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vunblr · 5 days ago

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Roots and Branches

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Bucky has built a quiet life in the woods, content to keep the world at arm's length. But when a new neighbor moves to town, her presence ignites emotions he’s hesitant to face.

Word Count: About 18.6k.

notes: I’ve been wanting to write a story in a lumberjack AU for a while now, and here it is. It ended up being longer than I expected, but I have no regrets. In my mind, Lumberjack!Bucky=Beefy!Bucky.

By the way, I’m still dreaming that someone, feeling inspired, creates Bucky as an NPC for Stardew Valley. I would kiss the ground that person walks on.

The city stretched behind her, a blur of steel and noise shrinking in the rearview mirror. Relief and uncertainty warred in her chest, but she clung tightly to the thought of what lay ahead. The town had always been her haven: sunlit summers chasing fireflies, her grandmother’s laughter ringing from the porch, and the quiet that once cradled her restless mind in peace.

It had been years since she’d last visited, but the constant noise, relentless crowds, and a recent, unsettling encounter had made city life unbearable. Her grandmother’s house, nestled at the edge of a sprawling forest, now felt like her only escape. It wasn’t perfect -her uncle had warned her about the repairs needed- but she’d gladly trade peeling paint and creaky floors for the chaos she was leaving behind. Besides, without rent to worry about and the freedom of her home-office proofreading job, she had the space and time to start over, one step at a time.

The road stretched endlessly before her, winding through rolling hills and patches of dense forest. The further she drove, the quieter it became. No blaring horns, no traffic, just the hum of her engine and the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the wind. She cracked the window, letting in the crisp scent of pine and earth.

For the first time in months, she felt her shoulders begin to relax. And then, with an ominous thunk, the car jerked to one side.

Her stomach sank as she guided the vehicle to the shoulder, the once-smooth ride now bumpier than a cobblestone street. Stepping out, she found her fears confirmed: the back tire sagged, utterly deflated.

“Of course,” she muttered, brushing a stray hair from her face. “Why not?”

She retrieved the jack and wrench from the trunk, determined to fix it herself. She wasn’t helpless, after all. But after twenty minutes of grunting, tugging, and nearly twisting her wrist, the lug nuts refused to budge. Maybe they just needed a little more effort.

Two hours later, she slumped against the side of the car, her arms aching and her patience long gone. She’d tried everything -kicking the wrench, sitting on it for leverage- everything except calling for help, though the lack of cell signal made that impossible. Her lip trembled as she bit down hard, determined not to let the tears of frustration win.

“You wanted quiet? You got quiet,” she muttered, her voice tight with irritation. Walking seemed like the only option now. Maybe she’d stumble upon a house, a gas station, anything. Resolving trying her luck, she locked the car and started forward, her boots crunching against the gravel shoulder.

The air hung heavy with stillness, broken only by the occasional chirp of a bird or the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The walk felt endless, each step feeding her doubts. What if there was nothing ahead? What if she’d made a mistake leaving the car? Just as she was debating turning back, a low rumble cut through the quiet.

She froze, breath hitching as her eyes darted down the empty road. The sound grew louder, unmistakably the steady growl of a truck engine. Relief flooded her chest, tempered by a flicker of caution.

Moving closer to the edge of the road, she raised a tentative hand to wave. Moments later, an old, sturdy truck came into view, slowing as it approached.

Bucky wasn’t in any rush. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows on the road ahead. He kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh. The hum of the truck engine was a comforting sound, a backdrop to his thoughts.

As he rounded a gentle curve, something caught his eye up ahead: a car parked awkwardly on the shoulder. He frowned, slowing the truck. From the angle it was sitting, it didn’t look abandoned, but it wasn’t going anywhere either. A flat tire, maybe? His brow furrowed. Someone had to own it, but there wasn’t another soul in sight.

He continued slowly, his gaze drifting to the road ahead, and that’s when he spotted her. She stood near the edge of the road, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and her hand half-raised in a cautious wave. She didn’t look panicked, just tired, a little frustrated, and undeniably relieved to see another human being out here.

He brought the truck to a stop a few feet ahead of her, letting the engine idle as he leaned across the seat to glance out the passenger window. “Need some help?” he called, keeping his tone easy.

She stepped closer, her cautious wave lowering as she approached. When she stopped short of the truck, her polite smile faltered, her gaze locking on his face.

He didn’t notice at first, but she stared, caught off guard by the sight ahead of her. Shoulder-length dark hair framed handsome face, shadowed with a day or two of stubble. And those eyes… crystal blue, so piercing they looked like they belonged to the lead character of a romance novel rather than the driver of an old truck.

Her lips parted slightly as her thoughts ran wild. Maybe she was hallucinating. Two hours of frustration and the heat of the sun must have gotten to her, conjuring a guy from one of those pink-covered novels she’d been proofreading.

“You okay?” His voice pulled her back, laced with just enough concern to cut through the fog in her head.

She blinked rapidly, heat flooding her cheeks as she scrambled for an excuse. “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just… fatigue, I guess.” She gave a quick laugh, brushing her hair back as if that would somehow erase her embarrassment. “It’s been a long day.”

Bucky didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He nodded, his expression sympathetic. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

She cleared her throat, trying to sound more composed. “I’d really appreciate the help. The tire’s flat and the lug nuts are stuck. I’ve tried everything, but they won’t budge.”

Bucky nodded again, shifting the truck into park before stepping out. “I saw the car back there. Mind if I take a look?”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she offered a more genuine smile. “Please. That’d be great.”

She couldn’t help but stare as he climbed out of the truck. It wasn’t just the striking eyes or the scruff that made him look like he’d stepped off a book cover, it was everything.

Worn jeans sat low on his hips, perfectly fitted to legs that spoke of strength and endurance. A red flannel shirt, snug across his broad shoulders and well-defined arms, hinted at a life of hard, honest work. His boots crunched against the gravel as he moved with an effortless confidence that made it nearly impossible to look away.

Yup, she thought, feeling her cheeks warm again. A lead character.

She snapped her gaze away, trying to focus on literally anything else, the road, the sky, her worn-out sneakers. But as he approached, the heat creeping up her neck didn’t fade.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his brow furrowing slightly.

She blinked and met his eyes, cursing herself for getting caught again. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine,” she said waving a hand. “Just tired, I guess. Two hours of trying to fight with a tire does that to you.”

He nodded slowly, and his expression softened. “Fair enough.”

She gestured vaguely toward her car in the distance. “It’s over there. I’d appreciate the help, it’s like the universe welded those lug nuts on.”

When they reached the car, she unlocked it and retrieved the tools from the trunk, setting them down beside the flat tire. She stepped back, watching as he crouched and took the wrench in his hand. With what seemed like no effort at all, he twisted the lug nuts loose, the metal giving way under his grip as if it had never been stuck in the first place. She stared again, biting her lip as her gaze lingered on how his forearm flexed under the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel. Completely oblivious to her scrutiny, he worked in focused silence, switching out the flat tire with methodical ease. When he finished, he stood up, brushed the dust from his hands, and glanced at the car. His gaze snagged on the backseat, where duffel bags and boxes were crammed together.

“Looks like you’re movin’,” he said, his voice low and gruff.

She nodded, brushing her hands on her jeans as if she’d done any of the work. “Yeah, I am. Heading to town. My grandmother used to have a house there, I’m moving into it.”

Bucky glanced at her, his sharp blue eyes unreadable, but not unkind. “The old house near the woods?”

Her brows lifted in surprise. “Yeah, actually. You know it?”

He shrugged lightly, his gaze slipping to the ground. “Small town,” he murmured.

Unsure if his hesitation was discomfort or just shyness, she shifted her weight. “Well, thanks again for helping. I’m Y/n, by the way.”

He didn’t respond for a moment and then blinked, as if snapping out of a thought. “Bucky,” he said simply, his tone softening just enough to feel welcoming.

“Well, nice to meet you, Bucky.” Her smile was warm despite the long, frustrating day.

He nodded slightly, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips before it disappeared. “You should get goin’,” he said after a pause. “Road’s pretty empty once it gets dark.”

She nodded, grateful. “Right. Thanks again.”

He gave a short nod before turning to his truck. She lingered for a moment, watching as he climbed into the cab and started the engine, before finally slipping into her car and pulling back onto the road.

He gave her a brief nod, turning to his truck without saying another word. She stood there for a moment, watching him go, before climbing into her car.

Bucky climbed into his truck, shutting the door with a quiet click. As the engine rumbled to life, his thumbs tapped idly on the steering wheel, his mind drifting. So, she was the woman moving into the old blue house, the one the old ladies in town had been gossiping about lately.

“Fresh face,” they’d said, curious and speculative. The kind of talk he usually tuned out, but now he could picture her, standing on the side of the road with that friendly smile.

His jaw tightened as he glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of her car pulling back onto the road. Attractive, sure, but that wasn’t his business. He wasn’t in the habit of noticing things like that anymore, or at least, he tried not to.

Shaking his head slightly, he put the truck in gear and pulled back onto the road.

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

She reached the house in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun painting the wooden structure in warm tones. From a distance, it looked charming, but as she got closer, the years of neglect became more apparent. A shutter hung by a single hinge, swinging slightly in the breeze, and the porch sagged in the middle, its boards warped and cracked.

It didn’t seem unlivable, though, and for that, she was grateful. The windows were intact, the roof looked solid, and the front door swung open without resistance when she unlocked it. She stepped inside, wrinkling her nose at the stale smell of a house left empty for too long. Dust coated the floors and every surface in sight, but nothing that a good cleaning wouldn’t fix.

Walking through the rooms, she made a mental list of things that needed attention. The walls could use fresh paint, the porch would definitely need repairs before it became a hazard, and a few wobbly cabinet doors in the kitchen caught her eye. It was all manageable.

By the time she returned to the living room, she realized the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the house in shadows. She flipped the light switch by the door, but nothing happened. A quick check of the other switches confirmed her suspicion, there wasn’t a single light bulb in the entire property.

“Figures,” she muttered, setting her hands on her hips. Luckily, she’d packed a portable lamp. Its soft glow filled the room as she set it on the floor and unrolled her sleeping bag in the corner, where the old sofa used to sit.

Dinner was a simple affair: a cup of instant noodles and a bottle of water, eaten cross-legged on the floor. She was too tired to think about anything elaborate, and the stillness of the house was oddly comforting after the chaos of the city.

Her thoughts drifted back to the day’s events, replaying the encounter on the road. Bucky’s face flickered in her mind, those piercing blue eyes, the way his long, dark hair framed his sharp features, the slight rasp to his voice when he’d asked if she was okay. She bit her lip, and the memory of the way he’d effortlessly changed the tire brought a faint smile to her lips as her eyelids grew heavy. The moving truck will arrive by morning, and with better lighting, she’ll assess the house and start making it livable. Ideally, she would have cleaned beforehand, but the moving company only had that date available, so she didn’t have much choice.

----------

Right at 8 o’clock sharp, the rumble of the moving truck echoed down the quiet street. She stepped outside, greeting the movers and directing them where to place the furniture. It didn’t take long to realize the porch’s sagging boards were going to be a problem. One mover nearly put his foot through a weakened plank, and after a few close calls, they opted to bring in as much as possible through the windows.

After tipping the movers and seeing them off, she grabbed her bag and headed into town. The general store was easy to find, nestled on the main street between a bakery and a small diner. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air as she pushed open the store’s creaky door, the tiny bell overhead jingling.

Inside, the aisles were narrow and well-stocked, offering everything from cleaning supplies to locally-made jams. She grabbed a basket and began filling it with essentials: sponges, dish soap, floor cleaner, and a few staples for the pantry.

At the checkout line, she felt the weight of a few curious stares. Small towns were like that, everyone wanted to know who the newcomer was. A man in line behind her gave her a polite nod, and a couple of women nearby exchanged whispers before one of them, an older lady with a kind smile, stepped forward.

“Moving into the old blue house on Maple, aren’t you?” the woman asked, her voice warm and curious.

She blinked, surprised but not entirely caught off guard. “That’s right,” she said, returning the smile. “Spent summers there as a kid. It’s been a while, though.”

“Well, welcome back,” the woman said, clasping her hands. “I’m Dorothy. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Actually…” she hesitated, seizing the moment. “The house needs a bit of work, especially the porch. Do you know a good carpenter?”

Dorothy’s face lit up. “Sam Wilson’s the man you’re looking for. Runs a workshop just outside town. He’s dependable and does fine work. I’ll jot down his address for you.”

After paying for her items, she loaded everything into the car and headed toward the workshop. The drive was short, and soon she spotted a neatly painted sign that read Wilson Woodworks. The building was modest but well-kept, with stacks of lumber and partially finished projects visible through the open garage door.

Grabbing her notepad and pen, she stepped out of the car, hoping Sam would be able to help bring her grandmother’s house back to life.

The workshop smelled of sawdust and varnish, the soft hum of a saw cutting through wood filling the air. She peered curiously through the open entry, her gaze scanning the neatly organized chaos: tools hanging on pegboards, wood shavings scattered across the floor, and a workbench cluttered with projects in progress. Near the center of the space stood a man in a faded gray t-shirt and jeans, his sleeves rolled up to reveal toned arms. His easy smile and confident posture immediately struck her as someone who knew his craft.

“Sam Wilson?” she asked, stepping further inside.

The man turned, his grin widening. “That’s me,” he replied warmly. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi. I’m Y/n. I just moved into town, to the old blue house on Maple Street. The porch is in pretty bad shape, and I was told you’re the one to call.”

Sam gave an approving nod, wiping his hands on a nearby rag. “Maple Street, huh? Yeah, I’ve worked on a couple of those houses. They’ve got good bones but can be stubborn. I’d have to take a look before I can give you a plan.”

“Of course,” she said, relieved. “When do you think you’d be able to-”

Before she could finish, a gruff voice interrupted from the back of the shop. “Sam, I told you that damn hinge on the-”

Bucky appeared, stepping out from what looked like a storage area, drying his hands on a towel. His words faltered the moment he spotted her, his blue eyes locking onto hers in surprise. He froze for a moment, the towel still in his hand, before nodding stiffly.

“Hey,” he said, with a cautious tone.

She offered him a small, friendly smile. “Hello again.”

Sam’s gaze darted between the two of them, a knowing grin spreading across his face like a Cheshire cat. “Well, well,” he drawled. “You two already know each other so soon?”

Bucky shot him a look -half warning, half exasperation- but Sam’s grin only widened.

“We met yesterday,” she explained, glancing between them. “Bucky helped me with a flat tire.”

“Did he now?” Sam leaned back against the workbench, crossing his arms. “Man of many talents, huh, Buck?”

Bucky muttered something under his breath, his ears turning slightly red as he turned away to busy himself with a random piece of wood.

Sam laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “Don’t let him fool you,” he said to her, his tone light. “He’s a softie under all that brooding.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, unable to suppress a smile.

Bucky’s muttering grew quieter as he moved further into the workshop, but Sam wasn’t done. “You’re in luck, though,” he said to her, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think you’re gonna give his wood a good use.”

She let out a small laugh, not entirely sure why but unwilling to seem rude. “Well, I’ll do my best,” she said with a shrug, hoping that was the right response.

The sound of tools crashing followed by a sharp, muttered curse that carried through the workshop interrupted the exchange, and she turned toward the source. “Is he okay?”

Sam smirked, his tone teasing as he said, “Oh, he’s just fine. Just gets a little... tense when his work’s involved. My friend here is one of my suppliers. Keeps me stocked up on the best lumber in town.”

“Oh, I see,” she replied, her gaze briefly flicking toward where Bucky had disappeared. Inwardly, she couldn’t help but think that his... thick build seemed to match with the work lumber suppliers did. “So, should we arrange a time for you to come by and look at the porch?” she asked, mentally slapping herself and steering the conversation back on track.

Sam grinned, leaning casually against the counter. “Tomorrow works for you? Say mid-morning?”

“That sounds great,” she agreed, already mentally listing what she might need to tidy up before his visit.

As her car disappeared down the road, Bucky emerged from the back of the workshop, his steps deliberate and brooding as he approached Sam.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice low but edged with irritation.

Sam raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence as he crossed his arms. “What was what?”

“You know what,” Bucky growled, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t.”

Sam held up his hands, his expression mock-innocent. “Don’t what? You’re projecting, man. She’s just a new neighbor who needs some help with her porch. That’s all.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping even lower. “Whatever your bird brain is planning on doing, don’t. I’m not... Just stay out of my business.”

Sam gave him a sidelong look, clearly unimpressed by Bucky’s gruff warning. “You think too highly of yourself, Barnes,” he said with a smirk. “I’m just trying to help the lady out, same as you did.”

The logger threw one last dirty glance at Sam, muttering under his breath. “Next cargo’s in four days,” he grumbled, already heading for the door.

Sam’s amused chuckle followed him, but Bucky ignored it, his boots hitting the workshop floor with heavy steps.

As he reached the truck, a sharp twinge in his left arm made him curse softly. He grabbed it, flexing his fingers out of habit, then glanced up at the sky. It was streaked with soft clouds, their innocent appearance at odds with what he felt brewing in the air.

A storm was coming.

It wasn’t something anyone could see yet, but Bucky didn’t need a weather report. Since his arm had been crushed in Afghanistan, leaving him with orthopedic implants and lingering aches, he could always tell when the pressure was about to shift.

He flexed his arm again, rolling his shoulder to ease the discomfort. The storm would hit soon, inside and out.

Sliding into the truck, he decided to stop by the general store on the way home. He needed a bottle of scotch. Maybe two.

It was shaping up to be one of those nights.

When she got back to the house, she dropped the bags on the kitchen counter and let out a sigh. She glanced around at the dim, dusty space and resolved to tackle it head-on. After eating a quick sandwich, she got to work.

The first task was the lightbulbs, all of them. Room by room, she placed them, swearing quietly each time she had to stretch on tiptoe or drag a chair around. Next came the cleaning. By the time she was almost finished, it was late afternoon. She stood in the middle of the living room, exhausted and sweaty, a few stubborn cobwebs clinging to her sleeves. She pushed her hair off her forehead and noticed, through the newly cleaned windows, the unmistakable sight of grey clouds gathering on the horizon.

“Great,” she muttered, dragging the vacuum to a corner. She glanced up at the ceiling, half expecting to see a stain forming already. “Please, no leaks. Just this once, let me have some luck.” The wind outside began to pick up, rattling the loose shutter on the porch. She grimaced. The house might not be falling apart, but it wasn’t going to win any awards for weatherproofing either.

She pulled the last bag of cleaning supplies toward her, determined to finish what she could before the storm hit.

The rhythmic patter of rain on the roof accompanied her as she sat at the small kitchen table, nursing a simple dinner. Her arms ached pleasantly from the day’s cleaning spree, her newly functional lightbulbs casting a warm glow over the room. Despite the state of the house when she’d arrived, it felt more like a home now, or at least the beginning of one.

The rain grew heavier, drumming steadily against the windows as she finished eating and washed her dishes. With a satisfied sigh, she headed for the bathroom. The steamy warmth of the shower was a welcome reprieve, washing away the grime and fatigue of the day. She closed her eyes as the water cascaded down, her mind meandering to the list of things she still needed to tackle.

The porch needs fixing first. Maybe some paint for the walls. And that loose shutter... her lips curled into a soft, almost dreamy smile as her thoughts drifted to Bucky. She bit her lip, suppressing a laugh at herself. It had been a while since she’d had anyone to daydream about, and maybe it was just her exhaustion playing tricks on her. Clearly, she needed a break from all these romance novels. The irony wasn’t lost on her, spending her days proofreading swooning declarations and lingering glances wasn’t helping her sanity.

