a bit, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: primas (gn), we're back to being delusional! thanks so so so much for all the lovin the boy is mine got like i'm on my knees for each and every one of u fr 🧎🏽‍♀️ hehe i do plan on posting a final part to wrap this up btw. love the dynamic between these two 🖤 did javi match your freak?! did he match your nasty?!

DIVIDERS CREDIT: saradika

You quit going to his apartment entirely. He expects you to meet him there again, and while the urge to return and take things all the way is enticing as hell; you keep yourself from doing so.

Well, technically, you did go by one time and that visit was the reason why you swore the rest of them off.

You watched from the front seat of your car, further down on the other side of the street, as he rested his forearms against the railing; a lit cigarette between his lips while he stared off into the distance.

Your handsome man who somehow looked sexier under distress. Even from how far away you were you could see those defined, prominent wrinkles between his brows.

He was waiting for you. Looking out into the city and wishing that you were prancing your way back to him.

You wondered then if that was a new ritual of his. If he stood out on his balcony every night in hopes of seeing you again. It made your heart soar and goosebumps to erupt along your skin. 

But you want to drive him crazy with your absence, to have him question if what happened that night in his bedroom was as real as it felt. Gaslighting himself into believing it was all just a dream, something his conscience had made up to relieve him temporarily of the hardships of his job.

Part of the sick enjoyment you get comes from your cat and mouse game, with you being the gamemaster. The one who sets the rules and decides when plays are allowed to be made.

You want him to be vigilant, to shine a light against every shadow that crosses his path in hopes that it’s you, the sexy little thing that’s been preying on him for longer than he knows. 

You want to edge him with the anticipation of your next move.

This move won’t happen until further down the line. Things have been tense in the circumstances that overlap both of your careers. Government distrust grows more and more by the day, the drug traffickers get richer by the second.

You just haven’t had the time to follow him as thoroughly as you have been.

Which is why you sunk your claws into someone in his inner circle, a Neil Stoddard that works directly beneath your agent. It had taken you a few tries, causally bumping into him at the market or during a morning jog, until enough rapport was built and you finally convinced him to feed you information on DEA operations.

He was hesitant at first, but you’ve been told that you can be very persuasive; always knowing exactly what to say, which cadence to use and how to shift your body language to match the conversation. Showcasing your skill, you manage to get just about every little detail that you can from the younger agent before anyone else.

It benefits you both in your career and in your efforts to keep tabs on him.

You wonder if he thinks about you in the same way you do him. Does he constantly replay that rainy night in his head? Does he fuck his fist and close his eyes to think of you, the mysterious woman who broke into his apartment just to get on her knees for him? Swallowed his soul in its entirety and then disappeared off into the night?

Fuck, you hope so, because with each day that passes–– you fall deeper in love with Javier Peña.

You’re walking home from work one day, an extra pep in your step at the good news that one of your projects from graduate school is being looked at by some big name publishers back stateside. The excitement of getting your work published by a well known and reputable paper further inflates your ego and the passion that you have for your career.

So you decide to buy something nice for yourself, a materialized pat on the back for being so good at what you do. You enter a quaint antique store that’s nestled in the small plaza a few blocks from your apartment building, eyeing some of the merchandise they have on display.

You’re contemplating whether you want to purchase a set of stained glass table lamps when a distinct glint catches your attention from the corner of your eye.

You turn to see a beautiful engagement ring on display behind the glass counter, its shimmer immediately drawing you to it. You set the lamps down carefully, walking over to the counter to get a better look at the piece of jewelry.

The ring’s silver band is elegantly slender. Intricate filigree work adorns the outer surface with delicate patterns of vines and tiny flowers that spiral gracefully around it. 

At the center sits a stunning marquise cut diamond, its facets catching the light in a soft, romantic sparkle.

You stare at it in awe, imagining it around your finger after he slips it on, still on one knee, while those captivating brown eyes of his stare up at you in nothing but pure love and adoration.

His fiancée. His wife.

Calling the attendant over, she happily lets you try it on incase it needs to be resized.

It doesn’t. It fits just right, making your hand look very lovely. You wriggle your fingers, giggling as it catches the light.

You purchase it, obviously, having her place it in a small, velvety box that you slide into your bag as you thank her for her help; leaving the shop just to walk a few stores down to where they sell lingerie.

There, you buy a new outfit–– this one much more risque than the leather dress that’s neatly tucked away in your closet.

With a small dent in your account, your career on the path of blossoming, and your delusions for him reaching another peak; you go home and plan your next move.

Stoddard tells you about the raid planned to capture Miguel Rodríguez and the fake out involved, since the last time they had targeted him–– bureaucratic bullshit had gotten in the way and prevented the arrest. Something involving the man hiding in the walls and a DEA agent using a sledgehammer to get him out.

Apparently there’s a mole within the Colombian government that’s making it hard to bring the narcos to justice. What’s new? Amidst all this, he mentions how the boss is going to stay behind while everyone else in the department travels to Cali.

This bit of information piques your interest but you keep your reaction neutral. The velvet box in your bag is burning a hole through the leather, reminding you of its existence. You haven’t worn the ring since you tried it on, saving it for the perfect moment.

Like the one that’s just manifested itself.

You get the details of this operation, specifically paying attention to the times so you know at what pace you’ll have to work with.

If your calculations are correct, he’d be all alone in the office well into the night.

You’re an adrenaline junky, clearly, since the idea of sneaking into a government building just to seek pleasure from the DEA attaché has your entire body crackling with electricity.

You thank him as you go your separate ways. The raid is in two days, which will give you more than enough time to get prepared.

Getting ready mellows you out entirely, the only nerves you feel are those of excitement at the prospect of seeing your agent tonight. You’re currently in the bath, your favorite candle lit and on your second glass of wine.

It’d be a massive win for him if they’re able to follow through with the plan. Two of the head honchos in cuffs and behind bars, even if it was the lax walls of a Colombian prison.

Surely it warrants some kind of reward. You did tell him that he’d see you again whenever he did something that was worth your presence. Worth your body.

It could have come sooner, but between the disappearance of Guillermo Pallomari, Christina Jurado’s kidnapping and then Franklin Jurado’s death; fate had other plans.

He just couldn’t catch a break. For his sake, you hope they’re able to get that motherfucker tonight.

Finishing up in the bath, your skin is smooth like the delicate petals of a flower and you smell like a candy shop, all hydrated and plump and ready to be ravaged.

You go through the motions of doing your hair and makeup, this time aiming for a bolder look.

Sharp cat eye liner, classic red lip, thick lashes. You want to mimic the sultry models you see in the high-end magazines.

Dolling yourself up for him is part of your foreplay. You enjoy watching your own transformation, going from a steadfast journalist to a seductive minx at the wave of a makeup brush.

Would he find you attractive? Not your feline alter ego but the real you. The one that camps out in her car more often than not to stalk him, fast food wrappers littering the seats. The woman who broke into his apartment and masturbated using his pillows. The woman using his subordinate to get information about him and his highly classified work operations.

Would the illusion break after so many encounters? Would the allure of your salacious activities dim until that fire is completely smothered with the reality of what you’ve been doing?

Would he even want you if he knew the truth?

You stare at your reflection in the vanity mirror, not even realizing your eyes have glazed over with tears at these thoughts. Your heart aches at the nonexistent rejection.

No, snap out of it. Now is not the time to be thinking of this shit.

Shaking your head, you swiftly get your act together and change into your outfit for the night.

The lingerie set is the epitome of classic elegance with a sexy edge. It consists of a bra, panties, and a garter belt, each piece meticulously designed to celebrate your natural curves and skin tone.

The bra is a balconette style, the cups a luxurious black lace with intricate floral patterns, sheer enough to tease yet opaque enough to leave some things to the imagination. The underwire provides a gentle lift, enhancing the shape of your breasts, while the straps, adorned with tiny satin bows, add a touch of femininity.

The matching panties are a cheeky bikini cut. The front panel is made from the same black lace as the bra, with a subtle scalloped edge that sits gently against your hips. The back is a sheer mesh, offering a tantalizing glimpse of skin with a small satin bow at the waistband. Your ass looks so good.