On the other side of town, the rain was more than just a backdrop for Bucky, it was a trigger, a reminder. He sat on the kitchen floor, his back pressed against the counter, cradling a bottle of scotch in one hand and absently flexing the fingers of his left arm with the other. The pain in his left arm wasn’t unbearable -he’d had worse- but the weather had settled into his bones.

One would think Afghanistan’s climate rarely saw rain, but he knew better. In the northern regions, heavy rains could flood entire valleys in minutes, turning the ground into treacherous mud. It wasn’t just the water he remembered, but the chaos it brought. Mud-caked boots slipping on uneven terrain. The deafening crack of gunfire cutting through the downpour. The screams of comrades who’d never make it out of the storm, swallowed by water and bullets alike.

He closed his eyes tightly, forcing the memories away, but the rain’s steady rhythm seemed determined to drag him back. He took a long swig from the bottle, the burn of the alcohol a poor distraction for his haunted mind.

And then, unbidden, he thought of her.

The way she’d smiled at him earlier today at Sam’s workshop. Like she was genuinely glad to see him. He shook his head sharply, scowling at himself. He didn’t deserve to think about her. Didn’t deserve to let himself linger on the way she’d looked at him with curiosity instead of judgment. He was a broken-down man who knew better than to let anyone get close. The rain’s rhythm matched the pounding in his head, and he rubbed his temple with a quiet groan. Thinking about her was a mistake, one he couldn’t afford to make.

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

The low hum of a truck pulling up broke the peaceful morning. She peeked out the window, spotting Sam hopping out with a clipboard in hand, a tape measure clipped to his belt. His easy smile greeted her as she opened the door.

“Morning,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat. “Ready to figure out what your little slice of heaven here needs?”

She chuckled, stepping aside to let him in. “Let’s call it a fixer-upper and go from there.”

Sam gave a low whistle as he stepped onto the sagging porch. “First thing’s first, this baby needs a lot of love. I’m surprised it’s holding up at all.” He tapped one of the warped boards with his boot, and it creaked ominously.

“Well, that’s why you’re here,” she replied lightly, crossing her arms.

They walked the perimeter of the house as Sam scribbled notes on his clipboard, occasionally pausing to point out things that needed attention, a loose shutter here, a weathered doorframe there. He climbed the porch steps again, shaking his head. “You’re lucky nothing major’s out of whack, though this porch... Yeah, we’ll start here.”

She nodded, leaning against the railing -carefully-. “Sounds good. So, what’s next?”

Sam grinned, snapping the clipboard shut. “Now comes the fun part, asking nosy questions while I figure out how to turn this place into a proper home. Where’d you move from?”

“City,” she said, her gaze flicking to the overgrown yard. “Needed a change. Too much noise, too many people.”

He nodded like he understood perfectly. “Yeah, city life can wear you down. And what do you do for work? So that I know if I ever need something specific.”

“I’m a proofreader,” she replied. “Not exactly glamorous, but it lets me work from anywhere.”

He chuckled. “Sounds pretty glamorous to me. Living the dream: working in pajamas, no one to bother you.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Not quite. Deadlines don’t care if you’re in pajamas.”

“Fair point,” Sam said, scribbling something on his clipboard. He glanced at her casually. “Anyone special missing you back in the city?”

Her brow furrowed slightly, caught off guard. “Uh, no. Why?”

“No reason,” he said with an exaggerated shrug, flashing his most innocent grin. “We small-town folks are just naturally curious.” Satisfied, he tucked the clipboard under his arm. “Well,” he said, turning on the charm, “I’ll put together a plan for the porch and those other fixes we talked about. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Thanks, Sam,” she said, smiling warmly.

He tipped his imaginary hat again. “Happy to help.” As he walked back to his truck, he patted the clipboard storing every little detail she’d just shared. Oh, he’d have fun with this later.

Over the next few days, she found herself settling deeper into the rhythm of small-town life. Locals stopped to chat whenever she ran errands, and she was finally starting to remember their names. The house was slowly transforming under her care, each repair bringing it closer to what she remembered from her childhood summers.

And then there was Bucky. He was a puzzle she hadn’t figured out yet. Quiet and guarded one moment, then unexpectedly kind the next. Their paths seemed to cross more often now. It wasn’t intentional, but each encounter left her feeling like she’d peeled back another layer of his carefully constructed wall.

The first time it happened, she was in the general store, arms full of cleaning supplies and pantry staples, along with a guilty indulgence or two. As she stepped into the checkout line, she spotted him just ahead of her with a modest basket of items, his broad shoulders blocking most of her view of the cashier.

As she shuffled forward, her eyes drifted to his basket. Among the practical items -bread, coffee, and what looked like a pack of nails- sat a brightly colored box of dinosaur-shaped mac and cheese.

She couldn’t help herself. “Didn’t peg you for the novelty pasta type.” She quipped lightly, a teasing smile curling her lips.

Bucky turned his head sharply, caught off guard. He glanced at the box, then back at her, a faint pink tinting his cheeks, as he muttered “They’re easy. And cheap.”

The combination of his flustered tone and stoic expression made her grin. “Hey, no judgment. Dinosaurs are awesome. I’d pick those over plain elbows any day.”

His lips twitched, just slightly, but enough to count. “You’ve got good taste,” he said, the faintest trace of a smirk softening his features.

The cashier rang up his items, and he moved through quickly, nodding politely as he passed her. But as she finished paying and struggled to balance her bags, she found him lingering outside near his truck.

“Need a hand?” he asked gruffly, though he was already moving toward her.

She hesitated for a moment before relenting. “If you don’t mind.”

Without a word, he scooped up the heaviest bags as if they weighed nothing. She blinked at the sight, muscles flexing under his worn henley.

“Thanks,” she said, slightly breathless, trying to keep up as he strode to her car.

“Welcome,” he said simply, setting the bags in her trunk with ease. His gaze flicked to her briefly, and he almost looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he just gave a curt nod and walked back to his truck.

It was only a few days later when they ran into each other again, this time at the post office. She had just picked up a package that was almost comically large, far too awkward for one person to handle easily. Balancing it against her hip, she tried to maneuver her way out of the building without dropping it, muttering a steady stream of curses under her breath.

Just as the box tilted precariously, a hand appeared to steady it, large and sure.

“Careful,” came the familiar low drawl.

She blinked, startled, and looked up into a pair of blue eyes she was starting to recognize all too well. “Thanks,” she said, exhaling in relief. “Starting to think you have impeccable timing.”

His lips twitched, that almost-smile she was beginning to appreciate flickering across his face. “Just passing through.” He replied, shifting his grip on the package and effortlessly hoisting it up, carrying it like it weighed nothing at all.

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine,” he stated simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. He glanced at her car and walked toward it.

She trailed behind him as he easily strode with the package. By the time she unlocked the trunk, he deposited the box neatly inside, brushing his hands off quickly.

“Thanks,” she said again, feeling a little useless but sincerely grateful.

“It’s nothin’,” he replied, already stepping back. His eyes lingered on her for a second longer than usual before he turned toward his truck, parked a few spaces down.

She watched him go, following the deliberate, measured way he moved. Just as he reached his door, she called out impulsively, “I owe you one, you know.”

He paused, glancing back at her with a quirk of his brow. “I’ll hold you to it,” he said, the hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. And then he was gone, leaving her with a warm, unexpected feeling she carried all the way home.

The days that followed were quiet but productive. Between finishing work assignments, and tinkering with small projects around the house, she hardly noticed how much time she spent indoors until her eyes began to ache from staring at her laptop screen for hours on end.

One crisp morning, the allure of fresh air proved too strong to resist. She decided to take a walk in the woods, craving a change of scenery. It had been years since the last time she’d wandered those familiar paths, but she still remembered some of the trails from her childhood summers.

As she wandered along the narrow dirt trail, the sunlight filtering through the canopy in golden shafts painted the forest in a warm, serene glow. She hadn’t expected to encounter anyone out here, but the steady, rhythmic thwack of an axe meeting wood broke through the quiet, catching her attention.

Curiosity stirred, and before she could think better of it, she found herself following the sound, her footsteps light on the soft earth.

There he was, in a small clearing just off the trail, splitting logs with effortless precision. Bucky’s axe swung high before coming down in a clean arc, the sharp crack of splitting wood breaking the stillness. A neat pile of firewood grew beside him, while fresh rounds waited in a haphazard stack.

He hadn’t noticed her yet, too focused on his work, and she found herself lingering longer than she should have, watching the way his muscles moved beneath his shirt and how his hair stuck to his forehead.

When he finally glanced up and spotted her, her stomach flipped. His brows knit together in mild surprise, and he straightened, propping the axe against a nearby stump.

“You lost?” he asked, with a low and even voice, though his tone wasn’t unkind.

She stepped closer, shaking her head. “No, just wandering. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” he said, grabbing a rag from the pile and wiping his hands. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, like he was trying to piece together why she was there. “Trail gets tricky up ahead. Lots of roots and uneven ground.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, glancing around the clearing. “This your spot?”

He nodded once. “Helps to stay busy.”

She looked at the pile of wood, then back at him. “Looks like more than just ‘staying busy.’”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Winters here are rough.”

There was a pause, not quite awkward, but heavy. She shifted her weight, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, it’s impressive. I mean, you make it look easy.”

“It’s not,” he said simply, picking up the axe again. “But you get used to it.”

She lingered, unsure if she should say more or let him get back to work. He tilted his head slightly, watching her with a curious expression.

“You like the woods?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling softly. “It’s peaceful out here. Different from the city.”

His gaze flicked back to the axe in his hand. “It is.” There was a weight to his words, hinting at something deeper than just the stillness of the woods, but she chose not to push.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it,” she said finally, offering him a polite nod.

“Careful on the trail,” he said again, his voice softer this time.

As she turned to leave, she couldn’t resist glancing back over her shoulder. He was already back to work, the axe slicing clean through another log. She bit her lip, shaking her head at herself as she continued down the trail.

He sighed. Winters are rough? That was the polite answer, the one people accepted without a second glance. The truth was darker, heavier. Every time the weight of old memories clawed at him -screams, chaos, the suffocating fear that came into walking a dark tunnel that could bury him alive- he found his solace in the rhythmic swing of an axe. Splitting firewood was his refuge, the repetitive motion carving out a rare emptiness in his mind.

He kept chopping, waiting until he was sure she wouldn’t glance back again. Then, he let himself linger, his eyes following her retreating form.

He was interested.

Shit.

Sam hadn’t been helping either, dropping “innocent” tidbits about her, like breadcrumbs, every time they crossed paths. How she worked from home. How she wasn’t seeing anyone. How she seemed to be settling in, though she was still getting used to small-town life. Bucky could tell Sam was trying to nudge him, but it only stirred something conflicted in him.

On one hand, he was drawn to her, from her curves to the way she smiled, also, the way her voice provoked a warmth in him he hadn’t felt in years. On the other hand, the thought of pursuing something -anything- good for himself felt... wrong. Like he didn’t deserve it.

And then there was the matter of simply not knowing how.

He was out of shape when it came to people. Always had been, even before life turned upside down. Now, with scars inside and out, the idea of approaching her felt like staring down at a puzzle he didn’t have the pieces for.

What would he even say? What would she think if she knew the mess he was?

Bucky swung the axe harder, the sharp crack of the log splitting echoing through the clearing. He flexed his fingers and tightened his jaw.

For now, all he could do was chop and hope the noise drowned out the voice in his head whispering that he wasn’t enough.

Over the next couple of months, the little town started to feel less like a temporary retreat and more like a place she could call home. The older women gushed over her porch restoration project and eagerly shared gardening tips, while the crowd closer to her age welcomed her into their fold with invitations for coffee dates or potluck dinners.

And then there was Bucky.

Though technically part of that age group, he was absent from most social gatherings. She couldn’t picture him at a potluck, anyway, sitting around sharing recipes or small talk. It just wasn’t him. Yet, in his own quiet way, he’d become more present in her life.

Bit by bit, he seemed to uncoil from whatever tension held him so tightly. He started to linger longer during their chance encounters, sometimes surprising them both with a dry, unexpected joke. Other times, he’d pitch in with simple acts of kindness, like carrying eventually heavy stuff to her car, or even fixing the wobbly step on her porch when Sam got busier and asked him to do it. He could have said no, but he still came, quietly getting the job done without any fanfare.

-----------

Then, the announcement of the annual town festival brought a new wave of excitement. It was the event of the season, where everyone came together to celebrate the town's founding. Without much hesitation, she signed up to contribute, deciding to sell pies and baked goods. Not only was it a way to contribute to the celebration, but it was also a chance to make a little extra income for the ongoing repairs to the house. The porch was done, but there was still plenty of work to do: fresh paint, creaky floorboards, and other little fixes that added up.

So, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work. The week leading up to the festival was a whirlwind of flour-dusted counters and the comforting aroma of cinnamon and vanilla. She tested each recipe to make sure they were just like her grandmother used to make.

The excitement of the upcoming festival settled over the town, and she felt like she was becoming part of something bigger, a tradition, a community.

Meanwhile, word had spread that she was setting up a booth to sell her pies. Sam, always the one to keep an ear to the ground, couldn't help but tease Bucky one morning while they were working on a new batch of supplies for the festival booths. They were building the structure for several of the vendors, and Bucky had come by to help with the heavier lifting, always lending a hand when needed.

“She’s doing a booth, huh?” Sam asked with a knowing grin as he hammered in a final nail. “Maybe you should swing by, get yourself a little sugar, hm?”

Bucky’s response was as sharp as ever. “Shut up, Wilson,” he grumbled, his eyes narrowing as he worked, but Sam could see the way his shoulders stiffened, the way he held himself a little straighter.

He stayed silent for a beat, focusing on the sturdy plank of wood he was planing down. The rhythmic scrape of the tool seemed to be the only thing keeping him calm. Sam, however, was never one to let a good opportunity slip by.

“I’m just saying,” Sam pressed on, leaning casually against the workbench, “she’s single, she’s sweet, and she seems to like you.” He smirked, his tone teetering on playful. “You could, y’know, take a shot. Maybe buy a pie while you’re at it. You can’t live on just dino-shaped mac and cheese.”

Bucky huffed a humorless laugh, setting the plane down with a bit more force than intended. “And what would I even say to her, huh? ‘Hi, I’m good at chopping wood and screwing things up.’ That’s a real winner.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “You don’t have to lead with the self-deprecating monologue, man. Just... be you. You’re a good guy, Buck, even if you refuse to see it.” He straightened, resting a hand on his hip. “And she’s clearly got some interest. Not every woman looks at a guy like he’s the only steady thing in a storm.”

Bucky shot him a sharp look, the tips of his ears unmistakably pink. “She doesn’t-“

“Oh, she does,” Sam interrupted with a grin that widened at Bucky’s growing discomfort. “And you’d see it too if you didn’t spend so much time convincing yourself you’re not worth her attention.”

For a long moment, Bucky said nothing, his jaw tightening as he flexed his left hand, a tell Sam recognized far too well. Finally, he sighed, leaning his weight on the workbench. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” Sam agreed, his tone softening. “But you don’t have to figure it all out today. Start small. Talk to her at the festival. Buy a pie. Hell, buy the whole booth if you have to.” He clapped Bucky on the shoulder, eliciting a grunt. “Just don’t let this pass you by.”

----------

The day of the festival arrived, and the town square buzzed with life. Booths lined the streets, each one bursting with local goods: handmade crafts, fresh produce, and jars of preserves. Children darted through the crowds, their faces painted like butterflies or superheroes, their laughter weaving through the cheerful hum of a local band playing in the distance.

Her booth stood out in its simplicity, decorated with gingham tablecloths and jars of freshly picked flowers from her garden. The pies were the centerpiece, their golden crusts glistening in the sunlight, flanked by trays of cookies and jars of homemade jam.

She adjusted the sign that read “Baked Goods – From Granny’s Recipe Box” and stepped back, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

The day unfolded in a whirlwind of chatter and laughter. Her booth was busier than she’d dared to hope, a steady stream of customers stopping to sample the pies or chat about the sign. Compliments came easily from the townsfolk, praising her buttery crusts and spiced fillings. Each kind word felt like a little victory, her heart swelling with the realization that she was becoming a part of the community.

The sun climbed higher into the sky, casting warm golden light over the bustling festival. Her booth remained busy, the stream of smiling faces keeping her occupied and distracted, though not enough to stop her from glancing through the crowd now and then.

By mid-afternoon, Sam strolled up, hands in his pockets and an easy grin on his face. "Well, well. Look at you, baking queen," he teased.

She laughed, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Hardly. But I’ll take it. Want a slice?”

Sam leaned on the edge of the booth, scanning the offerings. “Tempting, but I might be here on more of a reconnaissance mission.”

Her brow lifted. “What kind of mission?”

“You know, checking in, seeing how you're doing, and maybe scouting for a certain broody lumberjack.” He winked, and she rolled her eyes with a chuckle.

“Let me guess, he sent you to grab a pie?” she joked, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Bucky? Nah.” Sam’s grin dimmed slightly, and he gave a small shrug. “Didn’t see him around earlier. Honestly, he might not even show. Festivals aren’t really his thing.”

She tried to keep the disappointment off her face, focusing instead on adjusting a jar of jam on the table. Sam caught the subtle shift in her expression, his teasing smile softening.

“He’s around,” Sam said casually, leaning an elbow on the edge of the booth. “Bucky’s just… not much of a crowd guy. Give him time.”

Her fingers paused on the jar, but she didn’t look up. “I wasn’t-”

“Sure you weren’t,” Sam interrupted with a knowing grin. “But I wouldn’t hold it against him. People aren’t really his thing. Except, maybe, certain people.”

She rolled her eyes, her lips curving into a small smile despite herself. “And you’re just full of insight, aren’t you?”

“Hey, I’m just observin’.” He straightened up, grabbing a cookie from the tray. “And I’ll take one of these for the road. Festival’s not complete without snacks.”

She shook her head, amused as Sam strolled off, leaving her alone to greet the next customer.

The hours passed in a blur of chatter and sales, the sun dipping lower in the sky. She’d almost stopped scanning the square for him when, late in the afternoon, a familiar figure emerged.

Bucky walked slowly, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, his gaze flicking over the booths like he wasn’t sure where to go. Then he spotted her. His shoulders straightened, and their eyes met across the square. For a moment, neither moved. Then, with an almost sheepish hesitation, he started toward her.

Each step closer felt like a mistake, and yet he didn’t stop. His eyes took in the sight of her booth, tidy and charming, and then her. She wore a casual dress under a cardigan, and a frilly apron tied neatly around her waist, the image of a vintage housewife. The dress fit snugly at her chest, the fabric pulling slightly when she moved to rearrange something on the table. It wasn’t anything overly revealing, but it didn’t matter; all of the visual information seemed to bypass his brain entirely and head directly to the south. He swallowed hard, trying to redirect his focus before he embarrassed himself.

“Hey,” he said when he reached the booth, his voice a little softer than he intended. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing briefly at the display of pies and jars before forcing himself to meet her eyes.

“Hi,” she replied, her face lighting up in a way that made the whole awkward journey worth it.

“I, uh... thought I’d stop by,” he continued, the words fumbling slightly as he fought the urge to retreat. “Looks like business is good.” He gestured vaguely at the booth, trying to seem casual, though his pulse was anything but.

“It’s been steady,” she said, her smile warm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

Her words made him hesitate, but only briefly. He nodded toward the pies, his lips twitching into what might have been the beginnings of a smile. “Figured I’d see what all the fuss is about.”

“And?” she asked, a playful glint in her eye. “Are you finding the fuss justified?”

He looked at her then, his gaze lingering in a way that made her shift her weight slightly. His lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “Seen a few tempting products,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing.

Was that... a double meaning? She wasn’t sure, but the way her stomach flipped at his tone left her biting her lip to suppress a smile.

“Well,” she said, leaning slightly against the booth, “what might you be interested in, then?”

“Got any plum jam?” he asked after a moment, his eyes scanning the jars displayed on the table.

She winced apologetically. “Sorry, sold out this morning. It’s a popular one.”

He gave a small nod, not seeming too put out. “Guess I’ll settle for a slice of apple pie, then.”

“You won’t regret it,” she said, quickly cutting a generous slice and placing it in a little paper dish. As she handed it to him, their fingers brushed briefly, a small, electric jolt of contact that she tried not to overthink.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his gaze flickering back to hers for a split second before focusing intently on the pie. He took a bite, and the deep, guttural groan that escaped him had her blinking in surprise, and then staring at him, very much not with pure thoughts.

Her gaze dropped helplessly to his mouth, where a small dollop of apple mush clung stubbornly to the corner of his lips. Oh, how she’d love to help him clean that up, maybe even by lapping it up herself. The thought had her throat going dry. “Uh, you have... there,” she managed, signaling to her own mouth because words failed her entirely.

He frowned slightly, his thumb swiping at his lips. When he missed, she gave a quick, stifled laugh, shaking her head and pointing more precisely. His next attempt was successful, and when he scooped the apple filling with his thumb and licked it clean off, her breath caught.

That should be illegal.

“Damn,” he said, glancing down at the pie with newfound respect. “Guess you can marry now.”

She blinked, startled. “What?”

His ears reddened as he fumbled for an explanation, suddenly realizing how strange that sounded. “Uh... my ma used to say... I mean, like, if a woman could cook well, she’d be ready for marriage, or something… uh, forget it.” He waved a hand, suddenly looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“Oh no,” she said, crossing her arms and quirking a brow, her lips twitching in amusement. “Now I really want to know what your ma used to say.”

“My ma used to say,” he admitted reluctantly, “a woman who can bake a pie like this could keep a man happy for life.”

As the words left his mouth, he realized -really realized- what he’d just said. Bringing up marriage, even indirectly, in what was supposed to be casual conversation? A new low, even for him. His inward grimace was immediate, a mortifying mix of regret and disbelief at his own lack of subtlety.

She blinked at him, her head tilting slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. “Well,” she said slowly, the edge of her lip quirking up, “Bet she was the kind of person who made everyone feel at home.”

He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, she... she was something.” Hoping to steer the moment away from the awkward territory he’d stumbled into, he gestured vaguely to the booth. “Anyway, uh... pie’s great. Really.”

“Thanks, Bucky. I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my granny’s best recipes.” She smiled warmly

He nodded, his lips twitching into something close to a smile. “She taught you well.”

That earned a soft laugh from her. “Yeah, she’d make me practice until I got it just right. Burned a lot of pies before this one.”

The conversation lingered as they eased into a rhythm, the earlier tension giving way to something more relaxed. She asked about his work, curious about how he supplied Sam with lumber, and he surprised her by sharing a bit more than usual talking about the care it took to choose the right trees and how the process wasn’t just chopping wood but understanding the forest itself.

“You make it sound like an art,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully.

“Guess it kinda is,” he admitted. “You’ve gotta respect it. If you don’t, it shows in the work.”

Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted, cutting through their moment like a buzz saw.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to show up!”

Sam’s broad grin was radiant as he strolled up to the booth, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

Bucky groaned softly, his shoulders slumping a fraction as if bracing himself for whatever teasing was about to come. “What do you want, Sam?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Sam said breezily, his eyes darting between the two of them. “Just thought I’d check in, maybe grab some pie, see what’s happening over here.” He smirked. “Looks like I picked the right booth.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Careful, Sam. You’re gonna run me out of inventory if you keep showing up.”

Sam leaned on the counter, grinning. “Don’t worry, I’m here only to make sure Bucky doesn’t scare off your customers with his broody face.”

Bucky shot him a glare, but Sam only shrugged, completely unfazed.

“Actually, Buck, some of the people are starting to pack up. We should get a head start on breaking down everything so tomorrow’s not such a hassle,” Sam continued, his tone shifting to business mode. “Don’t give me that look, I'm not the one who strolled in here right before closing time.”

Bucky sighed but didn’t argue. “Right, right,” he muttered but didn’t seem eager to leave just yet.

She chuckled softly at their dynamic, watching as Sam started to organize a few things, seemingly trying to speed up the process of wrapping up. “Well then, I’ll just get the last of these pies packed up.” she said, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll make it a little easier on yourself if you let us take a couple of those home,” Sam said with a grin, his eyes scanning the remaining trays. “For later, of course. Can’t let all this deliciousness go to waste.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away, but his gaze lingered on the last few slices, making it clear he wasn’t about to pass up on some baked goods.

“Yeah, well, I suppose you’re right,” she said, laughing. “Guess you both deserve some for your hard work on the structures.”

“I’m not gonna argue with that,” Sam said, grinning as he reached for the remaining slices of pie. “Besides,” he said, gesturing toward Bucky, “look at him. He must be starving. You don’t know the amount of food it takes to keep all that going.”

Bucky froze mid-chew, his fork hovering just above the plate, and gave Sam a pointed look, equal parts exasperation and disbelief. “Seriously?”

“What?” Sam shrugged innocently, though his smirk said otherwise. “It’s true. You’re always munching on something. Remember last week? Three sandwiches in one sitting, and you still stole my fries.”

Bucky’s glare sharpened, but it only fueled Sam’s amusement. “You ate half my wings, Wilson,” Bucky said dryly, his tone low and unimpressed.

“Details,” Sam said with a wave of his hand, his grin not fading. “Point is, you’ve got the appetite of a bear coming out of hibernation. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t go hungry.”

She laughed as she placed the box of pies on the counter. “Well, I can’t have that on my conscience,” she teased. “Take as many slices as you need, Bucky. We’ll call it a public service.”

Bucky shifted on his feet, his gaze darting between her and the pies. The faintest flush crept up his neck as he mumbled, “Thanks,” and slid another slice of pie onto his plate. His eyes lingered on the cookies for a moment before he reached for one, his movements a little hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure how much was too much.

“You sure?” he asked, glancing up at her, his voice quieter now.

She smiled warmly, waving off his concern. “Positive. Consider it payment for all the heavy lifting.”

He huffed a low laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up in what could almost be called a smile. “Appreciate it,” he said, his words rough but sincere.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, almost making Bucky drop the cookie. “Alright, big guy, let’s get out of her way before you clean her out completely.

Bucky shot him a half-hearted glare but allowed Sam to steer him toward a cluster of tables nearby, his plate balanced carefully in one hand.

She watched them go, her lips curving into a smile as Sam said something that made Bucky shake his head in exasperation.

With a deep breath, she turned back to finish packing up, though her gaze flicked toward their working spot every now and then.

That night, she lay in bed, the exhaustion of the festival weighing her body down but leaving her mind buzzing. Every detail of the day replayed like a film reel, but one moment stood out above all: Bucky and his awkward, utterly endearing comment about marriage.

She groaned, burying her flushed face into her pillow like a teenager. Guess you can marry now. The memory of his hesitant, almost panicked attempt to explain himself made her toes curl, not in secondhand embarrassment but in something far warmer, more thrilling. And the way he’d looked at her as he said it... that fleeting vulnerability, his ears burning red. She shook her head, biting her lip against a smile.

An idea came to her mind while sipping her morning coffee, staring at the half-empty box of baked goods and preserves she hadn’t packed into the car the day before. She’d thought she was carrying too much, but now she saw what she’d left behind: two jars of plum jam. The very ones Bucky had wanted at the festival but hadn’t been able to get.

She turned one jar in her hand, smiling faintly. It wasn’t much, but it felt like the right thing to do, a small gesture to thank him for all the ways he’d helped her. A friendly token, nothing more. The thought made her nerves tingle anyway.

Shoving those thoughts aside, she packed the jars into her backpack, laced up her boots, and headed out. She made her way toward the spot where she’d found him last time, the rhythmic thwack of his axe cutting through wood still vivid in her memory. She tried not to feel disappointed when the clearing came into view and she didn’t see him right away, but then a faint rustling sound caught her attention.

Bucky was there, further back, crouched near a stack of neatly cut logs, inspecting a wedge that had splintered unevenly. He looked so at ease in his element, that she almost turned back. But then he shifted, his head tilting slightly as if he’d heard her approach.

“Hey,” she called, her voice lighter than intended.

He stood, turning to face her. His brow furrowed slightly in surprise, but it softened quickly. “Hey.”

“I, uh...” She adjusted her backpack strap, suddenly feeling awkward for tracking him down like this. “I had some leftovers from the festival, and I remembered you wanted plum jam. Turns out I had two jars I didn’t even bring.” She opened the backpack and pulled them out, offering them with a tentative smile. “Figured I’d bring them to you as a thank-you for all the times you’ve helped me out.”

Bucky stared at the jars, his expression unreadable at first, but then his lips tugged into the faintest hint of a smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” she said, shrugging lightly. “But I wanted to. It’s just jam, anyway.”

“Just jam,” he repeated, taking the jars from her hands, his fingers brushing hers briefly. He glanced at the labels, then back at her. “Thanks. Really.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, feeling breathless under his intense gaze. She stuffed her hands into her knitted jacket pockets, trying to play it cool. “Hope it’s as good as my pies.”

His lips twitched, that almost-smile appearing again. “Guess I’ll have to let you know.” For a moment, neither of them moved, then he cleared his throat, gesturing toward the logs behind him. “You walked all the way out here just for this?” he asked, slightly lifting his brow.

“Pretty much, yeah,” she admitted, her voice softening as a hint of shyness crept in. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly very aware of how much effort she’d put into this small gesture.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, “That’s... thoughtful of you.”

Her cheeks warmed under his quiet scrutiny, but she forced a casual shrug. “Well, I figured it beats letting them collect dust in my pantry.”

“Still,” he murmured, “thanks. Means a lot.”

“You’re welcome. I, uh...” She glanced at the jars in his hands, suddenly unsure of herself. “I won’t take more of your time. Just wanted to...” She gestured vaguely toward the jam, the movement almost bashful.

Bucky’s gaze softened, his grip tightening slightly around the jars. Before she could step away, he called after her, his voice rough yet almost hesitant. “Hey.”

She turned back, catching the flicker of something earnest in his expression.

“Thanks again,” he said simply, holding up the jars slightly.

Her smile softened, more genuine now. “Anytime.”

Bucky stood there for a long moment after she left, staring at the jars in his hands. The deep, rich purple of the jam glinted faintly in the sunlight filtering through the trees, but his mind wasn’t on the contents. It was on her. The way her voice had faltered, the slight hesitance in her movements when she handed them to him, like she wasn’t sure if he’d even want them.

Why the hell wouldn’t I? he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening. He shifted the jars to one hand, his free one dragging down his face. Damn it.

The easy confidence he used to have, -the kind that once let him charm anyone he wanted- was long gone, worn away by years of service that had left their mark on his body and mind. His scars, both visible and hidden, weren’t just marks; they were reminders of a life split into before and after. He set the jars carefully on a stump, picking up his axe again and turning back to the log he’d been working on.

The first swing came down harder than necessary, the wood splitting with a satisfying crack.

What if Sam was right? What if she really did like him? What the hell would he even do with that? He couldn’t imagine someone like her -a woman who baked pies for town festivals and brought plum jam out to the woods- being happy with someone like him. Someone who carried more baggage than he knew how to unpack.

The axe came down again, the sharp sound echoing through the clearing.

She deserved better than someone like him. Someone whole. Someone who didn’t wake up in cold sweats or flinch at loud noises. Someone who could stand in a crowd without feeling like the walls were closing in. He couldn’t even have a simple conversation without fumbling over his words like a damn teenager.

Another swing and the log finally gave way, splitting clean in two. He adjusted the pieces and started again, the rhythmic motion grounding him even as his thoughts spiraled.

And yet... there she was, walking through the woods just to give him something she thought he’d like. Her smile was genuine, her laugh soft, and for a moment, it had felt almost normal, like maybe he wasn’t the broken mess he’d convinced himself he was.

Don’t kid yourself.

The axe paused mid-air as his gaze flickered to the jars again. She wasn’t just being polite, was she? There had been something in her eyes, something he didn’t know how to name but felt keenly.

God, I used to be good at this, he thought, lowering the axe and resting his hands on the handle. Before everything went to hell, before the nightmares and the scars and the sense of being completely out of place in a world that had moved on without him, he’d known how to read people. Known how to charm them.

Now, he couldn’t even tell if the kindest gesture he’d received in years was just... friendliness.

Bucky exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the axe. He had no answers, only doubts, and a feeling in his gut that maybe, just maybe, he was about to screw this up like he did everything else.

----------

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the living room curtains as she sat cross-legged on the couch, her laptop balanced on her knees. She rubbed her temples and glared at the screen, rereading the same sentence for what felt like the hundredth time. The latest manuscript she was proofreading was a Highlander romance, complete with a Marie Sue, a couple of brawny warriors, and more plaid than a fabric store. It wasn’t that she disliked the genre, but this one was so cliché-ridden it was almost impressive.

“And then his emerald eyes bore into hers, as if he could see the depths of her soul,” she read aloud, her tone dry. She let out a groan, rolling her eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. “Of course he did.”

Still, it paid the bills. She took a sip of her now lukewarm tea and leaned back, debating whether to power through or take a break. That’s when a knock sounded at the door.

Her brows furrowed. Dorothy, the old lady he met at the general store, had mentioned bringing over some plant bulbs today, and it was her signature to show up unannounced. Closing the laptop with a sigh of relief at the distraction, she stood and padded to the door.

“Dorothy, you didn’t have to-” she began, opening the door with a welcoming smile, only to have the words die in her throat.

It wasn’t Dorothy.

Bucky stood there, one hand gripping a well-worn toolbox and the other shoved casually into the pocket of his jeans. The red henley he wore was snug enough to highlight the curve of his shoulders and the breadth of his chest, but not enough to look like he was trying. His hair was slightly mussed, as if the wind had tussled it just before he knocked, and the faintest hint of stubble shadowed his jaw.

For a second, neither of them spoke. She blinked, her surprise evident, while he cleared his throat and offered a small, almost sheepish nod.

“Hey,” he said, his deep voice tinged with a hint of hesitation. “I, uh... remembered you mentioned during the festival needing to fix a couple of roof tiles.” He lifted the toolbox slightly as if to emphasize his purpose. “Thought I’d stop by and take care of it. For the jam.”

It was a perfectly logical explanation, but the sight of him on her porch, looking like an ad for rustic competence, left her momentarily speechless.

She groaned inwardly, the warmth of embarrassment creeping up her neck as she registered her current state, an old pair of sweatpants and an even older shirt with a faded logo, complete with a jam stain right across the bosom. Great. Just great.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she finally managed, her voice brushing off the initial surprise as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Really, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Bucky shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, easy smile. “Figured I owed you one. Besides, it’s no trouble.”

Despite herself, her lips quirked in a smile as she stepped aside and gestured toward the side of the house. “Well, okay then. The tiles that need fixing are just over there.”

He nodded, his movements purposeful but unhurried, as he turned toward his truck. “I’ll grab my ladder and get started.”

As he walked away, she shut the door with a quiet click and let out a soft exhale, leaning her forehead briefly against the cool wood. A glance down at her outfit made her wince. Nope. There was no way she was standing out there in this while Bucky Barnes fixed her roof looking like a walking ad for rugged, small-town charm.

She bolted for her room, tearing through her wardrobe with newfound urgency. A simple casual dress with a V neckline and cardigan was the winning combo, comfortable enough for an impromptu chat but still presentable. She smoothed the fabric over her hips and checked her reflection in the mirror, brushing her hair back into place before heading back to the living room.

The faint clink of metal outside signaled that Bucky was already at work. Feeling slightly more put-together, she made her way to the kitchen to make some lemonade, hoping she didn’t look like she was trying too hard.

Once the lemonade was ready, she poured a glass, her movements steady as she tried to keep her thoughts from spiraling. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a neighborly gesture to bring him something cool while he worked. Absolutely no ulterior motives, she told herself firmly, ignoring the tiny thrill that ran through her at the thought of talking to him again.

After tidying up a few things to stall for time, she finally stepped outside, the lemonade glass balanced carefully in her hand. The sun had warmed the air, and she spotted Bucky perched on the ladder, one boot firmly planted on a lower rung as he worked to secure a tile.

“Hey,” she called out lightly, making her way toward him.

He glanced down, his hands pausing mid-adjustment. His gaze caught on her new outfit, lingering for a moment before flicking back to her face. She wasn’t imagining it, the slight shift in his expression was hard to miss.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious under his sharp blue eyes, she offered the glass with a small smile. “Thought you might want something to drink.” Then, in a rush of nervous energy, she added, “Dorothy was supposed to drop by, so I figured I should look a little more... put together.”

His gaze flickered briefly to the neckline of her dress, the height of his vantage point affording a view to skin that other way should be concealed by cloth. For a split second, his focus lingered on the swell of her breasts before he forced his attention back to her face with an unreadable expression.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, reaching down to take the glass. His fingers brushed hers for a fraction of a second, the callouses rough against her skin, and she fought the urge to shiver at the contact.

“You’re, uh, making good progress,” she said, nodding toward the roof as if that would distract from the warmth in her cheeks.

“Not much to it,” he replied, taking a sip. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he drank, and her eyes dipped of their own accord, watching the movement.

When he handed the glass back, their fingers brushed again, and she swore his hand lingered just a moment longer this time.

She lingered by the ladder, holding her glass of lemonade, the condensation cool against her fingers. “You and Sam did a great job building the booths for the festival,” she said, her tone casual. “Not only a provider, huh? Seems like you’re quite the handyman too.”

Bucky glanced down at her, his lips twitching into a faint smile before he focused back on the tile he was securing. “It wasn’t just us. Plenty of other guys helped out.”

“Still,” she insisted, watching the muscles in his forearms shift as he worked, “it’s cool. You don’t see that kind of dedication every day.”

He didn’t respond right away, his grip tightening on the hammer. The compliment clearly unsettled him, and for a split second, his aim wavered. The hammer came down too close to his thumb, and he muttered a sharp curse under his breath.

“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping closer instinctively. Her brows knit together with concern as she watched him shake out his hand.

“Peachy,” he muttered with a gruff voice, though the faint pink creeping up his neck gave away his frustration, whether from the near miss or her watchful presence, she wasn’t sure.

Her lips twitched at his tone, but she held back a laugh, not wanting to poke the bear. “Alright, then. I’ll leave you to it before I distract you into taking off a finger.”

He glanced down at her, his blue eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re not a distraction,” he said after a beat, his voice softer this time.

Her stomach did a little flip, but she forced herself to keep her tone light. “Still, I’d hate to be the reason you get hurt. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

He gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned back to his work, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

She stepped back toward the house, clutching the empty glass tightly as she crossed the threshold and shut the door behind her.

With a deep breath, she returned to the couch, her laptop waiting for her where she’d left it. But even as she opened the screen and stared down the next line of plaid-covered Highlander melodrama, her thoughts drifted back to the man on her roof and the way his gaze lingered just a second too long.