The garter belt is the pièce de résistance, tying the entire set together. It sits high on your waist, cinching in to create an hourglass silhouette. Four straps extend down, each finished with satin ribbon accents to hold up your thigh-high stockings securely.

You add the accessories: diamond earrings gifted to you by your grandmother, your simple black stilettos and finally–– the ring you purchased at the antique store.

Now in front of a full length mirror, you can’t help but run your hands all over your body. Fuck looking like the high end models from Vogue–– you resemble a god damn Playboy star; sexy enough to warrant your very own centerfold in the magazine.

Maybe you should invest in some bunny ears. Try and be a conejita for one night.

This is what you’d wear on your wedding night, you think, eyes not leaving your reflection as the ring twinkles beneath your bedroom lights. You wouldn’t even wear it in white, the black lace an homage to the erotic start of your relationship with the DEA agent. Your husband.

Your cat mask sits on the bed, right next to your polaroid camera. After you finish eye fucking yourself, you crawl onto the matress and slip it on; obscuring your face in the sexiest way possible.

With all the fuckery he’s had to deal with as of late, you decided you were going to leave some souvenirs behind. A few visuals for him to look at during lonely nights instead of lolling around on his balcony like a neglected puppy.

You begin taking the photos, contorting your body into different erotic positions, getting the best angles. It all comes to you naturally, you’re good behind and in front of the camera.

After a dozen or so snaps of your tits, your ass, your thighs and some cheeky ones of your pretty cunt, you let them develop and take the mask off, putting on a basic satin slip dress to hide your lingerie. 

You were going to be out in a more public space, you didn’t want to risk something happening and for that to leave you basically naked in the streets of Bogotá.

Tossing your belongings into your bag, you drive to the embassy, parking around the back to keep your vehicle hidden from any prying eyes. How ironic. 

The familiar trench coat sits on your shoulders, tied close to keep your naughty outfit out of sight. Your bag hangs from the curve of the inside of your elbow, the kitten mask nestled at the bottom, just waiting for you to don it once more.

In this moment, you feel like one of those cliché romance tropes: surprising your husband at work with skimpy clothes under a fucking coat.

You snort at the realization, but you’re kind of loving this.

When you push open the door to the building, you notice how quiet and empty it is. At the large front desk, an older officer straightens his posture at your entrance.

“Identificación, por favor.”

You bite your lip, praying to god that this works, and dig into your bag to pull out your press lanyard. It has your name on it, what paper you work for along with a photograph that was taken your first day on the job.

You hand it over and he eyes it then you suspiciously, taking in your done up appearance.

“I’ve got some photographs developing in the lab here. Lost track of time at the office which is why I’m stopping by so late. I’ll just be in and out, no worries.” You explain in English with a gentle lilt, hoping that your status as an American will sway him into letting you up.

He hands you back your lanyard. “I’m not supposed to let anyone who isn't employed here in after a certain time. Lo siento, señorita. Regresa mañana.”

Your eye twitches in annoyance at the denial, your skin prickling with frustration.

You have to see him tonight. No matter what. This senile idiot isn’t going to stop you.

“I didn’t want to do this…” You begin with a sigh, leaning forward against the desk and your coat opens up just enough for him to get a good look down your cleavage, “But I’m also here to visit my fiancé, mi prometido.” You bring your left hand up for him to see the ring that adorns your finger, “He’s been having some tough days and I wanted to surprise him. I’m sure you know him. Javier Peña.”

Now this gets his attention, snapping his gaze from ogling your cleavage to meet your eyes.

“Ah, si, Javier Peña. El jefe de la DEA.”

You nod, seeing his resolve dissipating, and he lazily waves his hand, signaling that you’re good to go up.

“Muchas gracias señor, que tenga buena noche.”

Fuck. Yes. Your nerves morph into excitement as you step into the elevator, hitting the button that goes to his floor.

Pretending to be his to a complete stranger has put you further into a mood, feeling your pulse quickening at the idea of doing it again. Of deceiving the world, warping reality to play into your delusions of being happily engaged to a man who doesn’t even know what you look like.

The elevator comes to a stop, the silver doors opening up to a narrow hallway with various rooms and offices on either side. If you recall correctly, his is further down the hall which is perfect because you need to set your belongings down before making your grand entrance.

You find a place for your things behind the stairwell door, knowing that’s how you’re going to make your escape tonight. You didn’t want to walk past the security guard again and you didn’t want to give him enough time to chase you down into the elevator.

You strip the satin dress, stuffing it into your bag and leaving you just in your undergarments. The polaroids you took are nestled into an envelope and put into the pocket of your trench coat once you have it back on, pulling out your mask and gently bringing it over your face. You apply one final stroke of red lipstick and slip the mesh gloves over your fingers before sneaking your way down the hall.

You press your back against the wall, the tap of your heels muted due to the carpeted floor. Fluttering your eyes close, you force your brain to focus on sound— trying to discern if he is here alone or if he has company.

After a few minutes of listening, you come to the conclusion that he is alone so you just barely poke your head around the corner, eyes scanning the dark room.

It looks like a typical office. Desks sprawled about, a bigger one at the front which you assume to be the secretary’s. The usual fluorescents are dimmed, bathing the room in a transparent darkness.

Across the space is his personal office. It looks like a giant fishbowl at the end of the room, giant windows lining every wall. The blinds are open, giving you a good view of him sitting at the edge of his desk, the phone pressed up to his ear while his large hand nurses a glass of his favorite amber liquor, the familiar cigarette hanging from pointer and middle finger.

You hum diligently. How is he always so fucking handsome?

With catlike suaveness, you move across the room and closer to his office, noticing that the door is ajar, giving you the opportunity to listen in on the call.

Your eyes flit up to the analog clock that hangs on the opposite wall. They’re about to move in on Miguel. 

The tension of this moment, the pure suspense does nothing but aid you and your sexual desires. Whatever news he gets, whether it’s good or bad, you’ll be here to console him… with open arms, and open legs, and an open mouth.

Now that you’re closer, you get a better look at him in his typical work outfit. Rolled up white button up, midnight blue slacks and a loose tie. You wonder if he took off the jacket recently or if he’s been walking around like this for a few hours.

Small details like that matter to you. 

You can’t make out the garbling coming from the phone, but you do see the way he exhales and how his shoulders drop. He closes his eyes letting his wispy lashes fan across his skin. Tension rolls off his body in pure relief as he hears that Miguel Rodríguez has finally been arrested and Salcedo was able to get his family safe. 

He returns the phone to the receiver after a few moments, his thick fingers dragging along the plastic and the simple action has a puddle gathering in your panties.

Standing, he makes his way to the large window that overlooks the downtown area of the capitol, the bustling nightlife illuminating the black night sky.

His back is to you, much like the first time you did this dance, smoke from his cigarette curling around him as he takes lengthy drags in self reflection.

You just watch him, once more under his spell while you remain crouched in the shadows.

He’s been through so much, you know this. All the shit with Escobar, getting into bed with drug dealers and murderers just to catch him, only to be taken off right at the end then returning to finish off Cali. 

God that must have been so… depressing. You wish you would have known him then, before the job molded him into more of a cynic.

You just want to comfort and hold him. To love him with every molecule of your existence. 

Don’t worry, mi amor, I’m right here.

With that, you make your appearance, slowly standing and opening the door further.

The shift in the air at your presence has the hairs on the back of his neck standing and he turns his head to the side, catching your silhouette from his peripheral.

“Hola, gatita.”

His voice is smooth and it drips straight to your clit.

“Hey handsome.” 

You close the door behind you, leaning against it as he fully faces you. His brown eyes scan you from head to toe before he moves to sit in the large chair behind his desk, stubbing out his cigarette against the overfilled ashtray.

“You know…” He grunts out, resting his forearm atop of his head lazily as he leans back, “I prayed tonight’s operation would play out as planned. Not because of the metaphorical nail in Cali’s coffin, but in hopes that the win would lure you out.”

“Is that so?” Your heart is racing at his words and his evident craving for you. You try not falter as you slowly make your way around his office, shutting the blinds as you go.