---------

The knock at the door startled her out of the repetitive loop of her manuscript edits. Leaving the laptop on the coffee table, she stood, smoothing the fabric of her dress instinctively. When she opened the door, there he was, a faint sheen of sweat on his face and his toolbox in hand.

“All done,” Bucky said, his deep voice a little quiet, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to say more. He gestured vaguely toward the roof with his free hand. “The tiles should hold up fine now. No leaks to worry about.”

Her smile was warm as relief and gratitude washed over her. “Thank you, Bucky. Really. That was so kind of you to come by and take care of it.”

He gave a small shrug, his lips twitching into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t take long. Figured it’d save you some hassle.”

“Still,” she said, stepping back to open the door wider, “you didn’t have to. Can I at least get you something? Another drink, maybe?”

He hesitated, his hand tightening slightly on the handle of the toolbox. “You don’t have to-”

“I insist,” she cut him off gently, her smile unwavering. “Please. It’s the least I can do.”

After a beat, he nodded, stepping over the threshold with a cautious ease, as if unsure of how much space he was allowed to take up. She led him to the kitchen, motioning for him to sit at the small table while she poured a fresh glass of lemonade.

He sat stiffly, setting his toolbox carefully by his feet and rubbing the back of his neck. The kitchen smelled faintly of citrus and sugar, a scent that mingled oddly with the outdoorsy hint of sawdust and sweat he carried with him.

“Here,” she said, placing the glass in front of him before sitting across the table. “I hope it’s still cold enough.”

Bucky nodded his thanks, taking a sip. The silence stretched for a moment, not uncomfortable but loaded with unspoken thoughts. She was the first to break it.

“So, how long have you been working with Sam?” she asked, leaning her arms casually on the table.

He set the glass down, his fingers lingering on the rim as he answered. “A few years. Helps keep me busy.”

She tilted her head, studying him with quiet curiosity. “Do you supply the rest of the workshops and stores too?”

Bucky let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Not really, just a few. Don’t think anyone’s lining up to hire a guy like me.”

Her brows knit together. “I don’t know about that. You’re dependable, skilled... and clearly a good neighbor.”

Her words caught him off guard, and he looked down, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Just doing what needs to be done,” he mumbled.

“More than that,” she pressed, a hint of teasing in her tone now to lighten the moment. “If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t believe how fast you fixed those tiles.”

Bucky shook his head, his lips twitching into that barely-there smile again. “It’s just a roof.”

“To you, maybe,” she said lightly. “To me, it’s one less thing to worry about. And I really appreciate it.”

Her sincerity left him quiet for a moment, his fingers tightening briefly around the glass. He glanced up at her, meeting her eyes. “You’re welcome,” he said finally, with a low voice.

Another pause lingered between them, she smiled, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Well, if you ever need more jam -or a roof to fix- you know where to find me.”

He chuckled softly, the sound surprising even himself. “Guess I’ll keep that in mind.”

Their gazes held for just a beat too long before he stood, his hand already reaching for the toolbox. “I should get going.”

“Of course,” she said, standing as well, though she didn’t move to rush him out. “Thanks again, Bucky.”

As Bucky made his way toward the door, his gaze swept briefly over the living room, pausing on the open laptop resting on the coffee table. His steps slowed, curiosity flickering across his features. “What’s that you’re working on?” he asked, tilting his head toward the screen.

She followed his gaze and let out a soft, sheepish laugh. “Oh, just... proofreading a manuscript.”

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly. “What kind of manuscript?”

Her lips parted as if she might dodge the question, but his steady, inquisitive look made it clear he wasn’t letting this one go. “It’s, uh... a romance,” she admitted, her voice almost shy.

His brow lifted a little higher. “About?”

She hesitated, fidgeting slightly under his gaze. “It’s... okay, it’s one of those super cheesy historical romances. You know, with a rugged Highlander and a maid who’s swept up in some dramatic, forbidden love affair.” Her words tumbled out in a rush, her cheeks warming as she spoke.

Bucky’s expression shifted. First skeptical, then mildly amused, and finally landing somewhere between disbelief and intrigue. “And that sells?”

“It’s a very popular topic,” She nodded, already cringing inwardly. “It’s... well, it’s got a lot of dramatic tension, flowery descriptions, and... other stuff.”

“Like what?” he asked, genuinely curious, his head tilting slightly as he leaned against the doorframe.

She bit the inside of her cheek, debating how much detail to share. “You know... dramatic misunderstandings, passionate declarations, epic sword fights... and, uh...” She trailed off, waving her hand vaguely. “Other... things.”

“Other things,” he repeated, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. “You mean... the spicy stuff?”

Her cheeks flamed, and she groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Yes, okay? That stuff. Happy now?”

He chuckled making her peek at him from behind her fingers. “Didn’t take you for someone who’d spend their day reading about shirtless Highlanders sweeping maids off their feet.”

“I don’t spend my day reading it,” she shot back, lowering her hands to glare at him, though her expression was more embarrassed than angry. “I’m proofreading. There’s a difference.”

“Right,” he said, dragging the word out like he wasn’t entirely convinced. “So you’re not secretly daydreaming about a plaid-wearing, hero coming to whisk you away?”

“Absolutely not,” she replied firmly, though the faint crack in her voice betrayed her mortification.

He smirked, finally stepping back from the doorframe. “Good to know.”

She crossed her arms, watching him as he moved toward his toolbox. “Not that you’re one to judge,” she called after him. “You seem to know an awful lot about what goes on in those books for someone who’s never read one.”

That stopped him in his tracks. He turned back, his gaze narrowing slightly, though there was still a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I have a sister,” he said simply, as though that explained everything.

Her mouth opened, then shut, caught off guard. “Touché,” she murmured, conceding the point. Still, she couldn’t let it rest. “But honestly, this one is so bad, I don’t get how the editors went along with it.”

His curiosity piqued, and Bucky tilted his head. “And why’s that?”

“It’s just... so cheesy,” she said, her voice dipping with exaggerated drama. “Way too fluffy, the guy won’t stop talking about his feelings, and he’s clingy in a way that makes me cringe.” She shuddered a little for effect.

Bucky raised a brow, his thumb absently tapping against the handle of the toolbox. “So... that makes it bad for the genre? Or is that your personal taste talking?”

She blinked, thrown off by the question. “I-what?”

“I mean,” he continued, leaning casually against the doorframe, “aren’t romance novels supposed to be... you know, emotional? Feelings and all that? Or is it just not your thing?”

She frowned, his thoughtful tone making her pause. “I guess... it’s not the emotions that bother me,” she admitted, her arms crossing loosely. “It’s the way it’s written. This guy is just so... over the top. He’s constantly swooning over her, saying how she’s his whole world, his sun and stars... it’s too much. Like, tone it down, man.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, and he gave a small, thoughtful nod as if chewing over her words. “So, you’re more into the... brooding types?”

Her face warmed slightly at the observation, but she shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. I like characters who... don’t lay it all out at once. You know, someone with a little mystery.”

A long silence stretched between them, his gaze lingering on her as if trying to read between the lines. “Sounds like it’d be tough to figure out what they’re thinking.” He observed.

She raised a brow at that, tilting her head. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words, you know.”

Bucky seemed to consider that, his fingers flexing lightly around the handle of his toolbox. He nodded once, then glanced toward the door. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your... highlander drama.” He shifted his weight, toolbox in hand, and turned toward the door. But as he stepped through, he hesitated, glancing back. “Hey,” he said, his tone quieter now, almost hesitant. “If, uh... if you ever need something else, just let me know.”

She smiled “I will. The same goes for you, thanks again.”

He nodded, a small, almost shy tilt of his head, before stepping fully out the door. She stood there for a moment, staring after him as the faint crunch of his boots faded down the path. The quiet of her house enveloped her as she closed the door, replaying snippets of their conversation.

She had barely made it back to the couch when her phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a text from Sam:

Hey, I’m grilling tonight. You should come by. No excuses.

A smile tugged at her lips. The idea of stepping out, getting off her screen, and being around people sounded better than staying cooped up with plaids and cringy lairds. She quickly texted back her agreement.

The gathering was small, just a handful of locals chatting around the glow of the garden lights and the firepit, the scent of burning wood mingling with spiced cider in the air.

She wasn’t expecting to see Bucky there, given he wasn’t the social type but there he was, standing slightly apart from the crowd, his hands shoved into his pockets as he listened to a conversation between Sam and another neighbor.

She hesitated, her pulse quickening at the sight of him. Sam spotted her, waving her over. “Hey, glad you made it! C’mon, grab a drink.”

She made her way to the table laden with snacks and drinks, feeling Bucky’s gaze on her as she poured herself some cider. When she turned, he was standing just a few steps away, his expression unreadable in the flickering firelight.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a touch breathless. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

His lips quirked in a half-smile. “Sam can be... persuasive.”

She laughed softly “Yeah, he’s good at that.”

They stood there in companionable silence for a moment, and then, as someone started strumming a guitar on the other side of the yard, Bucky glanced at her, his blue eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite place.

“Walk with me?” he asked, with a low but steady voice.

Surprised, she nodded, and they left the noise and light of the gathering behind, stepping into the quiet shadows of the trees that bordered Sam’s property.

As they walked, the only sounds were the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant chords of the guitar. Finally, he spoke.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began with a cautious tone like he was testing the waters. “About what you said earlier. About liking... brooding characters.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Oh?”

His gaze stayed forward, but his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Got me wondering if you really meant that. Or if you were just... making conversation.” The vulnerability in his voice sent a wave of warmth through her.

“I wasn’t just making conversation,” she admitted softly.

He stopped walking, turning to face her fully. The firelight was distant now, casting only the faintest glow, but she could still see the intensity in his expression. “Good,” he said, his voice rougher now. “Because I don’t want to keep wondering.”

Before she could respond, he stepped closer, his hand brushing hers, tentative but deliberate. And when she didn’t pull away, he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin as his lips captured hers in a kiss that was both hesitant and deeply certain, as if he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than he dared to admit.

She melted into him, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. That small gesture gave him all the permission he needed. Tilting his head, he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, a gentle yet deliberate request. She parted her lips for him, granting entrance, and he deepened the kiss with a low, quiet sigh that sent warmth spiraling through her.

His hand slid to the curve of her lower back, pulling her closer, while the other found its way to her nape. His fingers tangled gently in her hair as he cradled her. Their kiss broke slowly, reluctantly, his lips brushing hers one last time as if he couldn’t quite let go. Bucky lingered close, his breath warm against her cheek, his nose skimming along her jaw before dipping to her neck. He pressed his face there, inhaling deeply, and his quiet, teasing voice sent a shiver down her spine.

“This too clingy for you?”

A soft laugh escaped her, though it dissolved into a breathy sigh as she tilted her head, exposing more of her neck to him. “Shut up,” she murmured, her fingers threading through his hair, keeping him close. Whatever witty retort she might have had melted into nothing as he pressed a lingering kiss to her pulse point.

Bucky’s lips lingered against her neck for a moment longer before he pulled back just enough to look at her. His fingers at her nape flexed, and then his gaze dropped briefly to her lips. Her heart stuttered as he closed the distance again, this time more demanding. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was deeper and hungrier. Gone was the tentative sweetness, this was need, raw and unrestrained. His hand slid from her lower back to her hip, splaying wide, pulling her flush against him as if he needed to eliminate even the smallest gap between them.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, throaty sound from him that sent a thrill through her. She arched into him instinctively, and his hand slid down to the hem of her dress, his fingers brushing her bare thigh. His touch was deliberate, teasing, but his restraint was evident. Her hands left his hair, sliding down to his chest, the soft flannel brushing her palms before she gripped the fabric and tugged him closer. He responded instantly, groaning softly into her mouth as the hand on her nape angled her tighter against his lips.

When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingling in the charged silence, he pressed his forehead to hers. Neither of them moved to step away, the distant chatter and laughter around the grill fading into the background. The weight of unspoken need between them was palpable.

“We should...” she started, her voice catching slightly. Then, more firmly, “We should go somewhere.”

His head lifted slightly, blue eyes dark as he searched hers for a beat before a slow smile tugged at his lips, agreeing with a low voice.

Without another word, he took her hand, intertwining their fingers briefly before leading her away. They drifted toward the edge of the yard with casual ease, their steps slow enough to avoid suspicion but quick enough to betray their shared urgency. Once they’d slipped into the cover of the trees bordering Sam’s property, she turned to him, their bodies close in the dim light of the evening. “Your truck or...?”

Bucky’s brows shot up at the suggestion, and for a moment, the idea tempted him, briefly, wildly. Considering the insistent ache in his jeans, the thought held undeniable appeal. But then, reason settled over him like a cool breeze. Not like this. Not tonight.

His lips quirked into a lopsided smirk, and he leaned in just enough that his voice sent a shiver through her. “Your place,” he murmured, low and deliberate.

The shift in his tone left her breathless, her pulse hammering against her skin as her cheeks warmed. She nodded wordlessly, her hand tightening slightly around his as they moved with quiet purpose. The path back to her house felt electric, each step charged with anticipation.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Bucky turned sharply, cornering her against the solid wood. His hands framed her face as his lips captured hers again, more demanding this time, his body pressing into hers with a heat that left no room for misinterpretation. She gasped softly into the kiss, the feel of his hardon against her stomach sending a jolt of desire through her.

Her fingers tangled in his long hair, tugging just enough to make him growl low in his throat. The sound vibrated between them, primal and electrifying. He broke the kiss just enough to murmur, his voice gravelly, “Where’s the bedroom?”

She pointed vaguely down the hall, her breath hitching. Before she could blink, his strong hands were gripping her waist, and he effortlessly threw her over his shoulder in one smooth motion.

A surprised squeal left her lips, and she braced herself against his back, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. His hand splayed firmly over her rear to steady her, his voice teasing but thick with intent. “Easy there,” he said, the words curling with a hint of amusement.

He strode purposely through the hallway, and when they reached the bedroom, he set her down on the bed with surprising care, though his gaze was anything but gentle. He stood over her for a moment, taking her in, the way her hair fell wild around her face, her lips swollen from his kisses, her chest rising and falling with anticipation.

His tongue flicked over his bottom lip as his eyes darkened. “Damn,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with hunger, “you’re a sight.”

She shifted slightly under his intense stare, a flicker of shyness creeping in her despite her arousal. The way he looked at her, so unapologetically hungry, made her feel exposed. His lips quirked slightly as if sensing her hesitation, and he leaned down, his hand coming to rest against her jaw.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less intent.

She nodded, her breath hitching as his thumb brushed along her cheek. “Yeah,” she whispered.

“Good,” he replied, his lips curving into a faint smile before he kissed her again. This time, it was slower, deeper, his tongue sweeping against hers in a way that left her clinging to him, her earlier shyness melting into the heat of his touch.

Her fingers found his shirt, tugging at the hem, and he pulled back just enough to strip it off, tossing it aside without ceremony. The scars on his chest and arm caught the dim light, but the confidence in his gaze never wavered as he leaned back in, his hands sliding down her sides with deliberate, teasing slowness.

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as her eyes roamed over him, the sheer breadth of his chest and the powerful arms flexing with restrained strength. He was a bear of a man, solid and unrelenting, and she loved every bit of it.

“You know,” he began, his voice low and rough, his fingers deftly popping open the buttons of her dress one by one. “I love seeing you in these dresses and skirts.” His lips quirked into a wicked grin, his gaze flicking up to meet hers. “Makes it so damn easy to get under them. Have my way with you.”

Her cheeks burned at his words, a mixture of arousal and shyness bubbling to the surface. “Bucky...” she breathed, but her protest was feeble at best, especially as he continued his slow, deliberate assault, parting the fabric of her dress to expose more of her skin.

“That one you wore at the festival,” he went on, his tone darkening with heat as he leaned closer, his lips grazing her collarbone. “That vintage-looking thing? Sweetheart, it drove me crazy.”

She gasped softly as his hands slid over her hips, his thumbs tracing patterns against her bare skin. “Crazy how?” she managed to ask, her voice trembling under the weight of his attention.

He let out a low, throaty chuckle, his lips trailing down to the swell of her breasts. “Crazy enough to want to bend you over the booth table,” he murmured, his teeth scraping lightly against her skin, “and fuck you right there. Pies, jam… didn’t care. Would’ve made a mess of it all just to get my hands on you.”

A desperate whimper slipped past her lips as heat pooled low in her belly. Her hands slid into his hair, tugging slightly.

He growled softly at the sensation, pressing her back against the bed. His hands gripped the fabric of her dress and tugged it down her arms, exposing her fully to his gaze. “But we’ve got all the time we want now,” he said, his voice rough, his lips curving into a predatory smile. “And I plan to take my damn time.”

Her pussy clenched with anticipation as her mind whirled, trying to reconcile the quiet, awkward man she’d come to know with this unabashedly vocal, commanding version of him. It was as though he’d been holding back all this time, and now, the dam had finally burst.

Her bra followed the dress, and his sharp intake of breath sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her. His thumb traced the curve of her breast, slow and deliberate, before he leaned in, his lips hovering just above her skin.

“Y’know,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, “all I could think about this afternoon was pouring that lemonade on these.” His lips ghosted over her nipple, his breath warm. “Then drinking it straight off you.”

Her gaze widened, a sudden wave of shyness overtaking her. She let out a nervous laugh, pressing her hands over her face to shield herself.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said firmly, his hand catching her wrists and gently tugging them away. His eyes burned with an intensity that made her stomach flip. “You were the one who instigated our little escape from Sam’s party, remember?”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn’t help the way her body arched toward him as his lips finally claimed the peak of her breast, his tongue swirling in deliberate, maddening strokes. Any remaining hesitation evaporated as he pressed his hips against hers, letting her feel just how much he wanted her.

“You don’t get to act shy now,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly against her skin. “Not after everything you’ve been driving me crazy with.”

Her voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling as she stammered, “I... I didn’t do anything...”

Bucky pulled back just enough to meet her wide-eyed gaze, his lips curving into a wicked smirk. “Oh, you didn’t?” he drawled, his tone laced with teasing disbelief. His hand slid down her side, his calloused fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “That little dress at the festival? the lemonade with that neckline? The way you bit your lower lip every time we spoke? Sweetheart, you’ve been doing everything.”

Her cheeks burned, her lips parting as if to protest, but no words came out. Instead, he leaned in closer, his nose brushing the curve of her jaw as he whispered, “And I’ve been trying real hard to keep my hands to myself... but now? Now, I’m done trying.”

Her breath caught, and before she could respond, his lips were on hers again, claiming her in a kiss that left no room for doubt. His hands roamed her body with purpose, pulling her flush against him, his erection pressing firmly against her pussy.

Her fingers found their way into his hair again, tugging gently at the strands as he groaned into her mouth, the sound reverberating through her. “You’re killing me, you know that?” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough and filled with longing. “All I’ve been thinking about is this... you... for weeks.” He kissed her again, slower and deeper this time, as if savoring the moment.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he rasped when they parted for air, his forehead resting against hers. “But you’re about to find out.”

He left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her body, his lips lingering on every inch of skin as if committing her to memory. When he reached the waistband of her drenched panties, he paused, his hands gripping her thighs firmly to keep her in place. Pressing his face against the soaked fabric, he inhaled deeply, a guttural groan rumbling from his chest.

“God, you smell so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with hunger. His thumbs hooked into the sides of the delicate lace, slowly pulling it down her legs as he kept his eyes locked on hers. The intensity in his gaze made her pulse thunder in her ears. “You’ve been driving me insane,” he confessed, his lips brushing against her inner thigh as he tossed the damp fabric aside. “Every time I saw you in those little dresses... I thought about this. About getting under that hemline and taste you.”