There’s six windows. You’ve got five more to go.

“Mhm,” he hums, glossy eyes following you around the small space, “I just got confirmation that Miguel is in cuffs. On his way to Bogotá. And not even a few minutes later… well, here you are.”

“Here I am…” you flirt, moving on to the next window.

Then the fourth… third…

“How did you know?”

Only two more until you’re secluded in a little bubble of privacy.

“Call it a woman's intuition.”

His jaw ticks, not liking the answer but also not making a fuss out of it. Yet. He wants to enjoy you tonight, to become the keeper of time so he can drag out the hours and devote himself wholly to you. 

He’s missed you entirely too much. It’s a different feeling, this yearning that nips at him. Hardly ever does he think twice about the women he sleeps with.

But there’s something about you and how you popped up in his life so suddenly. How you turned his world on its head.

A kitten size hole has been left in his heart since you left him on his bedroom floor like a toy you weren’t interested in playing with anymore. 

You finish shutting the blinds, turning to face him as he manspreads himself out on his leather chair, rubbing his palm along his clothed thigh. It makes you want to pounce on it, to rub your wet pussy all over him in the same way you had gotten yourself off on his pillow.

You can practically feel his muscles contracting, the slight flex snapping a sharp orgasm out of you. 

“How are you going to thank me tonight, gatita?” His demeanor is vastly different than last time; he’s exuberating some of that dominance you know he possesses.

You remain silent, your gloved hand digging in the pocket of your coat as you pull out the envelope with your pictures in it, bringing it up to teasingly wave around.

His name is neatly written in cursive against the paper and his brows raise in surprise. He hadn’t expected an actual, tangible token of appreciation.

“This is for all your troubles. I know how hard it’s been in your world recently.”

He doesn’t know what to make of that. Granted, anyone can observe that his job is fucking difficult without knowing the specifics.

But it’s the way you said it, as if you know more than what you should.

You place the envelope in between your teeth, some of your red lipstick smudging against it as your gaze remains locked on his. Your hands make work of the belt that’s kept your trench coat closed, tugging at it until it’s undone. 

The air is charged in pure lustful electricity as the fabric falls from your shoulders and pools around your feet.

“Congratulations on your arrest, agente.”

The grip on his whiskey glass tightens, golden eyes turning an onyx color as he drinks in your scandalous appearance like a man who’s been denied the basic necessity of water his entire life.

“You’re killing me here, bebita.”

You giggle, scrunching your nose beneath the mask and the sound of your flirty laugh has his lips pulling up into a small smile. 

“Come closer. Let me get a better look at you.”

You comply obediently, placing one foot in front of the other before he abruptly stops you.

“Gatea como lo hiciste la última vez.”

Oh shit, your legs turn into jello at the command and immediately you fall to your knees, feeling the scratchy carpet through your stockings. 

“Good girl. Me encanta cuando haces caso.” He praises and you moan softly, crawling towards him on your hands and knees, the envelope still between your teeth.

He takes a sip of his drink, still lounging and keeping a cool demeanor, yet not relenting with the heavy stare he’s laying on you.

His eyes make out every curve of your body, how the shimmer from your lotion makes you glimmer like a shooting star. If he could close his eyes and make a wish right now, he’d wish to know who you really are.

You stop once you’re in between his legs and he stares at you for a good long minute before leaning forward, finishing off whatever was left of his whiskey and setting the empty glass aside.

His thumb and index fingers pinch your chin, moving your jaw to tilt upward so he can look down into your lovely eyes. The pair he sees every time he closes his own.

“Let’s see what you’ve brought me.”

He pulls the envelope from your mouth, your saliva leaving it damp but he doesn’t give a damn.

He opens it up, eyebrows quirking at the sight of the polaroid photos as he carefully analyzes each and every single one.

You’re hanging on to every reaction he gives, the way his eyes map every inch of your figure and how you photographed yourself for him.

It’s there, in the pictures, that he sees it. The ring. His brows pull together in confusion, his gaze flickering down to your hands that are resting on your thighs.

“Let me see your left hand, baby.”

The statement has a warmth blossoming in your stomach. You’re certain he can see your heartbeat pounding against your chest.

Tentatively you bring your hand up, resting it on his knee. 

He sets the photos on his desk then delicately removes the glove, calloused fingers taking your hand in his as he eyes the beautiful ring.

“This wasn’t here last time… ¿te comprometiste, gatita? Been giving that dirty mouth and pussy to someone else, hmm?” He places a kiss on the diamond, his dark eyes now boring into you.

Your thighs clench together at the intensity of the moment and you shake your head earnestly, wanting to dispel those thoughts from his mind entirely.

There is no one else. Just you.

“No. It’s all for you Javi. I just—” Your words get jumbled up, lost on your tongue as the sexy facade slips for a moment while you try and find the right words to explain your possessive, matrimonial fantasy to him.

“All for me, huh?” He’s getting a kick out of your nervous state, dropping your hand and motioning for you to give him the other as he takes the glove off of it too.

“All for you. I’m yours.” You say in a shaky breath, “This ring… it’s my way of pretending that it’s all real… that you’re mine too.” That you want me the same way I want you.

Silence cloaks the both of you, his face set in an unreadable expression.

“You don’t have to pretend, gatita. It can be real. Just let me see you.” He goes to unmask you again but you turn your head to the side to keep him from doing so.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It won’t be fun anymore.” Translation: I’m fucking scared that you’re not going to want the real me.

“So? We could have so much more fun without all this.” His pointer finger traces the lacey cat ears, “Not that I mind this. It’s sexy as hell.”

You look at him again, seeing the sincerity in his stare but you just can’t bring yourself to do it.

“No,” you repeat, a little harsher, “And if you try to take it off again I will disappear and you will never see me again.” 

You rise from the floor, trying to regain some of the control that’s slipped from your grasp. His jaw sets, hands coming up to grip your waist, pulling your body to him until his curved nose runs along your belly.

You gasp softly.

“Tan mala mi gatita bella. Luckily for you I like to work for it.”

He begins to place open mouthed kisses all over your midriff, biting the garter belt and pulling on it so it snaps back onto your skin with a delicious sting.

Your head falls onto your shoulder, enjoying the feeling of his lips. You bring your fingers down to run through his hair, enjoying how silken it is.

His strong hands move from your waist around to your ass, digging his nails into the supple skin while he kneads it, groaning at how soft you are. 

“Didn’t get to touch on this pretty body last time. M’not gonna make that mistake again. Bend over the desk, muñequita. Ahora.” He slaps your ass harshly and you squeal, feeling a fresh wave of wetness soaking your folds.

He relinquishes his hold on you, rolling his chair back to give you room to situate yourself in the position he wants to see you in.

You bend at the waist, your heels making the posture look extra sensual as your breasts press against the wooden surface. 

You hold your breath, anticipating what he does next. 

He gets up from the chair, his touch light as a feather as he traces from the top of your spine down to where the arch in your back is. His hands then go to grip your wrists, moving them so they’re pinned at your lower back.

“Gonna have to keep those pretty pictures on me at all times, gatita. Can’t risk someone else seeing what’s mine. I’d have to kill them.”

His possessiveness further turns you on, and now you want for those pictures to fall in the wrong hands. Just to see how he’d react.

He leans over you, placing kisses on the back of your shoulders, moving your hair to the side to expose more of your flushed skin to him. You turn your head, resting your cheek against the desk as you briefly make eye contact with him.

“That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” You reply and he smirks, kissing the corner of your mouth.

His lips trail down the same path he just traced, working his way down until he’s kneeled behind you, his breath fanning over your sopping pussy.

Your hips twitch instinctively, the pressure between your legs becoming unbearable. You need to feel him on you, whether it’s that sinful mouth of his or those deliciously thick fingers. Something, anything.

As if reading your mind, he brings his hand up to grope your backside enticingly, running his fingers beneath the band of your stockings, your skin feeling like melting butter beneath his touch.

“Been thinking about this since you left me last time. I should have kept you from leaving, should have buried myself in between your pretty legs instead.”

You lick your lips, “Then stop talking and do it.”

He wastes no time in landing a harsh slap against your ass, the skin rippling beneath the touch and you yelp out in both surprise and excitement.

“Eres una gatita tan traviesa. Voy a tener que domesticarté nena.”

Another harsh slap, then another, then another. With each sting you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your orgasm which is a bit pathetic since he hasn’t even touched you like that and you’re already a buzzing, dripping fucking mess.

Each mewl that falls from your lips urges him to continue until he’s satisfied with the flush on each of your cheeks.

His fingers then move to fist the flimsy material of your panties, harshly tugging it until the thin fabric disappears in between your folds and the slight burn from it digging into your sensitive flesh does wonders for the throbbing at your core.

“Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy, bebita, just like I knew it’d be. Look at her, all wet for me. You like getting spanked, don’t you?”

You moan loudly, completely at a loss for words as you nod your head, cheek still pressed to the desk.

“Use your words, sweetheart. Had so much to say last time.” His palm connects with your ass again, coaxing a verbal reply from you.

“Yes Javi, fuck I love being spanked. Love feeling your hands all over me.”

He hums in content, slowly pulling down the ruined underwear off your legs until you’re fully exposed to him. “Since you won’t let me see your gorgeous face, I want you to show off this sweet cunt of yours. Spread her open for me, gatita.”

Exhaling shakily, you move your hands from your lower back until you've got a good grip on your own body, spreading your pussy open so he can see all of you.

For a split second you feel self conscious, not being able to see his reaction as you lay open and vulnerable to him.

That dissipates quickly, however, when you hear his satisfied keen then feel his nose skimming against the plush skin of the back of your thighs, kissing your wrist.

“Now I’m going to taste you.” He repeats your own words back to you, his voice low and deep and fuck are you in love with this man.

His hot, wet tongue licks the length of your slit and you can’t control the noise that you make, sighing his name out. Your skin erupts in chills when he does it again, the coarse hairs of his mustache prickling against your swollen cunt.

“Tan dulce. Dunno how you’re going to pull me off of her.”

And with that, he fully immerses himself in your pussy. He’s desperate, licking every inch of you that he can, savoring the tangy taste of your sex. He sucks onto your folds before hardening his tongue and rapidly flicking the tip against your clit. This has you struggling to keep yourself spread open for him, writhing at his ministrations.

“Oh my fucking god Javier your tongue, holy shit…” You babble, absolutely blissed out as his strong nose nuzzles against your entrance, the tip of it inside of you.

He groans, absolutely pussy drunk, rendering him a scrambled mess as he further buries his face into you, his big strong hands working your thighs, this time actually ripping your stockings.

Making out with your pussy passionately, your arousal drips from his mouth and down his jaw. He pulls back, a stringy glob of your fluids following like a cut open aloe vera plant. His thumb brushes against your clit as he spits onto your cunt, smearing his saliva all over before he slips two fingers inside you.

You clench immediately, crying out his name as his digits stretch you open. “So fucking tight gatita. You gonna squeeze my dick like this?”

Your knees just about give out at the promise of feeling his impressive girth inside of you. You hadn’t planned to actually fuck him tonight, not wanting to spoil the erotic nature of your visits by just giving him your pussy.

But now, as he’s ravishing and fingering you with such vigor and your vision beginning to blur as a sign of your incoming orgasm, you’re back tracking on that decision entirely.

You need him to fuck you. You might just die if he doesn’t.

He curls his fingers at your lack of response, the tips of them brushing up against that spot that makes you jolt, your chest rising from the desk while your thighs tighten.

“Stay put and answer the fucking question,” His free hand moves to roughly push you back down, his mouth joining his fingers on your pussy.

“Fuck yes baby. Gonna squeeze you til I milk every single drop out of that fat fucking cock.” You whimper like you’re in an X rated film, rocking your hips back against him as your stomach tightens. You’re so close.

Content with your answer, he slips in a third finger and harshly sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth, moving his head side to side. That’s enough to have you spill all over him, your body trembling while a mixture of moans and sobs and cries of his name echo out of you like a cock-obsessed woman that needs to be sedated.

Your acrylics dig into the skin of your ass, leaving crescent shaped marks on the flesh.

He continues his relentless assault on your cunt, eating you out through your orgasm. The blood rushing in your ears keeps you from hearing all the filthy things he’s chanting against your skin.

The ring looks so beautiful next to your spent pussy, querida. All mine.

Pulling his fingers from you once you’ve come down from your high, he places a final, more gentle kiss against your clit and you twitch from the oversensitivity.

“Did so good muñeca.” He rises from his kneeled position, the soft sounds of his joints popping having you blink away some of the haziness from your eyes, your body completely limp against his desk.

His hands run along the length of your body before he’s tenderly flipping you over so you’re on your back, the edge of the desk uncomfortably digging into your waist.

Noticing this, he clears some space to make room then lifts you until you’re fully sprawled out on his desk looking absolutely wrecked.

His mustache is damp with your release, lips swollen from him losing himself in the taste of you and drinking all that you have to offer him. Brown eyes remain dark, gaze swimming with longing.

“So handsome…” you mutter dreamily as he hovers over you, his thumb gently caressing the part of your cheek that isn’t covered by the mask.

“I wish you would let me get a good look at you, gatita.” He leans in, kissing your chin then your jaw until he’s trailing down onto the soft skin of your neck.

“Javi…” you sigh out, not only because his lips feel fucking divine but also because you don’t want to have this conversation again.

“I know, I know. You’ll disappear and I’ll never see you again. I got it the first time.”

He cups your breasts in his hands, gently kneading them as he licks down your sternum. He snakes a hand behind you and you arch your back, letting him expertly undo your bra.

The straps are delicately pulled down your shoulder until the garment is completely off, your nipples pebbling as the cool air of his office nips at them.

He wastes no time in wrapping his pouty lips around the sensitive peak and suckling softly. His tongue traces around your areola, grazing his teeth against your nipple which causes you to whine and bring your fingers to entangle in his hair, pressing your chest deeper onto his face.

Repeating the action on the other, he lavishes your breasts with attention from his skilled muscle. His facial hair is an added stimulant to your pleasure and your clit pulsates, body ready to have him inside of you.

You roll your hips, feeling his erection brush up against your naked pussy and your breath hitches in your throat.

It’s then that you realize that he’s still fully clothed while you’re practically naked. The only things that adorn your body are your ripped stockings and the garter belt along with your heels.

Tugging him away from your tits, you bring his face up to yours, noses brushing against each other. You can smell your sex on his lips, so you lean in to kiss him, tasting yourself and moaning.

“I need you to fuck me, agent.” Your lips brush against his as you speak, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer to you.

His chest rumbles at your request, hands antsy as he caresses and gropes; memorizing all your curves and the feel of your body.

“S’that what my gatita wants? For me to fuck her sweet little pussy?” 

Your answer comes in the form of another passionate kiss with a nod, your tongue intertwining with his then sucking on it softly.  He’s such a good fucking kisser, you could make out with him until your lungs burn from the lack of oxygen.

He pulls back, quickly beginning to unbutton his shirt in which you assist him, your french tipped nails taking over while he makes work of getting his pants undone and off.

Sliding his shirt off his broad shoulders, you pull him back down to you, lips quickly kissing all over the freshly exposed skin, savoring the warmth radiating off him.

You feel his naked cock pressing against your wet slit and your head cants back, a breathless whimper pushing past your lips while he lets out a deep groan.

“You make such pretty noises, muñeca. Wanna hear them all the time.”

He rubs his plush head against the length of your sopping pussy, collecting the wetness of your arousal.

“Gonna let me fuck this pussy raw, gatita? For all I know you’ve been spreading your legs for half the fuckin’ city.”

Your head spins, body overstimulated by his touch and the words that leave him. 

“Need to feel all of you, Javi. I think about it all the time. No one else. Just you.” You whisper out, once more clenching your thighs around his hips and rolling your own to entice him into slipping inside your tight and needy heat.

He curses, his teasing finally getting to him as he slowly sinks his thick, hard cock inside of you.