Her body quivered at his words, her fingers tangling in the sheets beneath her as anticipation coiled tight in her core. “Bucky...” she breathed, her voice a plea.

“Patience,” he said again, his voice low and teasing, but there was no mistaking the edge of hunger in it. His hands spread her thighs further apart, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he held her open. His breath ghosted over her pussy, warm and tantalizing, making her gasp and clutch the sheets. “I want to take my time with you.”

And then his mouth was on her. His tongue dragged through her slick folds with slow, deliberate strokes, before barely retreating with a sinful hum. “Fuck,” he groaned, “You taste even better than I imagined.” He paused only long enough to meet her eyes, his own dark and full of promise. “And I’ve been imagining this for a long time.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he spread her pussy lips with his thumbs, baring her fully to him. His mouth latched onto her clit, his tongue swirling in lazy circles before he nursed it with intent. The sharp jolt of pleasure ripped a cry from her lips, her hips thrusting against his mouth involuntarily.

“Bucky! oh, God!” she gasped, her voice trembling as he kept at it, alternating between sucking and flicking her sensitive nub with maddening precision. His growl vibrated against her, the sound and sensation drawing another moan from deep within her chest.

“Stay still,” he commanded, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening. The rumble of his voice sent shivers down her spine. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Two thick fingers joined the assault, sliding slowly into her wet heat, stretching her as they pressed in until they were knuckle-deep. She gasped, her walls clenching around him as he paused for a moment, letting her adjust before starting a maddening rhythm.

His mouth stayed on her clit, tongue flicking and circling in tandem with the slow, deliberate thrust of his fingers. The combination was overwhelming, a perfectly orchestrated symphony of pleasure that had her crying out his name, her thighs trembling as she struggled to keep still.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he murmured against her, his voice filled with awe and lust. His fingers curled inside her, finding that sweet spot that made her hips jerk off the bed. “Right there, huh? That’s it.”

Her breathing turned ragged, her hands gripping his hair tightly as her body climbed higher and higher toward release. He didn’t let up, his tongue and fingers working her with relentless precision, coaxing her closer to the edge with every stroke.

The orgasm tore through her like an electric shock, sharp and all-consuming. Her body clenched tight, her muscles locking for a heartbeat before releasing uncontrollable spasms. Her walls clenched around his fingers, her back arching off the bed as a sharp cry tore from her lips. He growled with satisfaction, his fingers slowing but not stopping as he rode her through her climax, his mouth pressing soft, soothing kisses to her inner thigh as she shuddered beneath him.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, pulling his fingers free slowly and bringing them to his lips to taste. His darkened gaze met hers, his tongue flicking out to clean the slick from his fingers. “You’re fucking perfect.”

She barely had time to catch her breath before Bucky stood, towering over her, his eyes dark with intent. With a sharp tug, he kicked off his work boots, the thud of them hitting the floor making her jump slightly. Then came the metallic clink of his belt, the sound sending a thrill straight through her.

Her gaze was locked on him as he unzipped his jeans, the low rasp of the zipper making her stomach tighten. He tugged them down along with his underwear in one swift motion, revealing himself in all his glory. He was all broad shoulders and thick muscle. His broad chest and left arm were marred by scars that only added to the raw magnetism he exuded. And then there was his cock. Thick, hard, and so utterly intimidating that she bit her lip at the sight.

“Like what you see?” he asked, a lazy smile pulling at his lips.

She nodded, unable to form words as her cheeks flushed.

“Good,” he said, his hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking lazily as he took a step closer. “Because you’re going to feel all of me.”

Bucky climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her parted thighs. His hands gripped her waist, firm but careful, as though he might crush her if he wasn’t mindful of his strength. His cock rested heavy and hard against her slick folds, the head teasing her entrance as he rocked his hips slowly, coating himself.

“So wet,” he murmured, his voice a husky growl that sent a shiver down her spine. She moaned softly, her thighs trembling as the thick head of his cock pressed against her opening, the stretch beginning even before he was inside. He moved slowly, agonizingly so, letting her body adjust to his size inch by inch. Her walls fluttered around him as he filled her, her slick heat clenching tightly as he pushed deeper. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as her breath hitched. “Oh my God, Bucky... you’re so-”

“Big?” he finished for her, his tone edged with dark amusement as he paused, fully sheathed inside her. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as he rumbled, “That’s it, sweetheart.”

Her head fell back against the pillow as she panted, her body stretched to its limit, the delicious pressure bordering on too much. But as her hips shifted slightly, the friction sent a bolt of pleasure through her that made her moan his name.

Bucky groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding to her rear to tilt her hips upward. He withdrew slowly, almost to the tip, before thrusting back in with deliberate care. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he murmured, his gaze locked on her face as he started to move in earnest.

His pace began slow and steady, each thrust measured, but it wasn’t long before his control began to slip. His grip on her tightened as he quickened, the powerful thrusts rocking her body against the mattress. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, the wet slap of his cock driving deep into her pussy mingling with her moans and his guttural groans.

“Hold on to me,” he ordered, his voice rough with lust. Before she could process his words, he hooked an arm under her ass and lifted her effortlessly, sitting crisscrossed with her perched in his lap.

Her arms flew around his neck, clinging to him as the new angle made him hit even deeper. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements as he thrust up into her, the force of his cock driving her wild. Her head fell forward, her forehead resting against his as she whimpered, overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure building inside her.

“Look at me,” he demanded. Her hazy eyes met his as he tilted her hips slightly forward, the firm muscles just above his shaft slapping her clit with every thrust.

She cried out, her nails raking down his back as the coil inside her tightened, ready to snap. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

He groaned, his cock swelling even harder inside her as he chased her climax. “I’ve got you,” he promised, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel it.”

Her orgasm hit her hard, her pussy clamping down on his cock as she cried out his name, her body trembling violently in his arms, and he growled in satisfaction.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he ground out, his movements growing erratic as her spasming walls pushed him closer to the edge. “You’re mine, doll. Mine.”

With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself fully inside her, his cock pulsing as he spilled into her with a guttural moan. He held her tightly, pressing his forehead to her shoulder as they both panted, their bodies trembling from the intensity of their encounter.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the room filled only with the sound of their heavy breathing. Then, with utter gentleness, Bucky eased her back onto the bed, his body following hers as he stayed buried inside her. He braced himself on his forearms, keeping his weight off her but staying close enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin against hers.

A lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced down at her, the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. “So,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “better than the breathtaking Highlander?”

Her breath hitched before she burst into laughter, making his smirk widen. “Oh, so much better,” she stated, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a quick, playful kiss. “I find the curt and gloomy lumberjack character more appealing.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering just slightly. “Curt and gloomy, huh?”

She nodded, her voice turning softer. “Mysterious. Rugged. A little broody. Kind. Thoughtful. Handsome.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the weight of her words. A faint flush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks, and he glanced away, suddenly looking very much like the socially awkward man she’d come to adore.

“Didn’t know I was signing up for flattery,” he muttered under his breath, his ears reddening as he busied himself with brushing away a strand of hair hanging on his face.

She laughed and cupped his cheek, gently forcing him to meet her gaze. “Just telling the truth,” She said softly, her thumb brushing over his stubbed skin.

He swallowed hard, the blush deepening as his lips twitched into a shy, crooked smile. “Still not used to it,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a murmur.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep saying it until you are,” she replied with a grin, pulling him down for another kiss before he could argue.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #fatws bucky #bucky barnes fanfic #the winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x female reader #winter soldier fanfiction #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #Lumberjack!Bucky

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pucksandpower · 2 months ago

Text

Have My Baby

Day 8 → Breeding Kink 💋 Max Verstappen

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

The sound of your laughter, bright and unguarded, echoes through the garage. Max watches from the other side, just close enough to see you kneel beside Checo’s daughter, the little girl’s giggles rising as you hand her a toy car. It’s a small moment — insignificant, even — but it lands in Max’s chest like a stone dropping into a still lake, sending ripples outward.

The race weekend buzzes around him, mechanics and engineers in perpetual motion, but for a second, all he can focus on is you, surrounded by Checo’s kids, your hair slipping from behind your ear as you make some silly face that sends them into peals of laughter.

“You’re good with them,” Max says later, sliding into the seat beside you in the car. He’s not looking at you, eyes instead fixed on the road, but his hand finds yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Hmm?” You ask, distracted as you scroll through your phone. You don’t look up, but your fingers tighten around his just a bit. It’s small, but he notices.

“Checo’s kids,” Max clarifies, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “You’re good with them.”

You shrug, finally looking up to meet his gaze. “They’re sweet. Just being kids.”

“They love you,” Max insists, a little more forcefully than he intended. Your eyebrows rise at his tone, curiosity flickering across your features, but you don’t push.

“They’re just kids,” you repeat, softer now, like you’re trying to placate him. “They don’t need much to be happy.”

Max falls silent after that, though his mind is far from quiet. He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh, the warmth of your skin beneath his palm grounding him.

He’s been thinking about this for a while now — longer than he’d care to admit — but today, watching you with those kids, it’s like something clicked into place. A plan, half-formed but persistent, starts to take shape in the back of his mind. He squeezes your thigh absentmindedly, as if to reassure himself that you’re real, here with him.

“What’s on your mind?” You ask, breaking the silence as you lean back in your seat. You tilt your head to the side, studying him with that familiar, unflinching gaze that always manages to strip away whatever walls he thinks he’s put up.

“Nothing,” Max lies, and you know it’s a lie, but you let it slide. He sees the way your eyes narrow, the briefest hesitation before you hum in response. But you don’t push further, instead turning your attention back to the passing cityscape as the car winds through the streets.

When you finally get back to the suite, the evening’s warmth lingers in the air, the low hum of the city just outside the windows. Max lets you walk in first, watching the way you kick off your shoes by the door and stretch your arms over your head. The hem of your shirt lifts just a bit, revealing a sliver of skin that he can’t help but stare at. You catch him looking, a smile tugging at your lips.

“What?” You ask, feigning innocence as you walk toward him. Your hands find their way to his chest, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. “You’re staring.”

“Can’t help it,” Max says, not bothering to hide the hunger in his voice. His hands come up to rest on your hips, thumbs tracing small circles against your skin. “You’re beautiful.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you tease, but there’s a warmth in your eyes that betrays how much his words affect you.

Max doesn’t reply, just pulls you closer until your bodies are flush against each other. He dips his head to press a kiss to your neck, and you tilt your head back, giving him better access. He feels the way your breath hitches, the way your hands grip his shirt a little tighter, and it only makes him want you more.

“You’re tired,” he murmurs against your skin, though he doesn’t slow his kisses.

“Not too tired,” you reply, your voice a little breathless now as your fingers thread through his hair. You pull him closer, and he takes that as permission to lift you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you to the bed.

When he lays you down, he does it slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. His hands are steady as he undresses you, taking his time, savoring the sight of you beneath him. There’s a reverence in the way he moves, like he’s committing every detail to memory.

“You’re being gentle tonight,” you observe, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him.

“I like taking care of you,” Max replies simply. His voice is calm, but there’s an intensity in his gaze that makes you shiver.

“I like it too,” you admit, and the sincerity in your voice sends a warmth through his chest. You reach out to him, pulling him down until he’s hovering over you, his hands braced on either side of your head. Your lips brush against his, soft and teasing. “But you’re holding back.”

“I’m not,” he lies again, but this time, you don’t seem to notice the hesitation in his voice. He kisses you deeply, his hands tracing the curve of your body, and it’s enough to distract you, to make you forget the way he’s been acting strange all evening.

Max is careful, though. He’s calculated, making sure you’re so lost in the sensation of his lips against your skin, his hands exploring every inch of you, that you won’t catch on to his plan. He slides a pillow under your hips, and when you look up at him in question, he just smiles, pressing a kiss to your stomach.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “I’ve got you.”

You do as he says, letting your head fall back against the mattress, your body sinking into the softness of the bed. Max takes his time, kissing his way down your body, his lips leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. When he reaches your stomach, he lingers there, pressing gentle, lingering kisses to the soft skin.

“You’ll look beautiful,” he whispers against your skin, his voice so quiet that you almost don’t hear it.

“What?” You ask, half-dazed, your mind foggy from the pleasure he’s been giving you.

Max doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he continues kissing your stomach, his hands holding your hips in place as he murmurs against your skin, “You’ll look beautiful all full.”

You blink, trying to process his words, but your thoughts are hazy, your body too lost in the moment to fully comprehend what he’s saying. Max’s lips move lower, and any questions you had melt away as he pulls you deeper into the sensation, your mind going blissfully blank.

Max’s voice is soft but firm as he murmurs against your skin, “We’re going to have a baby.”

It’s not a question. It’s not even a statement. It’s a command, one that leaves no room for debate. His tone, so certain and unyielding, sends a shiver through you. Your mind tries to catch up, tries to process what he’s just said, but it’s difficult. The weight of his words hangs in the air, heavy and undeniable.

You blink, trying to shake off the fog that’s settled over your thoughts. “Max, we can’t-”

“We can,” he interrupts, his voice still gentle but carrying an edge of finality. He looks up at you from where he’s still kissing your stomach, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’re perfect for it.”

“But I’m too young,” you protest, though your voice falters as he starts to rub slow circles over your clit. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, making it hard to concentrate on anything else.

“You’re perfect,” he repeats, his fingers skillfully teasing your most sensitive spot, drawing a moan from your lips despite the confusion clouding your mind. “You’re perfect for this, liefje.”

“I don’t know,” you try again, though the words are barely audible now, your body betraying you as it reacts to his touch. “It’s too soon.”

Max’s hand moves lower, his fingers brushing over your entrance, spreading your slickness with deliberate, teasing strokes. “It’s not too soon,” he coos, his voice dripping with reassurance. “I know what’s best for you. For us.”

His thumb returns to your clit, pressing down just right, and you gasp, your hips bucking up toward his hand. Any resistance you had starts to melt away, your body responding to him in ways your mind can’t seem to control.

“You’ll look so beautiful,” Max continues, his tone soothing and hypnotic as his fingers work you over. “All full and round with my baby. Your pussy …” He trails off, his thumb rubbing over your swollen clit again, sending a rush of warmth through your core. “It’ll be so puffy and pretty for me.”

You’re lost now, any coherent thought slipping through your fingers like sand as his words and his touch weave a spell around you. All you can do is feel, every nerve in your body attuned to the pleasure he’s giving you, the heat building steadily in your belly.

“Max …” you breathe, your voice trembling, unsure if you’re pleading with him to stop or to keep going. It doesn’t matter; he’s already made up his mind.

He shifts, positioning himself between your legs, his hands spreading your thighs wider to accommodate him. He lines himself up with your entrance, his tip pressing against you, but he doesn’t push in yet. He wants you to feel it, to crave it.

“Tell me you want it,” Max demands, his voice low and rough with desire. “Tell me you want to be full of me.”

You bite your lip, torn between the part of you that knows this is happening too fast and the part of you that’s completely under his spell, desperate for more. His fingers return to your clit, stroking in slow, torturous circles, and you whimper, the last of your resistance crumbling.

“I want it,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but it’s enough for him.

Max doesn’t waste any more time. He pushes into you slowly, filling you inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. The stretch is delicious, the fullness overwhelming, and you moan loudly, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you.

“You’re so tight,” Max groans, his hands gripping your hips as he starts to move, each thrust deliberate and deep. “So perfect for me. You’ll be even better when you’re carrying our baby.”

The thought of it, the image he paints with his words, sends a thrill of arousal through you, and you can’t help but arch into him, meeting his thrusts. Your mind is a haze of sensation, every nerve alight with pleasure as he takes you, owns you.

Max’s pace quickens, and you can feel him getting closer, his breaths coming in harsh pants as he drives into you. “You’re going to take all of it,” he growls, the intensity of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re going to be so full, schatje. So full of me.”

He pushes deeper, his thrusts becoming rougher, more desperate, and you can feel your own climax building, the tension coiling tight in your belly. You’re teetering on the edge, so close, and then Max reaches down, his thumb finding your clit again, rubbing it with just the right pressure.

You come undone with a cry, your body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash over you. Max follows you over the edge, groaning your name as he fills you, his release hot and overwhelming inside you. He doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t stop thrusting until he’s sure every drop of him is deep inside you.

When he finally stills, he leans over you, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. His hand moves to your lower belly, pressing down gently, and you gasp as you feel the fullness inside you.

“You’re going to be so beautiful,” Max whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. “I can’t wait to see you, all full and round with our baby.”

He pulls out slowly, and you whimper at the emptiness, at the way his seed threatens to spill out. But Max is there, his fingers quickly pushing anything that dares to leak out back in, making sure nothing is wasted.

“Don’t worry,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your trembling thigh. “I’ll make sure you stay full.”

***

The room is bathed in the soft, golden light of the late afternoon, and the curtains flutter slightly from the breeze coming through the open window. It’s peaceful, quiet, but the atmosphere is thick with anticipation.

You’re propped up against a mountain of pillows on the bed, your swollen belly stretching the fabric of the oversized shirt you’re wearing. It’s one of Max’s shirts, soft and worn from years of use, and it drapes over you, barely containing the fullness of your body.

Max stands at the foot of the bed, eyes dark and intense as he looks at you. He’s shirtless, his skin glowing in the warm light, and there’s a possessive hunger in his gaze that’s never really gone away, not since the day you first told him you were pregnant.

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to touch your belly, his fingers tracing the curve of it with a reverence that makes your heart skip a beat. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion. “So fucking beautiful like this.”

You smile, though it’s strained, the weight of the baby pressing down on you making every movement feel like an effort. “I’m huge,” you say with a breathless laugh, trying to deflect the intensity of his gaze. But Max shakes his head, his hand still resting on your belly.

“You’re perfect,” he insists, his thumb stroking your skin softly. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.”

Your heart flutters at his words, but you can’t help the slight wince that crosses your face as the baby shifts inside you, pressing uncomfortably against your ribs. Max notices immediately, his brow furrowing in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you reassure him, though your voice is a little tight. “Just … ready for this baby to be out.”

Max’s eyes darken even further at that, and he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your belly. “Soon,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “And then …”

He trails off, his lips curving into a slow, wicked smile as he looks up at you, his hand sliding down to rest between your thighs. “And then I’m going to fill you again,” he continues, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Again and again, until it takes. And then I’ll do it again, until you’re always full with my child.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, a shiver running through you despite the warmth of the room. The sheer possessiveness in his voice, the certainty with which he speaks, sends a rush of arousal through you, even as your body aches with the strain of carrying his child.

Max notices the way you respond, the way your body tenses and relaxes under his touch, and he smiles, that slow, satisfied smile that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His fingers tease along the edge of your panties, just barely grazing your skin, and you can’t help the small whimper that escapes your lips.

“Do you like that idea?” Max asks, his voice deceptively gentle. “Being full of me, over and over?”

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice, but it’s difficult with the way he’s looking at you, with the way his hand is slowly inching higher, closer to where you need him most. “Max …”

“Tell me,” he presses, his fingers finally brushing over your clit through the fabric of your panties. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, your hips jerking involuntarily toward his hand. “Tell me you want it.”

“I … I want it,” you whisper, your voice trembling. Your body is aching, every nerve on fire, but he’s barely touched you, barely given you anything. It’s maddening, and you can feel the desperation building inside you, the need for release, for him, growing stronger with every passing second.

Max’s smile widens, his thumb circling your clit slowly, teasingly. “What do you want, liefje?” He asks, his tone almost mocking in its sweetness. “Tell me.”