You both sigh out in pleasure in unison, your fleshy walls contracting around his length and swallowing him in, almost in the same manner in which your throat had all those nights ago. 

Every part of your body is eager to feel him somehow, your obsession and insatiable craving convoluting your being into nothing more than just something to bring him pleasure.

“Goddamn nena te sientes tan rica. Este cuerpecito está hecho para mí.”

He still hasn’t bottomed out and you feel so incredibly full. Your wet dreams have nothing against the real thing. 

“Javiiii, I need you to move. To fuck me hard and fast.” While you know having him rock into you slowly and sensually would feel better than winning the fucking lottery, you need to drop your own self respect and have him take you like the whores he’s so fond of.

He bares his teeth, straightening his posture so he’s no longer hovering over you. He readjusts your legs to sit higher on his waist.

“Was goin’ slow to give you the chance to get used to me baby pero la gatita quiere mas and I can’t help but spoil you, hermosa.”

Without warning, he snaps his hips into yours and you gasp loudly, the burn of him stretching you out adds vicious heat to your already hot cunt.

“Oh just like that Javi please…” you sob as he begins to fuck you just as you asked. Hard and fast. 

“Pobrecita. Can’t even take what she’s asking for.” He fucking pouts, mocking you and you’re certain that you’ve died and gone straight to horny heaven.

The desk moves with every thrust; pens, papers and other items hitting the floor. 

He roughly takes ahold of your bouncing tits, using them as leverage to keep splitting you open on his cock, your arousal leaving a creamy ring against his flesh and the sight has him going feral.

“Fuck this is the best pussy I’ve ever fucked, querida. So tight and fucking perfect. Bet you’ve never been fucked like this before, huh? S’probably why you came to me. Knew I would take good care of you.”

Your hands grip the edge of the desk, knuckles flushed, to keep you from falling off. The scratchy hairs on the base of his cock brush against your sensitive clit, having you shut your eyes out of pure ecstasy.

You never want this to end.

“Abre esos ojos gatita, you’re already denying me so much by not letting me see your lovely face. At least let me look into those beautiful eyes while I fuck you.” One of his hands leaves your breast, lightly slapping you to get your attention back on him.

As if it ever wavered.

Your eyes blink open, the slight sting across your cheek only bringing you closer to your orgasm.

“D-Do that again.” You plead with a small smirk, squeezing your walls around him and he grunts, slapping your face again.

You moan and he matches your smirk, basking in your reaction.

“Ay nena, eres mi dream girl. Where the fuck have you been all my life?”

His praise paired with the harsh snap of his hips driving his cock deeper is enough to have stars blinding your eyesight as your pussy tightens and your orgasm begins to shoot up your spine.

“Aqui, Javi. I’m right here baby.” Your words slur, absolutely cock drunk.

His torso looks perfectly fucking sculpted, like a god walking amongst men. Different muscles tense and jolt at his movements; you want to bite into his triceps and lick all over his prominent collarbone.

He shifts again, this time throwing your legs over his shoulders and the change in angle has you moaning out like a seasoned pornstar. He places gentle kisses against the inside of your knee, trailing his tongue against the nylon of your stockings before doing the same on the other leg.

This has your pussy feeling tighter and you watch as his own orgasm begins to overtake him.

It’s the hottest thing in the world.

Your left hand trails down the length of your torso until it’s at your pulsating clit, the tips of your fingers beginning to rub small circles against the pearl.

His dark eyes fall onto your movements, his tongue running along his teeth slowly.

“Tan hermosa, nena. Look at how that ring looks against your pussy. Do you touch yourself pretending it’s me, tu esposo, gatita?”

You nod, no longer feeling shy about your perverse delusion of belonging to him in a matrimonial sense. “Si, all the time. Think about you coming home to our house and fucking me on our bed. Ay, Javi I’m about to cum.”

His balls clench, jaw ticking as he too begins to slip into this fantasy of yours. “I’d take such good care of you baby. Make sure all of your needs are, fucking christ,” his thrusts stutter, “met. I’d do anything for you.”

And just like that, your orgasm topples over and your back archs off the desk at the intensity of it. Your vision spots, ears ringing as you douse his cock with your cum.

He fucks you through it, muffled words of praise not reaching you since you’re trying to focus on not passing out from pure bliss.

His cock twitches inside of you, feeling you come undone pulling euphoria out of him too.

“Where do you want it, gatita. You better tell me before I cum in this pussy and make you a mamita.”

Oh fuck, while the offer sounds enticing as hell, you know you need to think with a somewhat clear head so you just say, “Cum all over my clit, please.”

You don’t need to tell him twice, he pulls out just enough for the hot ribbons of his spend to messily land on your exposed clit, some of it getting on your knuckles and ring as you lazily rub it in.

He’s cursing up a storm, a tight grip on your thigh as he empties his balls all over your flesh. 

You both are left panting, his cum dripping down your fingers and pussy onto his desk. Blinking slowly, you meet his gaze and bring your digits up to your mouth, sucking them in and humming in content at the taste of your mixed release.

“Sucia,” he spits out before falling to his knees again, giving you no time to fucking react as he buries his face in your freshly used cunt.

“Javier!” You shout, literally shout, as he eats your cum and his out of your sweet pussy. Your fingers shoot down to tangle in his mussed hair, yanking on it without caring if it pains him or not. 

You don’t even realize it but you’re actually crying. The tears falling from the corners of your eyes beneath the mask and onto your cheek.

You’ve never felt this good. Never had a man, or anyone else for that manner, make you feel as sexy and wanted as the agent that’s currently in between your legs. 

When he finally stands, you’re left an incoherent mess and all he does is smirk.

“We taste good, muñeca.”

You whimper, not knowing how the fuck you’re going to recover from this and if you’ll even make it down the flight of stairs that awaits you for your departure.

Javier’s after care consists of placing soft kisses all over you, whispering sweet words to help bring you back to him. He caresses you again, this time being mindful of your over sensitivity.

He kisses along your thighs and tummy then moves up to each breast. His fingers graze along your skin and when he’s finally at your mouth, your lips meet in a kiss that surpasses any of the other ones you’ve shared with him.

Your mask makes it a little awkward at first but neither of you seem to care, too lost in the feeling of the other. It’s sensual and slow, all the unspoken things felt between the two of you being relayed during this interlock.

He pulls back, resting his forehead against the lace and plastic of your kitten mask. Your red lipstick is smeared all over his handsome face.

The lust in his brown eyes has now been replaced with something else that you can’t quite put your finger on, and that’s enough to snap you out of your trance and you gently push at his chest.

“I have to go.”

He scoffs, not moving from over you, “You don’t.”

“I do, Javi.” You say, a little more forcefully, which gets him to pull away.

Your panties and bra are on the other side of the room and you slide from the desk to retrieve them, wobbling as you go.

You’re going to be feeling him for days.

“How many more times are we going to do this? What’s the endgame here?”

You pull your underwear up your legs, cringing at how uncomfortable the damp material feels against your swollen core.

“There is no endgame. We’re just messing around.”

With your bra back on, you move to retrieve your trench coat which means you have to face him now.

He’s leaning against his desk like he had been when you first arrived, pants undone but up on his hips again.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to sneak in whenever you need a good fuck?”

You laugh dryly, crossing the room to get your coat but he grabs you by the forearm once you pass him; halting you in your spot.

“Javier,” You warn.

“You’re breaking my fucking heart, baby.”

You stare at him, wanting nothing more than to rip the mask off and confess to him how much he means to you despite this being anything but a conventional relationship.

As delusional as you’ve tended to be as of late, you know he’s way out of your league. He doesn’t go after girls like you.

Girls that are easy to dismiss and forget in the pouring rain.

“Same rules as last time: you’re not going to follow me out or stop me. Are we clear?”

He tightens his grip on your arm and you narrow your eyes.

“Are we clear?”

He’s silent but finally lets go and you don’t hesitate to grab and put on your coat.

You’re so eager to leave that you don’t notice your press lanyard has slipped out of your pocket as you’re making your way to the door.

He stands from his seated position and you brace yourself for yet another attempt at him trying to change your mind.

But it doesn’t happen. Instead, you hear the flick of a lighter and that’s enough to get you to turn the doorknob and leave without another word. 

Javier smokes the entire cigarette to calm his racing heart before he lazily begins to clean up the mess you two made in his office.

He’s lost in his thoughts, all consisting of you, until he spots the lanyard in the corner.

Picking it up, he looks at it quizzically before flipping it over. His jaw tightens once he sees your face, the familiarity of your lips and eyes luring him in.

He’s got a clear view now and it strikes him entirely, heart fluttering as he takes in your appearance. 

He reads your name, as if tasting it on his tongue, and the outlet you work for out loud. He recognizes you from somewhere but he just can’t remember where.

This is going to pick at him like an unhealed scab. But at least Javier knows who you are now.

Of course she’s a reporter. Things are starting to make more sense.

Translations:

Identificación, por favor - Identification please

Lo siento, señorita. Regresa mañana - I'm sorry ma’am. Come back tomorrow

El jefe de la DEA - The head of the DEA

Muchas gracias señor, que tenga buena noche - Thank you very much sir, have a good night

Gatea como lo hiciste la última vez - Crawl like you did last time

bebita - baby girl

agente - agent

muñeca - doll

Me encanta cuando haces caso.

¿te comprometiste, gatita? - Are you engaged, kitten?

Tan mala mi gatita bella. - My beautiful kitten is so bad

Eres una gatita tan traviesa. Voy a tener que domesticarté nena. - You are such a naughty kitten. I'm going to have to tame you baby.

Tan dulce. - So sweet

Goddamn nena te sientes tan rica. Este cuerpecito está hecho para mí. - Goddamn baby you feel so good. This little body is made for me.

pero la gatita quiere mas - but the kitten wants more

Abre esos ojos gatita - open those eyes

esposo - husband

sucia - dirty

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Holy shit, y’all are insane. My tag list is over a HUNDRED (wtf y’all I’m kissing every single one of you on the forehead it was EIGHT before this) and the first part got over 800 notes in 24 hours. I love y’all 😂 With that being said though, Tumblr only allows for 50 mentions per post. So I’m drafting another post with the other 50-odd mentions that I’ll link this to. Unfortunately I’m not willing to make more than two posts, meaning my tag list is officially CLOSED. I’m so sorry, y’all, please know I love every single one of you SO much!! If you’d like to follow along and didn’t make it onto the taglist, go ahead and follow the ‘#if I should stay’ tag. I’ll make sure to use this tag for every update! Thank you all SO SO MUCH!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ and if you want to be dropped from the taglist, that’s fine too; just let me know! ❤️

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Steve is terrified.

Honestly, after the Russians and the Upside Down and everything else, Steve thought he’d never be scared again.

Then he woke up in school in 1984.

He looks around, wide-eyed, only to stop when Tommy and Carol look at him weirdly. “Uh, Steve?” Carol asks. “You look like you’re about to puke.”

Full of tact, just like always. He shakes off the feeling of wrong crawling on his skin and smiles at her. “I’m fine,” he says, when nothing could be further from the truth.

She opens her mouth to respond. Steve breathes a sigh of relief when the bell goes off, only for him to realize he has no idea where he’s going.

Thank God for Carol, apparently, because she throws her head back with a groan. “Math,” she complains. “I hate math.”

Steve feels a zing of recognition dart through him. He had English while she was in math. They used to complain about it between classes.

He feels excited when he realizes Robin will be in this class, then just as suddenly excitement turns to nausea when he realizes she might not remember him.

He walks into class, trying to keep his hopes down, and briefly makes eye contact with her.

She’s doodling in a notebook, looking around the room. Their eyes meet.

Robin’s pencil lead snaps.

Steve freezes.

He opens his mouth, he’s not sure for what, but she shakes her head slightly.

She stands and makes her way towards him before her eyes flutter back in her head and she drops.

She would’ve fallen on the ground if he hadn’t caught her. Whispers start up, enough to get the teacher to look up. “Mr. Harrington,” she says. “I’m not sure what dance moves you think you’re trying, but I will remind you this is an English classroom.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says. “Um. She passed out. I think I should probably take her to the nurse.”

She leans over her desk to peer first at Steve, then at Robin, who still has her eyes closed. “Very well,” she says. “I’ll give you a hall pass. Please ensure she returns once her little spell has worn off.”

He nods, shifts Robin completely into his arms, and walks out of the classroom.

He walks down the hallway and stops by an empty classroom, darting in when nobody’s looking. “Robs,” he chokes, and her arms are around his neck and now he’s choking for an entirely different reason.

She’s shaking, and he feels hot tears land on his shoulder, and he knows she feels the same from his tears. “I thought-”

“I know,” Steve whispers. “I thought the same. I woke up and I was with Tommy and Carol again and I didn’t know what was going on and I was terrified you weren’t gonna remember me.”

“Jesus,” she says. She’s laughing a little, through her tears. “Imagine how I felt, waking up in Mrs. Click’s class. Thought I’d had a weird fever dream. Then you walked in, and…”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Jesus, Robs, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Right back atcha, Dingus,” she whispers, which really just makes his tears start all over again. “Who else do you think knows?”

Steve sighs. “I don’t know. And other than asking them, and risking getting sent to a padded room…”

“Yeah.” Robin sighs.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve says, tensing up.

“What?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m still with Nancy.”

I tried to tag everyone who wanted it… I’m so sorry if I missed you! Once again I’m so sorry about closing the taglist. Thank you for understanding! ❤️

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Me @ all of you:

[evermoresversion]

hii i want to request a jj imagine. so the reader knows that jj is in love with kie. she sees it the way jj looks at kie, always laughs at her jokes and obv hits on her. and when john b and sarah are an nassau jj tries to hook up with the reader cause he’s rlly sad abt kie and pope yk. but reader rejects him. she tells him that she won’t fuck with him until kie likes him back. even though she rlly liked him. before walking off she says “one day she’s gonna see you the way i see you. just give kie some time to find the right glasses“ (yk everybody says you see the world with pink glasses when you’re in love) reader and jj stay rlly good friends and come closer than ever and poguelandia. poguelandia was the dream of both of them. then instead of kie the reader gets taken to kitty hawk. when jj saves her he finally tells her how she feels and says “kiara found the right glasses too late. i’ve put on other glasses“ the reader is rlly confused until he asks if she till has the same one on. and she is still in love with jj. then kiss scene yk. i hope you liek my idea!

THE RIGHT GLASSES, JJ MAYBANK.

A/N I really let my imagination run wild with this req. I'm very sorry for the delay.

PAIRING JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

TW/TAGS Angsty at first, fluff at the end, suggestive content.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN | JJ'S MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

You could tell you had always been in love with JJ.

From the first time you saw him playing in a park in the cut with a rock and he hit himself on the head with it.

Yeah, you were completely in love with him.

But you weren't blind, you had always noticed the way he saw Kiara and laughed at her jokes or protected her.

Sometimes you wished you were her.

"Hey what's up?" John B asked, sitting next to you at the bonfire at the Chateau and you shook your head looking at the liquid left in your glass.

"It's nothing." You denied, trying to make light of it, showing your friend a smile but he didn't believe you because he saw the way you saw JJ. He always noticed it.

"All right, bug." He gave your shoulder a friendly shook and stood up to walk over to Sarah where JJ then took his place.

"Do you want me to take you home now?"

You nodded goodbye to everyone and then found yourself behind on JJ's motorcycle.

When you both arrived he helped you down and there was a tense silence between the two of you.

"Well, I'll see you later." You said goodbye and walked towards the entrance of the house.

"Yeah, bye." He uttered awkwardly and got back on his motorcycle, leaving.

The next few months passed quietly without any drama except for the gold. In addition to the disappearance of Sarah and John B.

During that period of time Pope started some kind of situationship with Kiara and JJ was clearly affected.

While they were doing their thing, JJ tried to get closer to you to find some kind of distraction until one night he even tried to kiss you.

"No." You sighed, turning your face away from his, prompting him to sigh in frustration.