You bite your lip, trying to resist the urge to just beg him to touch you, to give you what you need. But he’s relentless, his fingers moving in slow, agonizing circles, keeping you on the edge but never quite pushing you over.

“I want … I want to be full,” you finally gasp out, the words tumbling from your lips in a desperate rush. “I want to be full of you, always.”

Max’s eyes flash with satisfaction, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to your swollen belly. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pride and something darker, something possessive. “You’ll always be so beautiful, all puffy and swollen with my baby.”

His words send another shiver through you, your body responding instinctively to the promise in his voice. He slides your panties down your legs, his hands gentle but firm, and you can feel your pulse quicken, your heart pounding in anticipation.

When he spreads your legs wider, his eyes fixed on the sight of you, so wet and ready for him, you can’t help but squirm, the need for him almost unbearable. “Please, Max,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need. “Please.”

“Not yet,” Max replies, his voice a low growl as he watches you, his gaze heated and intense. “I want to hear you say it again.”

You bite back a frustrated whimper, but you know he won’t give in until he gets what he wants. He never does. “I want to be full of you,” you repeat, your voice a little stronger this time. “I want you to fill me, Max. Over and over.”

He seems satisfied with that, and he finally, finally, slides his fingers inside you, his touch both gentle and commanding. The sensation is overwhelming, and you moan loudly, your body arching up toward him, desperate for more.

Max watches you intently, his fingers moving in and out of you with a steady, deliberate rhythm that drives you wild. “You’re so perfect like this,” he murmurs, his thumb pressing down on your clit again, making you gasp. “So fucking perfect for me.”

You’re trembling now, every muscle in your body taut with tension, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. “Max, please,” you beg, your voice breaking on the last word. “I need …”

“I know what you need,” Max interrupts, his voice dark and soothing. “I know what’s best for you.”

His fingers move faster, deeper, and you cry out, your hips bucking up toward him as your orgasm crashes over you, sudden and intense. Max doesn’t stop, though, his fingers continuing to work you over as he watches you unravel beneath him.

“You’re going to give me another one,” he murmurs, his voice filled with certainty. “Another baby. Another perfect child. And then another. And another.”

You can barely think, barely breathe, but the thought of it, of being so full of him, of carrying his children again and again, sends another wave of pleasure crashing through you. “Yes,” you gasp, your voice trembling. “Yes, Max.”

“That’s my girl,” Max says, his voice filled with satisfaction as he leans down to kiss you deeply, his fingers never stopping their relentless pace. “You’re going to look so beautiful. Always full of my children.”

He finally pulls his fingers out of you, and you whimper at the loss, but he’s not done. He slides inside you slowly, filling you completely, and you moan, your body shuddering from the intensity of it all.

Max moves with deliberate precision, his thrusts deep and slow, each one pushing you closer to the edge again. He’s relentless, driving you higher and higher, until you’re trembling, gasping for breath, completely at his mercy.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice rough with possession. “Mine to fill. Mine to keep. You’re going to give me everything, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you cry out, your voice breaking as he drives into you harder, deeper, the pleasure almost too much to bear. “Yes, Max, I’m yours.”

He groans, the sound raw and primal, and you can feel him getting closer, his thrusts becoming more desperate, more urgent. “You’re going to be so full of me,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “So fucking full.”

And then he’s coming, his release hot and overwhelming inside you, filling you completely, just like he promised. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t pull out, just stays there, buried deep inside you as he catches his breath.

When he finally does pull out, you’re trembling, your body spent and exhausted, but there’s a deep, satisfied warmth in your chest, knowing that you’re his, completely and utterly his.

Max leans down to kiss you again, his hand resting on your swollen belly. “You’re perfect,” he whispers against your lips. “So perfect.”

You smile, your eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself sink into the warmth of his embrace. “I love you,” you murmur, your voice soft and content.

“I love you too,” Max replies, his voice filled with a tenderness that makes your heart swell. “And I can’t wait to do this all over again.”

You know he means it, and as you drift off to sleep in his arms, you can’t help but feel a deep sense of peace, knowing that this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

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pedroscowgirl · 2 months ago

Text

Tinted desires

aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: smut!, minors dni!

p in v (wrap it up), creampie, fingering, powerdynamics (boss-employee), secret relationship, dirty language and lmk if i forgot something

Summary: After catching the unsub, you and Hotch linger in the SUV, unable to wait until you get home. The tension between you is undeniable, and seeing him look so irresistible in his FBI gear pushes you over the edge.

masterlist

The night had settled in, casting a calm darkness over the nearly empty street. The black SUV idled in its space, the faint hum of the engine the only sound as you sat beside Hotchner. The mission was over, the unsub caught and the team safe, but the tension still hummed between you and Hotch, not the adrenaline-fueled kind from the chase, but the kind that had been growing quietly between you two for months now.

You shifted in your seat, glancing over at him. His hands were still wrapped around the steering wheel, knuckles white from the pressure, and his gaze was fixed out the front windshield. There was always this quiet storm in him after a case. The weight of leadership bore down on him, and the lines on his face deepened, his thoughts somewhere far away.

But tonight, the air between you felt different, thicker. The silence, which was usually companionable, now felt charged. You swallowed, your heart thudding in your chest, knowing exactly why.

He was always so good at keeping the mask on, at hiding what he truly felt behind those dark, unreadable eyes. But you had learned to see through it, to catch the brief flickers of vulnerability he allowed himself only around you. There were fleeting moments when he would let his guard down, glances that lasted too long, touches that lingered too intimately. You had become experts at hiding your relationship from the team, from the world. But sometimes, in the quiet, the secrecy grew too heavy to bear.

You shifted slightly in the passenger seat, leaning toward him. You couldn’t help it, you were drawn to him. The way his hand rested on the center console, so close to yours but never quite touching, was almost unbearable

“Aaron,” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper, breaking the silence between you.

He turned to you, his dark eyes locking with yours,. “We can’t,” he said, his voice low, gravelly, but his eyes betrayed him. There was heat there, a hunger he was trying so hard to suppress, but you could see it in the way his gaze lingered on your lips.

You glanced out the window, noticing the darkness and the heavily tinted glass. No one could see in. You turned back to him, your breath catching in your throat as you felt the weight of the moment, the unspoken desire hanging in the air between you.

“No one will see us,” you whispered, your hand brushing lightly against his on the console.

His eyes darkened, his breath hitching slightly as your fingers curled around his hand. His resolve was cracking, you could feel it, and it only fueled your desire. You could feel the heat of his body, the tension in the way he was holding himself, so tightly wound, like he was trying to stop himself from losing control.

His hand hesitated for a moment, then slowly moved, turning over to grasp yours. The contact was electric, sending a jolt of heat through you. His touch was firm, but tentative, as if he were still fighting with himself.

“We shouldn’t,” he repeated, but his voice was shakier now, his control slipping. His thumb brushed across your knuckles, the soft motion at odds with the tension in his body.

You shifted closer, your breath catching as his fingers traced along the edge of your thigh, so close to where you wanted him. The air felt too thick to breathe, your skin too sensitive, the anticipation building with every second.

“Aaron, please,” you whispered, your voice breathless, need edging into your words.

You saw it then, the moment he broke. His hand slid higher, his fingers brushing the inside of your thigh now, the heat of his touch almost unbearable. His eyes stayed on yours, dark and intense, as he moved his hand closer, his fingers grazing the edge of your underwear through your pants. You let out a soft gasp, your hips shifting toward him instinctively.

His jaw clenched, and his hand paused, as if he were giving himself one last moment to stop, to pull away. But when your hand moved to his, guiding him, his resolve shattered completely.

His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your pants, sliding over the soft fabric of your underwear, and you could feel him hesitate for just a second. His breath was shallow, his eyes locked on yours, watching for any sign of hesitation. But there was none.

“Aaron…” you breathed out, barely able to keep your voice steady.

His hand moved lower, pressing lightly between your legs, feeling the heat and wetness that had already begun pooling there. He let out a low, guttural sound, his breathing growing ragged as he realized how much you wanted this, how much you needed him.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured, his voice low and strained, as if the words themselves were almost too much for him to say.

You whimpered softly, your hips pressing into his hand as he applied more pressure, his fingers exploring the slick heat between your thighs. His touch was slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every second of this moment, despite how much he was clearly struggling to maintain control.

His fingers slid beneath the fabric of your underwear, finally touching you where you ached for him. You gasped at the contact, your body trembling under his touch as his fingers slowly slid through your wetness, exploring every inch of you.

“Aaron, please…” you whimpered again, your hands gripping the edge of the seat as he continued to tease you, his fingers moving with excruciating slowness.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your neck, his fingers sliding deeper now, fingering you with deliberate precision. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself back, trying to maintain control even as his own arousal grew. You could see it too, the hardness of him pressing against his pants, and it only made you want him more.

His thumb found your clit, pressing against it in slow, firm circles that had you gasping and squirming beneath his touch. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending alight with pleasure as he expertly worked you over, his fingers sliding in and out of you, his thumb never leaving that sensitive spot.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling with the need for release, but still, he took his time, drawing it out, making you beg for it.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “But we have to be quiet. Can you do that?”

You nodded frantically, biting your lip to keep from crying out as his fingers pressed deeper, harder, the pleasure building to a breaking point.

And then, with one final stroke, your body clenched around his fingers, the wave of release crashing over you. You bit down on your lip, your breath hitching as you came undone beneath his hand, your body trembling in the aftermath.

He didn’t stop, his fingers still moving gently inside you, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were left trembling, breathless, your body slumping back against the seat.

He finally withdrew his hand, his fingers glistening with your arousal as he pulled back slightly, his breathing just as unsteady as yours.

The tension between you and Aaron was now a living, breathing thing in the confined space of the SUV. After he pulled his hand away from your throbbing core, the heat between you still burned, almost unbearable in its intensity. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and clouded with desire, and you could see he was still trying to hold onto the last remnants of his control.

But you were done with waiting.

“You’re such a naughty girl,” Aaron whispered, his voice low, gravelly, and full of the heat that had been simmering beneath the surface. His hand rested on your thigh, fingers brushing over your skin like a promise, as his dark eyes flickered with that familiar intensity.

You smirked at him, leaning in closer, your lips just a breath away from his. “I can be even naughtier,” you teased, your voice dripping with challenge.

“Oh yes?” His mouth curled into a small, knowing smirk, the kind that made your pulse race even faster.

Without breaking eye contact, you shifted in your seat, a slow, deliberate movement, and climbed over the console. You straddled his lap, your legs wrapping around his, and the feel of his hard body beneath yours sent a shiver through you. His hands immediately gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, as if he were still trying to maintain some semblance of control. But the bulge pressing against your core told a different story.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice a low growl as you leaned in, your lips grazing his ear.

“Making you feel so good,” you whispered, your breath hot against his skin. You felt him tense beneath you, his hands tightening their grip on your waist as a low groan escaped his lips. The sound sent a thrill through you, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted him.

With your fingers deftly working, you began unbuckling his belt, your movements slow and deliberate, teasing him, making sure he felt every second of it. His breathing grew heavier, his eyes never leaving yours, watching as you took control.

His hands slid down to your hips, and with a firm press, he pushed the seat back, giving you more room. His hands remained on your waist, gripping you tightly as if he needed to anchor himself to something. His eyes darkened as you moved against him, the friction sending sparks through your body.

You had already shed your pants in the heat of the moment, and now, with a single motion, you pulled his belt free, tossing it aside. His hips shifted beneath you as you reached for the zipper of his pants, your fingers brushing against the hard length of him through the fabric. His breath hitched at the contact, a low groan escaping his throat.

He was still wearing his FBI vest, the dark material straining against his broad chest, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes linger on it. Something about seeing him like this, so in control yet completely unraveling under your touch, made your desire for him burn even hotter.

“Do you want me to take it off?” he asked, his voice a little rougher now, his hands sliding up your sides, brushing over the hem of your shirt.

You shook your head slowly, your lips curling into a smile as you met his gaze. “No. It does something to me.”

His laughter was low, a deep rumble in his chest that you felt beneath your palms. “You like this, huh?” he teased, his smirk widening as his hands found your hips again, guiding you over him.

“You have no idea,” you breathed, your body moving against him, feeling the heat and hardness of him beneath you, barely contained by the fabric separating you.

His control was slipping, you could feel it in the way his hands roamed your body, the way his breathing grew more ragged. He leaned forward, his lips brushing against your neck, and his voice, low and thick with desire, made you shiver. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“I like danger,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you moved your hips against him, grinding against the hard length of him through his pants.

His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you harder against him, and his head fell back against the seat as he let out another low groan, the sound sending a rush of heat straight through you.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, his voice rough as his hands slid down. His touch sent a jolt through you, your body trembling as his fingers brushed over your slick heat again.

“Maybe,” you teased, your hands working on unbuttoning his pants now, sliding the zipper down slowly. “But what a way to go.”

Aaron groaned again, his hands gripping your hips tighter as you finally freed him from his pants, your hand wrapping around the hard length of him. His eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your breathing, heavy and uneven, the heat between you almost unbearable.

“Are you ready for this?” you whispered, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth, teasing him with the barest touch of your lips.

His eyes opened, dark and full of need as they locked on yours. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Always.”

And with that, you lowered yourself onto him, the feeling of him stretching you filling every inch of you, sending a wave of pleasure crashing through your body. His grip on your hips was firm, guiding you as you moved, his breath ragged and hot against your neck.

The SUV felt impossibly small as you moved together, the heat and intensity of the moment swallowing everything else around you. There was only him, his hands on your body, his breath in your ear, and the sound of his groans as you took him deeper, faster, until neither of you could hold back any longer.

“Aaron,” you gasped, your body trembling with the intensity of it all, the pleasure overwhelming as you rode him, feeling the tension building between you, the coil tightening with every movement.

He gripped you harder, pulling you down onto him, his own breath hitching as he buried his face in your neck. “God, you feel so good,” he growled, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself together.

Aaron's voice was rough and full of raw desire as he looked at you, his grip tightening on your hips. “Fuck, you’re so filthy,” he growled, his tone low and commanding. “Fucking your boss in an FBI car. I want to hear you beg me to come inside you, beg for it baby.”

The filthy edge to his words sent a shiver down your spine, making you groan in response. Your hands gripped his shoulders as the heat of the moment intensified, every nerve in your body on fire. “God, I do love that,” you gasped breathlessly, your voice shaking with need. “Please, Aaron, please come inside me. I need it, I need you…”

Your desperate plea made him groan, and the sound of your voice begging for him only drove him closer to the edge.

And then, with one final movement, the tension snapped, your body exploding with pleasure as you came, trembling and gasping against him. His hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you harder against him as he followed, his own release crashing over him in a wave that left both of you breathless.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your bodies tangled together in the aftermath of pleasure. His hands stayed on your waist, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, and you couldn’t help but smile as you felt the last remnants of tension slowly fade away.

Finally, you pulled back slightly, your forehead resting against his as you both tried to catch your breath. Aaron’s hands slid up your back, his touch gentle now, a stark contrast to the intensity of just moments ago.

“You’re something else,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

You grinned, still breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked into his dark, satisfied eyes. “And you love it.”

He chuckled, low and soft, his hands tightening around your waist as he pulled you close again. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice filled with both affection and a lingering hunger. “I really do.”

Just as the heat between you and Aaron cooled off, the unthinkable happened, a sharp knock echoed through the SUV. Both of you froze, your breath still heavy, bodies tangled in the haze of lust and passion.

You quickly turned your head toward the window, your heart racing, only to see a familiar silhouette standing outside the car. It was Morgan. He leaned down, squinting through the heavily tinted windows, clearly trying to make out who was inside.

"Hey!" he called out, knocking on the window again, a curious lilt in his voice. "Who’s in the FBI car? I saw the lights on from outside the building."

Your eyes widened in panic, and you turned to Aaron, who looked as composed as ever, though you could see the flicker of frustration in his dark gaze. His hand was still gripping your waist, and your bodies were still connected. You had no time to move, no chance to hide what had just happened.

Aaron’s jaw clenched, and he leaned in close, whispering against your ear. "Stay quiet," he murmured, his voice low and commanding. "I’ll handle it."

With a quick but careful motion, he pulled you tighter against him, using his suit jacket to shield the evidence of what had just transpired. He tapped a button on the door to roll the window down just a crack, keeping the inside of the car dark enough to hide you.

"Morgan," Aaron said, his voice as steady and authoritative as ever. "What are you doing out here this late?"

Morgan tilted his head, still trying to peer inside. "Hotch? What are you doing in the car with the lights on? I thought everyone had cleared out for the night."

You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears, your body still trembling from the intensity of the moment. You pressed yourself deeper into Aaron’s chest, trying to stay as still as possible, your heart racing as you waited for Morgan to give up and walk away.

But Morgan, ever the curious one, didn’t seem satisfied with Aaron’s calm demeanor. "Everything okay in there, man? You sure you’re not hiding something?"

Aaron gave him a sharp, knowing look. "Just wrapping up some paperwork. You can head home, Morgan."

For a moment, there was silence as Morgan seemed to process the situation. Then, with a skeptical shrug, he stepped back from the car. "Alright, Hotch. If you say so. But next time, don’t leave the lights on, you’re wasting company resources."

Aaron waited until Morgan had turned and walked back toward the office building before he let out a breath, his fingers still gripping your waist possessively.

“That was close,” you whispered, your voice shaky but laced with amusement.

Aaron smirked, his lips brushing your ear. “Too close.

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added): @looking1016 @pear-1206 @doe-eyed-diva @ssa-aaronhotchner @sweetpinkchampagne @totallyjovialblaze @pastelpinkflowerlife @donttrustlove @actualdeemon @jencole214 @fandomawesomeness

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotch #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #criminal minds smut #criminal minds hotch #criminal minds imagine #hotchner x reader #hotchner smut

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snaileer · 7 months ago

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We Didn’t Start The Fire

“See man, the moon!” Kid Flash said as they came outside, standing on the pile of rubble.

“And Superman! Do we fulfill our promises or what…” his voice trails off as a grinding clanking sound echoes behind them.

They turned around, confused to see a tricked out pale yellow Volkswagen bug trucking its way up the rubble and crumbled building blocks. It stopped before it got too steep, a man in a familiar white lab coat stumbling out.

Immediately, they were on guard, the man haphazardly climbing towards them.

Robin drew two batarangs in each hand, standing in front of Superboy as he got closer. It didn’t even matter that the Justice League had just landed behind them, if this CADMUS scientist tried something, Robin would be the first to defend Superboy. Without hesitance.

The man stopped in front of them, huffing for breath.

“You’re-!” He stopped, leaning over his knees with gasping breaths, “Sorry, one sec!” He held up a finger, gasping for another few seconds before stepping forward-

Chains of water surrounded him before they could blink, Robin looking back surprised to see Aqualad standing with extended weapons and a grim face.

“This is odd.” The man looked at the water wrapped around him, wriggling a bit before shrugging. His eyes zeroed in on Superboy, “You’re okay!” He said with a blinding grin.

Superboy recoiled and Robin immediately stepped between them.

“What.”

The man glanced at him briefly before looking back over Robin’s head, “You are okay right? I mean I tried my best but I couldn’t figure out a way to get you out- I mean if I’d known you were there to begin with I’d would have never-but then I wouldn’t have-

“Who are you?” Superman asks, suddenly close from behind them.

The man’s mouth clicks shut, looking between them all before a grimacing smile rises to his face.