Despite all this time, you still liked JJ but you weren't going to let him use you while Kiara decided whether to be with him or not.

"I'm not going to fuck you or whatever just to be your distraction. No, I'm not going to do that." You shook your head with a wry smile, staring at your feet and playing with your hands.

"Forgive me."

You looked into his blue eyes that shone under the moonlight and saw adoration reflected in his eyes but not love towards you.

"I don't have anything to forgive you for."

You stood up from the log where you were both sitting and dusted off your clothes. Before leaving you looked at him.

"Someday she's gonna see you the way I see you." You shrugged your shoulders. "Just give Kie some time to find the right glasses."

After that you both didn't mention anything about it again but little by little both became even closer.

You were even the one who saved him when he almost drowned.

In Pogueland there was not a second that you both did not pass by with each other. You fished together, gathered whatever food you could together, everything.

"This is like a dream come true" you uttered as you were both staring at the stars lying on the ground. "Except I miss showers."

You both laughed and you felt his hand reach for yours.

"Yes, it's a dream come true."

You turned your face to look at him and found that he was already looking at you, making you smile.

The days passed and passed and neither of you worried about whether or not you were going to leave that island.

Until they finally got you out of there and it was no secret to anyone that you and JJ didn't want to leave, but you had to.

"I just got back, and you're trying to send me away again?" you said in disbelief, looking at your parents who had informed you that they were sending you to boarding school.

"Sweetheart, it's for your own good, you can't keep doing this kind of thing." Your father started.

"Those friends of yours are a bad influence."

You laughed, in disbelief, and when you tried to leave your mother interrupted you.

"You're going to do what we say, we're your parents."

"Yeah, whatever."

Of course the first place you went was to JJ's now empty house since Luke had gone to where JJ had always wanted to escape.

"No, they can't send you away."

You sighed, pacing the porch of the house.

"I don't want to get away from y'all."

JJ stood up from where he was standing and gently grabbed your face.

"It's not going to happen, as long as I'm here I'm going to stop them from taking you."

You hugged him tightly and felt his strong arms wrap around you as well.

Weeks passed and there was no sign that your parents were still pursuing the idea of taking you to Kitty Hawk, as the boarding school was called, but you still remained cautious.

The guys already had a plan to go to Orinoco to look for El Dorado and escape to South America. After a meeting at the dock, everyone spread out to go pack their things.

"Hey, y/n."

You stopped and looked at him with a kind smile.

You could feel Kiara's gaze on both of you but neither of you paid much attention to her.

"I needed to tell you something but I'd better tell you on the plane."

You nodded and left a kiss on his cheek and then went home.

Big mistake.

There was a van outside your house with the Kitty Hawk logo on it. You immediately felt your heart race at the thought that they were there to take you.

But before you could even think about running away, your parents had already seen you.

You tried to run away but when you turned around you collided with someone.

"Don't worry, we don't want to hurt you."

"No, mom!"

Your parents approached where you were and your mother looked at you.

"It's for your own good."

"Stop saying that! This is not for my good!" You exclaimed, trying to get out of the man's grip but they were already taking you to the truck.

"Sorry."

You heard her say to the distance with a broken voice and all you knew afterwards was that they were already taking you away from there.

Back with the boys, JJ was starting to get desperate because everyone was there except you.

"Where is she?"

John B looked at JJ, knowing that he would surely know.

"Her parents threatened to take her to boarding school weeks ago."

JJ without thinking twice turned to John B.

"Give me Twinkie's keys, I'll go get her."

"JJ, no."

"Dude, his parents already hate me."

John B hesitated but sighed relenting and offered him the keys.

"Thanks JB, give me an hour." JJ mentioned, running over to where Twinkie was, climbing through the window.

"One hour JJ!" Sarah exclaimed.

When the blonde arrived the only thing he found was your mother being hugged by your father, and then he guessed what was happening.

When he arrived, your father took it upon himself to tell him to leave.

"She's not here."

"Where is she?" JJ was starting to get desperate.

"We sent her to a place to recover what you guys destroyed."

"You sent her to that boarding school, didn't you?"

He didn't need a response to know, he just got back into the Twinkie and left.

On the way, JJ demired a plan to get you out of there.

When he arrived, he talked to the director of the place and somehow let you know that he was there.

At night you couldn't close your eyes until you heard a male voice murmuring.

“Have you seen a girl with...?”

“JJ?”

His gaze immediately shot at you, causing your breathing to get stuck in your lungs and your heart beating with speed when you saw him there.

“Pretty girl.”

You immediately ran to his arms and he greeted you with a hug so strong that he made the air leave your body but you didn't care, much less when you felt his nose sunk in your neck.

You separated from him when all the other girls started cheering, reminding you where you were.

“Shut up!”

JJ murmured screaming being pulled by the arm for you.

When both managed to leave the place safe and sound, you finally stopped to process what had happened.

“You came for me.”

You murmured, looking at him with attention and vulnerability reflected in your gaze.

He just took you by the cheeks, giving them soft caresses.

“I wasn't going to leave without you.”

You put your hand on his and leaned slightly towards him, seeing if that was also what he wanted.

And you knew it when his nose grazed yours.

“I think Kiara has some feelings for you.”

Despite your words, you didn't separate an inch from him.

“She found the right glasses too late, I've put on others. I just hope that person also continues to have those glasses on.”

He looked at you in a way that made you understand that you were the one who was talking about and indirectly asked if you were still in love with him.

And just to confirm it, you finally joined your lips to his, kissing him with everything you had kept all that time.

disclaimer ── evermoresversion © 2024.

[sednas]

FIRST TIME SWEETHEART?

༘♡ the first time toji ate you out

༘♡ ft: fushiguro toji x afab!reader

༘♡ tw: NSFW, feral pussy eating

don't be mistaken, he wanted to eat your pussy the very first time you two fucked

you were the one who refused to let him go down on you, too embarrassed, too shy to allow him to be this close to you

toji had never been a patient man but when it came to you, he was willing to wait a hundred years

so he waited, tried to keep his burning desire to bury his face between your legs for himself until that blessed night

something snapped inside of him as soon as you told him that you were finally ready, his eyes turned into a deeper green, his pupils all blown out, his head tilted to the side.

you felt like a prey, shivering in front of a predator, unable to move with your heart racing into your chest, he got closer to you within a few seconds, his big hands already resting on your waist, a smirk adorning his handsome features.

"will you let me?"

you didn't trust your voice enough to speak, so you just nodded. you felt the grip of his hands tightening on your skin, and you squirmed when he dropped on his knees.

"wai- wait!" you exclaimed, your whole face heating up from the vision under you. he was so close, his face only a few inches from your clothed cunt.

"you remember your safe word sweetheart?"

you blinked a few times before nodding a second time. you swallowed hard, fear due to anticipation making you slightly tremble. he looked at you in the eyes again, and you expected him to say something, but instead what he did made you loudly gasp.

without even bothering to remove your panties, his mouth engulfed your poor pussy, his saliva already soaking your underwear, his hands moving from your waist to your asscheeks, grabbing them firmly to keep you close to him no matter how much you were trying to squirm away from this new sensation.

"aaah wait! I'm not- mmmmh" you couldn't finish your sentence, your whole body tensing when his tongue flicked over your sensitive nub.

your hands flew to his hair, your thighs clamping around his head. you felt it, you were a few seconds from giving away, you couldn't control your legs anymore, they were shaking too much, your knees were weak and toji took advantage of it. before you could grip his hair a little tighter, he pushed you on the bed behind you.

your yelp of surprise was quickly replaced by a new moan, louder than the others, and this time your eyes almost crossed. toji had smoothly tossed your panties to the side, his face never leaving your cunt even when he pushed you on the bed.

you felt your pussy tighten around nothing when you heard him. he moaned and grunted softly at your taste, it was nothing like tasting you on his fingers like he did before. it wasn't his fingers you felt but his warm tongue and nose brushing against your clit. his hands grabbed the underside of your thighs, lifting them so he could bury his tongue a little bit deeper inside you.

you moaned his name again and again, your hands gripping the sheets and coming back to his black hair every time he touched a sensitive spot. for the first time he raised his eyes to look at you, a silent gasp leaving your lips when you saw him licking your pussy from up and down while maintaining eye contact. you looked away, feeling the tension in your stomach slowly build up.