He extends his hand at the elbow between the liquid chains, “Dr. Danny Fenton, ex-biochemical engineer of CADMUS labs Mr.Superman,sir.”

Flash zips forward, the eyes of his cowl narrowed, “Ex?”

The grimace turns into a wince. “Oh.. heh, yeah, I’ve found that arson is usually a pretty good kickstart of sudden unemployment,” there’s a thoughtful pause as he looks over the rubble, “It’s usually accidental though.”

Nobody responds.

“What? You didn’t think that lab fire started on its own did you? How else was I supposed to get you here?”

“There’s a Justice League public phone! That’s literally its entire purpose!” Kid Flash shouts, throwing his hands in the air. At this point, Aqualad cautiously lowers his water bearers, releasing Fenton.

“Oh, sure, I call a bunch of superheroes and tell them my boss is doing a Grow-Your-Own-Superman in the boiler room. That’d go over well.” He pauses, “Though the sidekicks was a surprise.”

The comment goes uncorrected, as the rest of the league has snapped to face Superboy the moment he says it.

Superman looks stricken as Superboy reveals the logo on his torn shirt.

Fenton unceremoniously breaks the tension, “Sorry I never asked, do you have a name? I’d feel really bad just calling you-“

“… They called me.. Superboy..” He says, still not looking away from the man of steel in front of him.

“That’s not-“ Fenton rubs his temples and sighs harshly, “Okay, I can fix that later, whatever-“

“You’re not gonna be ‘fixing’ anything, Doctor.” Robin snarls.

Fenton blinks. “Huh?”

Batman steps forward, “Green Lantern.”

Green construct cuffs snap around the Dr.Fenton’s wrists, though he looks at them puzzled.

“Superman, check for survivors in the damage, Flash find some salvageable evidence before it finishes burning. The rest of us, we’ll continue this interrogation at the hall.”

“Wait what?” Dr. Fenton says, perking up like a meerkat even as Batman turns away with swirl of his cape.

“What about me?” Superboy asks, desperation in his hesitant step forward.

Batman looks to Superman. Superman nods, and then shoots off into the rubble and emergency vehicles.

“For now, you come with us.” Batman says, and Superboy’s shoulders loosen just a hint.

The dark knight pauses again before turning completely, “And don’t think we’ve forgotten the rest of you,” he says, cowled eyes narrowed over his shoulder, “Robin.”

Robin shirks back, “Heh.. Right.”

“Wait what’s going on?” The Fenton scientist yelled back over his shoulder as Green Lantern pulls him away.

He starts to say something but the construct fully engulfs him now, shifting from a platform to a soundproof bubble.

It seems to shock him enough, Fenton tapping at the walls and looking like he wants to take it apart and take a sample.

Robin grit his teeth.

He was not gonna let these CADMUS freaks touch Superboy again.

Not Fenton or anybody else.

#batman #danny phantom #batfam #danny fenton #dc #danny phantom crossover #batman and robin #young justice #bruce wayne #tim drake #Superboy #dp x dc #dpxdc #young justice danny phantom crossover #dp #dp crossover #Cadmus

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rottiens · 4 months ago

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⊹ ˚. GOJŌ SATORU┊ "Doesn't the idea of not wearing panties in front of strangers turn you on?" he plans the seed.

tags. (18+), husband gojo, he hm smells your panties and other things (he loves you believe me), lowkey (highly) exhibitionism, reader with female anatomy (she/her pronouns).

You check Satoru a second time, only to realize that your eyes weren't deceiving you and that he really was smiling at nothing, his long fingers clapping the steering wheel every now and then to the rhythm of the song playing in the background on the radio and the third time your eyes land on him your back stiffens, with the seat belt still hugging your body you turn to see him, though the pressure of the belt doesn't allow you to move freely.

"Why are you smiling?" you ask, mimicking the same smile, like a mirror.

"I can't smile when looking at my beautiful wife?" Wife. Ever since you got married Satoru hadn't stopped calling you that, and even though you liked it and it always made you feel warm inside....

You obviously don't believe him. Not this time. The smile you still possessed paired with a furrowed brow, examining him in a way that would help you verify if he was telling the truth or not.

You didn't believe him one bit. "What are you planning?" you insist again, still admiring his profile, Satoru hadn't bothered to look at you, busy not missing a green light.

"Remember the other day when we were playing uno and I won..." ... okay?

"You cheated," you reproach almost immediately, crossing your arms. You had the same posture as that night when you caught him with four cards hidden inside the joggers.

"Whatever you want to believe, baby, I did not." You click your tongue and roll your eyes going back to your initial stance, you weren't going to argue with him again, that day you only let him win because Nanami and Geto decided not to fight and let him win.

"Whatever," you say. Fixing your eyes on the road you realize that you were a few corners away from reaching the restaurant.

"Anyway..." Out of the corner of your eye you notice the lopsided grin adorning his face. "It's time to pay."

"What do you want? For me to admit I'm a sore loser?" You turn your attention back to him, his finger with the gold wedding ring gleaming under the streetlights.

"I want your panties," he commands, claiming his prize (prize he won by cheating, you want to emphasize).

You blink, trying to verify that you just heard what you think you just heard. "What. No."

"A deal is a deal..."

"You cheated!" you accuse him again, and satoru's lopsided grin turns into a full-on grin showing you his fangs. "You're going to pay for this."

Satoru parks a few feet outside the fancy restaurant, the colors of the restaurant inside splashing all the way outside. Only when the car's engine dies does he tilt his body to look at you, you see determination and temptation in his face, those blue eyes are bathed from the street lights and the darkness inside the car, bringing you the details of his incomplete features.

"Doesn't the idea of not wearing panties in front of strangers turn you on?" he plans the seed. "In front of Suguru, in front of Kento..." satoru adds. "Because it turns me on a lot to know that only I know that you have a naked pussy, probably dripping on the chair."

You stand still for a moment, processing everything he just said as the birth of a smile stretches his lips slowly and an uncomfortable warmth creeps from your chest, face and ends in the form of a rush in your pussy.

You curse yourself because you can feel how the idea makes you wet.

Satoru laughs at your reaction knowing he has won, he stretches out his hand waiting for his prize.

You curse again, now out loud. You lift your ass off the leather seat to help you slide your underwear off with ease, you slide them down your legs and embarrassedly hand them into his hands, by which time Satoru was forcing a wicked smile to disappear.

Without any hesitation he brings them to his nose, inhaling until his lungs remember the scent of your pussy. Then he pushes them into the pockets of his pants. You stand there, still at the scene. It's not the first time he did it, but you were forced to check the street to verify that no one else had seen what had just happened.

"You're so fucking hot, you know that, don't you?" he looks down your body, focusing especially on your thighs. "I love the way that dress looks on you, I knew it was made for you as soon as I saw it."

Within seconds Satoru leaves his seat and walks across the short walk to your door, opening it for you. You realize he planned this all along. The dinner, the dress he bought especially for you (that barely comes down across your thighs and if you're not careful you might show your pussy)....

Satoru reaches out and feigning indignation you take it, stepping out of the car as you arrange your dress down, the fresh breeze caresses your slit and hits your clit. Satoru squeezes your hand, the coolness of the ring sending shivers down your back, into your abdomen.

"It's going to be a fun night," Satoru says.

#wr #wr.gojo #husband gojo #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut

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roosterforme · 3 months ago

Text

Mr. Right Now Part 11 | Hangman x Reader

Summary: As soon as you told Jake you wanted him to come find you, there was no stopping him. He couldn't make you need him the same way he needed you, but he would take care of whatever made you cry. When you hurt Jake, you hurt yourself, too. He deserved an apology that you were ready to give him, and then he gave you more than you could have hoped for.

Warnings: angst, adult language, fluff, 18+

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Why is Jake on my masterlist!? Mr. Right Now masterlist

Jake whipped along the dark, quiet streets of Coronado before crossing the bay bridge at twenty over the speed limit in his truck. You called him. He thought his number never even made it into your phone, but after almost two weeks, you called him. Your voice sounded distraught, but when he went out on a limb, suggesting he come find you himself, you readily agreed. Now he just needed to figure out why you were upset and make sure you weren't hurt.

"Come on," he growled at the red light where he needed to turn left. There wasn't much traffic this late, but it still had been fifteen minutes since you called, and he didn't want to keep you waiting. Not when he heard the tears in your voice. Not when he missed you so much, it felt like part of him was lost.

Something must have happened. If he had done a better job with you, maybe you'd have been back at his place again tonight, safe and sound. That was exactly what he wanted. He hadn't cracked open a college textbook in almost eight years, but that didn't stop him from imagining you doing your classwork on his couch while he offered his two cents here and there. He'd been so damn desperate to feel as good as he had when you were there two weekends ago, he ordered himself your favorite kind of pizza tonight. If he thought it tasted bad before, it was a hundred times worse without you on his lap teasing him.

When he made it to your campus, he found the street you told him over the phone, and he drove a little slower, eyes darting from one side of the street to the other. He was tempted to call your number back to be sure he was on the right track when his gaze caught on a bench across the next intersection.

It was you. Your head was in your hands, staring at the ground, but he recognized your Converse sneakers as soon as his headlights shone on them. You had on the cutest dress imaginable, and all Jake wanted to do was make sure you were okay.

He pulled his truck up to the curb and killed the engine, and you looked up at him as soon as he hopped out. You were illuminated by a streetlamp, shivering on the bench, and he ran to get to you faster. Tears streaked your cheeks as you stared up at him like he wasn't real, and he sank down onto his knees on the rough sidewalk at your feet.

"Darlin'," he whispered as more tears filled your eyes. "Tell me what's wrong."

You only got one word out before fresh tears fell. "Jake."

He scooted a little closer, and you let him take your hand in his. "You can trust me. I meant it when I said that." As he ran his thumb along your knuckles, he added, "If you tell me what's wrong, I'll try to fix it."

You hung your head and took a deep breath. "I'm such an idiot." Your eyes were closed, long lashes resting on your damp cheeks as you whispered, "I shouldn't have bothered you. Can you just give me a ride back to my dorm?"

"Hey," he coaxed, giving your hand a little squeeze. "I'll make sure you get back safely, but I can't help with whatever caused the tears unless you tell me what happened."

Your eyes fluttered open as you licked your lips. They parted in silence, and Jake was close enough now to feel your warm breath on his cheek. You were hesitating. Reluctant. You were never like this with him before. He was used to you making demands and walking around his place like you owned it, and he found that was how he preferred things. But he waited for you to speak, simply stroking your knuckles with his thumb until you were ready.

"Cooper happened. And it was awful."

Even the name made Jake's skin crawl. He'd been thinking about that stupid kid since the first time you mentioned him, but right now, anger burned just beneath the surface of his skin as he asked, "What did he do to you?" When you tried to hide your face, Jake ran his palm along your cheek and guided your gaze back to his. "Did he hurt you, Darlin'?"

The sentence hung in the air as Jake's throat grew tight. One more tear slid down your cheek as he examined your beautiful face, and you pressed your quivering lips together. Your lack of response was enough for him to get to his feet, and he pulled you up from the bench as well. He tried his best to stay calm, but he could hear the anger in his voice when he asked, "Where is he? I will fucking destroy him."

You responded by taking a step closer until your cheek was resting on his chest, and Jake wrapped his arms around you. Some of his rage melted away at your touch. Goosebumps covered your arms as you shivered, and he couldn't help but kiss your forehead. Maybe that gesture was why you finally spoke more than a few words, or maybe it was because you could still feel the anger inside him. Either way, Jake held you close as you said, "Cooper did exactly what I gave him permission to do. No need to destroy him."

"Did he hurt you?" he asked again, needing a straight answer.

"No."

"Do you want me to beat the shit out of him anyway?"

You laughed in spite of your tears, and the sound made Jake's heart clench in his chest. "Kind of. But it's all my fault for being so stupid."

"Look at me," Jake said softly. He waited until you did before he said, "You're not stupid. I'm sorry if I made you feel that way when I called you naive. You're young, but you're not stupid."

"I am though," you replied immediately, hand coming up to rest on his chest. "You were so sweet to me. A perfect gentleman. A perfect weekend. And then I just fucking threw it in your face and had sex with Cooper."

Jake let out the breath he had been holding. He wasn't really surprised. That was your main goal the whole time, and you were a good student. You knew what you wanted, and you went for it. But some twenty year old dipshit wasn't going to be able to handle your level of class. He'd been trying to show you that all along. "Let me guess, Darlin'. Cooper wasn't a perfect gentleman?"

You shook your head, and Jake leaned down to kiss your cheek. "It was terrible," you told him. "I just... I messed up somehow."

"Fuck," Jake murmured, hoping the answer to his next question didn't make him want to pull the bench out of the ground and throw it across the street. "Did he use a condom?"

Your eyes were sincere in the glow from the streetlight. "Of course I made sure he used a condom." You bit your lip and added, "You're the only one who can fuck me without one. That was lesson number twelve."

Even the thought made him dizzy. "Just me," he grunted.

Jake hadn't stopped wanting you for a minute since you kissed him at the bar, but tonight, he found you sitting on a bench on a sketchy side street, crying over another guy. And that really fucking hurt. But at least you made sure Cooper used a condom. At least you were safe.

"He was nothing like you were," you whispered, and he held you tighter. "I asked him for some extra foreplay, and he didn't know how to touch me. I told him I liked oral sex, but he just automatically assumed I'd go down on him instead. I can't believe I did all of this so wrong."

When you tried to remove your hand from his chest, he covered it with his own. "You didn't do anything wrong. I can promise you that. Maybe... you just don't belong with that asshole." Jake sighed and fought the urge to kiss your lips, because he knew you belonged with him, even if you weren't quite there yet. "As long as you're okay, I'll take you back to your dorm. But... maybe in a couple days or a few weeks, when you think you're done crying over Cooper... maybe you'd consider calling me again?" Your eyes went wide as he added, "I really am done with the tag chasers. I haven't been with anyone since you. I think you were my final straw in admitting to myself I wanted something more. Because being with you felt perfect."

"Jake!" you gasped loudly. "I'm not crying over Cooper. I'm crying over how badly I messed things up with you!"

Jake's brow furrowed. "Oh." Now he felt like the idiot. He also felt a little light headed as you leaned in closer.

"I'm so sorry for making you feel cheap," you whispered, eyes shimmering with more tears. "Because you're not. I didn't mean it. I got scared of how much we did together in such a short amount of time. But it was unbelievable how special you made me feel." When he tried to say something, you shook your head before you touched your lips gently to his and asked, "Was it just a normal weekend for you, or did you feel as good as I did? And I'm definitely not just talking about the physical stuff."

"Darlin'," he whispered, wiping your tears away as they fell. "It was the best weekend of my life. And not just the sex. It was never just the sex." You kissed him tentatively again, lips barely touching his before you started to pull away, but Jake chased you for another one. And another one. And then you were smiling against his lips as he said, "I'm really happy you called me, Darlin'."

"Me, too. I missed you."

When he finally broke the kiss, he asked, "You're sure you got Cooper out of your system?"

"I'm so sure," you said softly, never breaking eye contact.

"Then let's get out of here."

Jake ushered you to his truck with his arm around your waist. "Are you taking me back to my dorm?" you asked when he opened the door for you.

"Nah. You're spending the weekend with me. Where you belong."

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

Walking back through Jake's front door felt like going home. He held your hand the whole ride over, and when you told him you might need some things from your dorm room, he promised to take you back there in the morning to get whatever you wanted. Then he smirked and added, "But you wore everything from my dresser and made yourself at home last time you were here. You can do that again while we make up for being apart last weekend."

Now that you were standing in his living room where everything looked and felt familiar, you closed your eyes and let him hold you. "I missed you so much," you whispered. "I thought about calling or texting you so many times, it's not even funny. Then I told myself there was no way you'd forgive me."

Jake sighed deeply. "I was terrified that I didn't save my number in your phone before the battery died. I thought I'd never hear from you again. I missed you so much, I even stopped by the Hard Deck last weekend to see if you went there by chance."

Your gaze settled on the pizza box on the coffee table, and when you tried to reach for it, Jake grabbed your hand. You looked up at him, and when you tried one more time to open the lid, he wrapped you in a tighter hug and tried to walk across the living room with you in his arms.

"What kind of pizza is that, Jake?" you asked, tone playfully accusatory.

This man literally picked you up from a bench on your school campus after you slept with a loser your own age, and he'd once again done nothing except show you respect and affection the whole evening. And now you could feel how easily you and he were falling back into the playful bubble you'd existed in two weeks ago. It was exquisite. This time you weren't going to burst it.

"Come on, Darlin'," he groaned, letting go of your hand so you could investigate the pizza box for yourself. "I couldn't help myself."

"Ha!" you said once you had it open. "My favorite kind!"

Jake's cheeks were pink as he nodded while you pointed at the half eaten pizza on the coffee table. "I told you I missed you," he whispered, and you stumbled back into his arms. "I've been sleeping with my window open so I could listen to the ocean, but it's better with you there. Everything is. The pizza was bad enough before, but it tasted like shit when I ate it alone. I didn't even want to stay in the tub until the water got cold the other day. I only lasted like five minutes"

Your eyes went wide. "You broke one of your own rules?" When he nodded, you kissed his cheek and asked, "Can we take a bath together now?"

His expression melted into a smile. "Go get it started while I get us some drinks."

Lighter than air, you practically floated down the hallway to his bedroom. Everything was tidy like you remembered it. He had some clean laundry folded on his dresser, and when you ran your hand along the soft cotton of his undershirts, you paused. Your black thong was sitting there as well. Excitement welled up inside you, because he never got rid of it. Your fingers wrapped around the lace and you carried it into the bathroom with you, excitement building further as soon as you saw the green toothbrush you used was still there, right next to Jake's. He held onto both of them since you were here last.

These were things a boyfriend would do. You were sure of it. When Jake strolled in with a Sam Adams in one hand and stemware filled with ice water in the other, you were holding your underwear and the toothbrush to your chest. He kissed your cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world before saying, "I thought you were going to fill the tub."

"I was," you replied, making no move to do anything as he set the drinks down on the sink vanity. He smiled when he saw what you were holding, and then he opened the cabinet to pull out two towels and some washcloths. There was no new box of condoms inside. None at all.

"You're really done with the tag chasers?" you blurted out, toothbrush digging into the palm of your hand.

Jake looked up at you and nodded as he turned the water on to fill the tub. "Yeah. To be honest, I think I was done with them as soon as I picked up your fake ID from the floor." His green eyes were earnest as he stood tall again and reached for you. "Now, can we make this water as hot as possible? So it'll take longer to cool down? Once we start snuggling, I'm not going to want to get out."

His fingers were teasing along the strap of your dress at your shoulder as you finally set down your thong and your toothbrush. Then you let Jake undress you as the bathroom started to get steamy. The part inside you that was still afraid he wouldn't want you now was soothed by his words and his big hands on your bare skin.

"Climb on in, Darlin'."

You watched him undress from the comfort of the bath, and he handed you both drinks before he turned off the brighter lights in favor of the softer ones. Then he climbed in with you, and his arm was around your body immediately, guiding you to settle between his legs.

You sipped your water while he sipped his Sam Adams, and the two of you smiled at each other before you asked, "Are you sure you want me to spend the night?"

He hummed into his beer bottle before taking another sip and setting it aside. "I'm going to want you here as much as possible." His words were so simple, but so full of possibility. He felt the same way you did. You were sure of it now. But you had to sip your water to take time to collect your thoughts.

"Well, I have work to do for my classes," you finally said, and he took the glass from your hand and discarded it.

"I can try to help you with it," he replied, both hands on your body once more. "Or maybe I can learn something new. You can be the teacher."