"you taste so sweet honey, and you're so wet, I bet you were dreaming of this since a very long time now, mmh?"

you nodded without thinking, trying to cover your face with one of your hand. he chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin. he lazily lapped at your clit, it felt different from the feral thrusts he was doing a few minutes ago, and you started grinding your cunt against his face.

"but now that you know how it feels you're gonna let me do it every day, right baby? you won't have to do anything, just let me make you feel good."

you whined his name again and he answered by sucking on your clit, moving his tongue in circles around it. the pressure was too intense, it brought tears into your eyes, your thighs quivered and your mind got hazy.

"let it out baby, let it out."

he sucked harder, your back arched, and he took you deeper in his mouth, repeating the movement of his tongue. it was too much, he was too good with his tongue, like he was doing it for his own pleasure, moaning and smiling whenever you tried to run away from him. you finally came in a loud cry while toji hummed in approval, drinking what you released in his mouth and continuing to lick you to make your orgasm last longer.

"so good for me, you did so well sweetheart I'm proud of you" he said while kissing your thighs, his hands soothingly rubbing your chest.

you tried to catch your breath, your vision still a little blurry and your heart still pounding into your chest. you needily grabbed his hand, just to make sure he was still here with you and you sat on the bed. he smiled, the lower part of his face shining with your juices. he didn't miss his chance to kiss you, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue. he pulled you closer during the kiss and you frowned when you felt something wet against your leg.

"oh my god toji..."

his boxers was stained with his own cum, his cock was still leaking, still erected behind his underwear. he seemed painfully hard.

when your eyes got back to his face he grinned, taking your chin between his fingers.

"ever heard of sixty-nine sweetie?"

༘♡ a lovely reminder that reblogs and comments are highly appreciated ♡

༘♡ jjk masterlist

[dameronology]

home (frank castle)

warnings: a little bit of frank being depressed but that's about it. probably language too? i don't even notice anymore.

this is the first thing i've written in so long and it's very short buuuut i hope you like it

--jazz xx

You could always tell when Frank had had a bad night.

The signs were clear as soon as he got home. Boots thrown to the side with a loud thunk (he would apologise for the noise in the morning); body haphazardly hitting the mattress beside you as he let out a huff of exhaustion. Normally, his hands would be on you before he even in bed. He had to sleep with his chest pressed to your back, arms wrapped tightly around you, any signs of breaking free met with intense refusal until the morning. You felt safe but he felt safer.

Tonight was different. You heard the crash of shoes, and the thump, thump, thump towards the bed. The mattress dipped beside you but instead of his hands, you were met with Frank's back to you. It was tense, littered with pink scars and red ones, and fresh cuts and bruises. You could have reached out, but you didn't want to push it. A few years ago, before you, before this, before he'd learnt love again, he probably wouldn't have come home at all. He would have stayed out til the crack of dawn, fighting, fighting, fighting; fists beaten to a pulp and every part of him rigid and exhausted to his very core. Frank had learnt now: when he got really bad, he had to come home. When the going got too tough even for him, it normally meant it was the end of night. You were just grateful he had come at all.

You said nothing; just a small sigh. For him, for you, for whatever the morning would bring.

10AM came quickly. It was a Sunday, so Manhattan was nice enough to wake a few minutes later than usual. The silence in your bedroom was quickly filled with the sound of horns and brakes and the yells of the outside world. You didn't have work that day, thank god. That meant there was no rush. Frank could rise whenever he wanted.

Except - fuck - you had forgotten to turn off your alarm. It came blaring out your phone as soon as the clock struck on the hour, vibrating across your bedside table and onto the floor with a loud thud. Frank, being the world's lightest and potentially most dangerous sleeper, quickly rose. His hair was getting longer now, so it was tuftier in the mornings. You would have laughed if your chest wasn't so heavy.

You quickly hopped out of bed, sheepishly picking up the phone.

"Shit," you muttered. "Frankie, I'm sorry."

He let out a grumble, rubbing his eyes. "It's okay. I had to wake up at some point."

"Are you okay?" you quietly asked. "I know you're not but...I gotta ask."

Frank didn't say anything - instead he just sighed. Then, he opened his arms and ushered for you to come back to bed. You did so without hesitation, dropping into the sheets beside him. Strong arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you to his chest, one hand cupping the back of your head. You'd always found irony in the fact that he had to be the one to hold you when he was upset. No matter how shit he was feeling, Frank was always the big spoon. His ability to protect you was the one thing he could control. It was the one thing that made him feel a little okay again.

"It was a really rough night," he quietly admitted. "I'll be okay, sweetheart. I just wanna take it easy today."

Frank said nothing else. What he had said was beyond anyone else's wildest dreams; this was coming from the man who made a point of closing himself off, from refusing himself love and anything good. You were the only person he would ever say anything too. It was safe to assume at any given moment that he wasn't okay, but he was a little closer to it when he was with you.

The rest of the morning went like a ghost.

You moved around each other with ease; his small touches lingered - a hand on your back here, another on your hip there - and you could tell he was coming back around. Sure, he burnt the first three pancakes and didn't realise the milk was out of date til after he'd poured it into your coffee, but he was being Frank. You would have been more worried if he'd cooked properly or made good coffee.

You'd moved to the sofa by midday, dirty plates piled up in the sink and Max snoring on the rug in the middle of your living room. Die Hard was playing quietly in the background (Frank argued it was an all year round movie). You were sat between his legs on the sofa, large thighs either side of yours and arms wrapped around your front. He had his head resting on top of yours, giving you the occasional squeeze with his legs and arms.

"I love you," Frank quietly murmured. He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You turned your head to look at him, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "I love you too."

"I'm sorry for being quiet last night. I didn't mean to ignore you."

"You don't have to apologise," you hummed. "I'm just grateful you came home."

"I'll always come home."

[hyuckswoman]

“as i said before, i’m going to send an email later on in the day with the groups. before anyone asks yes i assigned them but you can switch if you want to. this class is made of pairs so as long as you’re in a pair i don’t care who you’re with. just make sure to update me with the new list” your professor says as you pack your things to leave

“do you hope we’ll be together? cause i hope we will it would be super funny” you hear jisung say right behind you. this man will not leave you alone it seems “oh you’re still ignoring me? you’re lucky i’ve got things to do cause i would’ve followed you for your whole trip back home” he says getting ready to leave you alone

“that’s called stalking weirdo” you hear a voice say. you turn around just to see mark. not very surprising as you were supposed to meet with him to hangout “she likes it, don’t worry” jisung replies before leaving “man this guy’s so weird” you hear your friend whisper (more to himself than you) “you don’t say”

“hallelujah i am NOT with jisung in my group this is bliss. i want to thank the lord, my family and friends for getting me here. i am so proud to be here today besides you. this moment is so much bigger than me.” nothing could begin to describe the amount of joy you felt when you opened your email and saw that your name was nowhere near jisung’s. even mark was tense, he had his fingers and toes crossed for you. when you saw that your partner was this really nice (you assumed, you barely have any friends so you didn’t talk to her)

“do you feel relieved?” mark asked finally letting his fingers and toes un cross “fuck yea i do, i literally can avoid jisung for the rest of this semester this is what i dreamt of my whole life dude” you take your phone to text your partner seeing that she had already texted you. “no fucking way” was all you could utter

10. no fucking way

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notes: i moved to seoul lmao and it’s just so fucking weird?? like i arrived yesterday at like 10 am and i lowkey (highkey) want to go back home. idk i just know that i’ll have a hard time here and knowing that the next time i see my family is in months makes me sad lmao. plus it’s hard bc everyone is like omg you must be so excited n stuff and im like noooo i want to go back homeeeeee. plus i have to take classes that are harder so even academically wise im gonna struggle. but anyway im done complaining! i know this is someone’s dream probably so i should be more grateful but it’s a bit hard rn ngl lmao

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