Your heart was beating a nervous rhythm even as you curled up against him with your head on his shoulder and your fingers in his chest hair. "Maybe we should buy more condoms tomorrow or Sunday?" you asked quietly. Nothing about the current state of things felt sexual, but you were still a tiny bit scared he would reject you in that way because of Cooper. But his lips found your forehead while he traced a little heart on your thigh.

"Sure. We can do that." He tipped your chin up so you were looking at him. His expression was serious as he softly said, "But the two of us don't need to have sex to be intimate and have a good time together. You have a lot more than that to offer, Darlin'. I do, too."

You thought back to all the little moments you and he shared in between hooking up. Making out on the couch and laughing together. Eating pizza and falling asleep in his arms. Those were the best parts. "I don't know what you did, but you made all of it so good. Every minute of the entire weekend."

He seemed to relax more as he accepted your words. "It was never just fucking to me. Not since the first night when you trusted me enough to sleep over. And certainly not since I asked you if you wanted it to be sex or something more. That was us making love."

You whimpered before his lips met yours, and you kissed him hard as you let your wet fingers drag through his soft hair. "It was perfect," you said against his mouth before you pulled away an inch.

His forehead was pressed to yours as he murmured, "You're perfect. You always were." His lips brushed yours as he added, "But yeah, after I take you out for lunch tomorrow and we stop by your dorm for whatever you need, we can get more condoms. I would enjoy that immensely."

"You better not get me pregnant before I graduate from college," you joked.

Jake snorted. "I better not get you pregnant anytime soon. I haven't even met your parents yet."

"You want to meet my parents?" you asked in surprise.

You were perched on his lap awaiting a response as Jake leaned back against the tub. His gaze lingered on every part of your face before he casually asked, "Which lesson were we on?"

He was being coy and sweet and sincere, and all of your feelings were right there at the surface now. "Are you serious right now?" you asked, poking him in the abs. When he nodded, you said, "We were on number thirteen."

"Right. Lucky number thirteen. My favorite one," he crooned, offering up nothing else.

After another beat, you poked him again and said, "Spit it out, Jake. What's the lesson?"

"Smartass," he muttered. The water was starting to cool down now, and when you shivered, he just held you a little closer. "Lesson thirteen is more for me than for you." He paused to kiss you before saying, "I'm feeling like I don't want to be with anyone else. Just you. Make this a permanent thing. Think you can humor me by labeling it?"

"Yes," you replied so quickly that he was laughing when your lips crashed against his.

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

Jake wrapped you up in one of the towels, and the two of you brushed your teeth side by side. You already knew where everything was, and without prompting, you rooted around in his dresser drawers until you found something you wanted to wear. Then you climbed into his bed like you knew without a doubt you'd always be welcome there, and he turned off the lights.

"Jake," you whined softly, patting the empty spot next to you in the glow from the moonlight. When he didn't immediately move, you added, "Get in bed with me."

But he took the time to admire you as he slid the window open another few inches. The sound of the ocean had a calming effect on him again now that you were back, and he felt more peaceful. You belonged here with him. When you reached for his hand, he let you tug him toward the bed with a smile on his face. He belonged with you, too.

"That's better," you whispered, melting into him as soon as he had his arms around you under the blanket. "Good night, Jake."

"Night, Darlin'." He was ready to keep you warm all night and spend the weekend showing you that he made an excellent boyfriend. "I love you."

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

Jake and Darlin' pulled it together in the end. Thank you for reading my fic about intimacy, consent, trust and knowing your worth. I loved every second of writing this. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls

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its-avalon-08 · 6 months ago

Text

what are we even fighting for? (cs55)

✦ pairing - carlos sainz x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, fluffy ending

The air in the flat hung heavy, thick with the unspoken words of a fight that had fizzled out hours ago. Y/N sat on the couch, meticulously folding laundry, each crease a testament to the storm raging inside her. Carlos emerged from the bedroom, a shadow of his usual energetic self.

"Going for a run?" Y/N asked, her voice clipped. It wasn't a question, more a confirmation of the escape route he usually took during their arguments.

"Yeah," Carlos mumbled, avoiding eye contact. He grabbed his trainers, the familiar routine a stark contrast to the turmoil within.

"Great," Y/N said, the single word dripping with sarcasm. Carlos flinched, his shoulders slumping further. He paused at the doorway, finally looking at her.

"Y/N, do we really have to do this?"

"Do what?" she challenged, her gaze hardening.

"This," he said, gesturing vaguely between them. "The constant fighting, the silence."

"Maybe if you hadn't—" Y/N started, but Carlos cut her off.

"Here we go again," he sighed. "It's always my fault, isn't it?"

"No, it's not," Y/N snapped, her voice cracking with unshed tears. "It's just... everything feels so different lately."

They were at an impasse. Every conversation, every attempt to bridge the gap, ended in a fresh volley of accusations and hurt. The silence, once comfortable, now screamed with unspoken resentments.

Carlos ran. He pounded the pavement, his frustration mingling with the rhythmic thud of his feet. When he returned, showered, and hesitantly entered the living room, Y/N was gone. He found her in the bedroom, surrounded by open suitcases.

"What are you doing?" he asked, dread pooling in his stomach.

"Packing," she said, her voice flat. "Maybe a change of scenery will do us both some good."

Carlos's heart hammered against his ribs. "A change? Or a break?"

Y/N stopped folding, her shoulders slumping. Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over like a dam finally breached.

"I don't know, Carlos," she choked out. "Maybe... maybe this whole thing was a mistake."

The words landed like a physical blow. Carlos stared at her, the color draining from his face. A mistake? All the laughter, the late-night talks, the shared dreams - were they all meaningless to her?

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The fight had drained him, leaving him numb and speechless. With a defeated sigh, he turned and walked out, the click of the guest room door echoing the hollowness in his chest.

The roar of the engines at the Monaco Grand Prix was a dull thrum in Y/N's ears. She stood stiffly at the pit wall, a knot of dread tightening in her stomach. It was race weekend, a time that usually buzzed with shared adrenaline and nervous excitement. Now, the atmosphere felt sterile, devoid of their usual pre-race ritual.

Carlos emerged from the garage, his helmet tucked under his arm. He scanned the crowd, his gaze finally landing on her. Their eyes locked, and for a horrifying moment, Y/N thought he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't come to her. A fresh wave of tears welled up, blurring her vision.

"Y/N," his voice was a croak, barely audible over the din. He hesitated, then began walking towards the starting grid, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Tears spilled over, tracing hot tracks on her cheeks. It was over. All the fights, the resentful silences, had finally driven them apart. A strangled sob escaped her lips.

Just then, the commentator's voice boomed over the loudspeaker, snapping her attention back to the track. "And Sainz is rushing into the paddock! What is he doing?!?"

Y/N's head whipped towards the pit lane, heart pounding in her chest. Through a haze of tears, she saw Carlos sprint past the mechanics, his face etched with determination. He tore through the crowd, his eyes fixed on her.

He skidded to a halt in front of her, his chest heaving. Before she could react, he cupped her face in his calloused hands and pulled her into a desperate kiss. The roar of the crowd faded into the background, replaced by the frantic drumming of their hearts.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless, Carlos looked at her, his eyes raw with emotion. "Y/N, I messed up," he rasped. "That was never supposed to happen. This… this whole thing, us… it can't end like this."

"Carlos," she whispered, her voice thick with tears. "Can we fix it?"

He held her gaze, his voice firm. "I promise. We'll fix it. Whatever it takes." He squeezed her hand, the familiar spark of warmth a lifeline thrown across the chasm that had grown between them. "Now, I have a qualifying to win."

Y/N wiped her tears, a flicker of hope rekindled in her eyes. "Go get 'em, champ," she said, her voice hoarse but determined. "And remember, we're in this together."

Carlos offered a shaky smile, the ghost of his old grin. With one last, lingering kiss, he turned and sprinted back towards the grid, leaving Y/N with a renewed sense of possibility. The roar of the engines no longer sounded like a dirge, but a challenge, a call to face their problems head-on, just like they faced every race.

The qualifying session concluded with Carlos securing a decent starting position. Relief, however, battled with anxiety as he rushed back to the drivers' room. Y/N stood by the window, her back to him. He took a deep breath, the image of her tearful eyes fueling his determination.

"Y/N," he called out gently, his voice raspy.

She spun around, her face etched with a mixture of worry and hope. As their eyes met, the dam broke. Tears welled up anew, spilling down her cheeks. Carlos hurried towards her, his arms outstretched.

"Carlos," she choked out, rushing into his embrace. They clung to each other, the roar of the track a distant echo compared to the storm of emotions within them. Tears soaked their shirts, silent apologies mingling with the salty sting.

"I'm so sorry," Y/N whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. "We haven't been communicating, and I shouldn't have said what I did back in the flat."

Carlos held her tighter, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Me too, cariño," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I've been so focused on the championship that I forgot what truly matters. You matter, Y/N. We need to talk, to listen to each other."

He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hands. Their eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between them.

"We can fix this," he murmured, his thumb brushing away a tear. "We just need to try."

Y/N nodded, a small smile trembling on her lips. "I know. I just… I got scared, Carlos. Scared of losing you."

He leaned in, placing a tender kiss on her forehead. "You won't lose me," he promised, his voice firm. "Not if you don't want to."

His lips grazed hers, a question lingering in the air. Y/N met him halfway, the kiss a rekindled flame, burning away the hurt and doubt. It was a kiss filled with a newfound appreciation for each other, a promise to rebuild their trust and communication.

Pulling back, foreheads resting against each other, a comfortable silence settled between them. The weight of unspoken words had lifted, replaced by a fragile hope for the future. They knew the road wouldn't be easy, but with each other, they were ready to face whatever came their way. The roar of the engines seemed less daunting now, replaced by the steady beat of two hearts determined to race together.

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coco-loco-nut · 5 months ago

Text

Broken Bones

pairing: george russell x reader

summary: George gets in a wreck and you happen to be the surgeon on-call.

a/n: i loved this prompt, i hope you love it ❤️

masterlist

————————

George was enjoying his home race, he was holding P3 with a comfortable lead due to some great defending earlier in the race. Unfortunately for him, mother nature decided to put her hand into the race and have a pop up rain shower come through.

“It should clear through shortly, let’s keep with the softs,” his engineer says, hoping to outsmart those pitting for inters. George says a quick response and continues focusing on the track, especially the dry line. With the rain pouring, he catches a wet line in turn 4, sending the car spinning and into a barrier.

You rush down a couple floors to where you have been paged. Being the only orthopedic trauma surgeon in the hospital and on-call, you have to make haste.

“Is there really no one else to take this?” you ask, looking at the chart that has initial images and the patient information.

“Big fan?” the nurse beside you asks as you mentally plan the procedure. Most of Britain is basically a fan of the racing driver.

“Yeah. It’s not ethical, but I took an oath,” you tightly smile, beginning the process of scrubbing in.

“You are a great surgeon, you will have no problem keeping the fan part of you out of your mind,” the nurse reassures you. You take a couple deep breaths before heading to surgery.

The procedure goes well, you repair the broken wrist and fix the damage as best you can. Of course, time will finish healing it, but you do your best.

Afterwards you scrub out, finish paperwork, and go home. You won’t need to check in until anesthesia wears off, and that can take a while. You return later in the day, dressed in business casual and your lab coat.

“Mr. Russell, how are you feeling?” you ask, needing to check on your work. You close the door behind you when you enter the room.

“You are so pretty,” George says, still a little out of it.

“Thank you. Mind if I check your arm?” you ignore your blush.

“You look like my wife. She’s a doctor too, soooo pretty,” George babbles.

“I know, love, let me see your arm,” you say gently, sitting beside him.

“What happened?” George asks with a confused look.

“You spun out and crashed into a barrier. It was raining, you were on slicks, and caught a wet line,” you explain, carefully examining the surgical site, removing the splint immobilizing the wrist.

“I know that much. Injuries?” he asks, eyes trained on your wound examination.

“Broken wrist. We are going to brace it rather than cast it,” you check his chart for other injuries noted.

“Thank you for taking such good care of me, I love you,” George says, moving his non-injured hand to grab yours.

“I love you too, Georgie,” you whisper, rubbing your thumb over his hand as he processes everything. You note things in his chart, making sure your observations and updates are written down.

“I’m glad you did my surgery, I wouldn’t trust anyone else,” he smiles, you can’t help but smile back. It’s not illegal, but it certainly is borderline unethical to treat your husband.

“I’m happy to hear that. Why don’t I go and see if your family is out in the waiting room?”you hum, needing to stay inconspicuous. Of course, those close to you know who your husband is, but since you don’t share his last name it isn’t obvious.

“One kiss before you leave,” George pouts and you hesitate. “Please, I was just in a crash and your kisses make me feel better,” he pouts. You playfully roll your eyes and lean in, giving him a quick kiss.

“I love you, I’ll be right back,” you reassure him. You find his family and Toto waiting outside in the waiting room.

“Family of Mr. Russell,” you say, calling them to you.

“Y/n, dear, did you do his surgery?” George’s mom asks, a little hopeful.

“I did, I was the only one here and on call. Thankfully nothing too major, he can probably get back into a car in a month if we rehab him correctly. Want to see him?” you ask, knowing the answer. You lead them to his room, but stop Toto before he walks in.

“Y/n-“ Toto starts but you don’t hesitate to cut him off.

“You got very lucky that the broken wrist was the worst of it. Keeping him out on slicks? Are you stupid, a win is not worth more than a life,” you fume.

“I know, I gave his engineers and strategists a talking to. I just wanted to check in on him, but knowing he is in your care is all I needed. I check in tomorrow then,” Toto stays calm, knowing you had to since George was brought in and you needed to yell at someone.

“I, um, thank you. He should only be here another day for observation. I’ll keep you updated,” you recompose yourself and watch as Toto leaves.

“She’s just the best doctor ever. So pretty too, and smart, and really good at surgery,” you overhear George tell his parents, he likely just got another dose of pain meds.

“Thank you, Georgie. You are a pretty good patient,” you smile from the doorway.

“Can you believe that doctor loves me? And she married me?” George asks his mom who laughs.

“You chose a wonderful wife. Why don’t you let her get back to work?” his mom asks, catching your amused gaze.

“Yes, I have another surgery scheduled. I will check on you in a few hours,” you walk over to your husband, giving him a quick kiss.

“I love you so much, I want to have babies with you,” George blurts, causing your face to flame bright red.

“Okay, let’s talk about that later,” you awkwardly say, stepping out of the room.

You are quick to return after your scheduled surgery. You know the nurses rotations and know that they won’t check in for another hour.

“There’s my beautiful wife,” George grins as you walk in. “You look so sexy post-surgery,” he eyes you up.

“Really? I don’t feel like it,” you slide onto the bed beside him, careful to avoid hurting him. You relax in silence for a minute before you address the feeling eating at the pit of your stomach. “Please try not to crash again. I know it’s unavoidable, but the feeling I got when I saw your name and didn’t know how serious the crash was. It… I don’t think I can describe the panic,” you take a deep breath, closing your eyes and focusing on the sound of his heartbeat under you. The cool hospital air is a stark contrast to his warmth.

“I’m sorry, it’s the one part of racing I hate too,” George is unsure how to respond. He looks at the blank hospital wall, as if it’ll give him the answer. “I’ll always come home to you, and I have a badass surgeon to take care of me,” he laughs a little, trying to lighten the mood.

“I can only do so much, like brain surgery? You are on your own,” you grin, happy to let the vibe change.

“You could do it, you can do anything,” George says, he always gets gushy when he’s tired.

“Okay, baby, you should get some sleep. I’ll go home and get you clothes. I will be back tomorrow morning to check on you,” you yawn, also needing sleep. George knows you can’t stay in the room too long, and he wouldn’t want you to stay up in an uncomfortable chair.

“I love you. Drive safe,” he mumbles, tiredness washing over him in waves. You fix his sheets and make sure he is okay before kissing him goodnight and leaving. It feels weird, to go home and not have him there. You burn the rest of your anxious energy by reaching out to some good physical therapists that you know to help with George’s recovery.

Under your watchful eye, he makes a recovery similar to Lance’s, even with you fussing the first few races post-injury. You framed one of his x-rays. George had to listen to you talk about how beautiful it was, you claimed it to be your best work. It allows for a good story when having friends over, and it reminds George to not let it happen again.

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #george russell #george russell imagines #george russell x reader #george russell imagine

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stargirlrchive · 1 year ago

Text

HOLD ON w/ SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY

cw: i have had the worst, WORST, biker!simon brainrot bc of sun ( @tojisun ) and this insane post (gnawing at the bars of my enclosure) and also dbf!simon so here u go! age gap (reader over the age), naughty thoughts but no smut

NSFT ✩ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)

GENERAL MASTERLIST

nerves caused your stomach to tighten as simon straddled his bike, your eyes glazing over his tattoos and taught muscles. his visor pulled up on his helmet with his balaclava underneath.

“come on, princess. you’ll be fine.”

you bit your lip, trying to rid yourself of the thoughts that ran rampant in your mind. for gods sake he was your father’s closest friend. he was twice your age.

you could feel an ache throb between your thighs as you pouted softly, “the helmets going to mess up my hair.”

he barked a laugh, his eyes subtly running down your exposed thighs as he shook his head, “no helmet, no ride.”

your stomach flipped at his words, hesitating for a few seconds before you slipped the helmet on. gripping onto his arm to throw your leg over the bike.

your thighs caging over his as you pressed yourself flush against him. your arms wrapped around his waist. “not too fast, si’.”

the engine roared to life and with it the steady pulse between your legs. he smelled so delectable. his body hard and big against yours. his cologne was so subtle but it filled your senses and your legs tried to squeeze around his.

one of his gloved hands caressed your thigh but the touch was gone before you could dwell on it.

“hold on.”

your arms tightened around his waist as he removed the footpeg, easily balancing the weight of both of you and the bike as he drove off.

a tiny noise of surprise left your mouth as you clung to him. your fingers subconsciously running down his abdomen and resting dangerously low as you tried to look over his shoulder to watch the pretty sunset as he drove the two of you.

due to the loud engine and roaring wind, you missed the groan that slipped from simon’s mouth. your heart hammered in your chest as he drove faster. you clung to him desperately as your eyes closed, as if that would protect you from the speed in which he was going.

when he finally came to a stop you swatted his helmet, “i said not to go too fast!”

“and i told you to hold on.”

his finger gently squeezed your thigh and then he was off again.

he drove the two of you for a while before stopping at a random restaurant, one you didn’t recognize you noted.

you clambered off his bike and he helped you remove your helmet, removing his after. you tried to fix your hair but despite it there was a bright smile on your face as you looked at him.

“that was so fun!”

you were practically bouncing on the balls of your feet, simon’s lips tugged upwards gently. he leaned forward and your eyes blinked up at him. his thumb brushed along your bottom lip and your mouth instinctively parted.

much to your disappointment, he only moved away a stray hair that you hadn’t tucked back. but you didn’t miss the way his eyes glazed over as he watched your mouth.

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x reader smut #simon riley x gender neutral reader #cod #call of duty #cod smut #cod x reader

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tyquu · 8 months ago

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Ah I remember my question now!! Since Ezra is a growing boy, how does that impact his prosthetic use? I'm assuming they can't just go get him refitted like normal... do they help him resize? Do they build new parts? Or help him find some?

Hiii!! :D) So I doodled out my thoughts as I pondered this question but my handwriting is ass so… I’m also gonna write a little summary too!

Ezra's first Prosthetic was given to him by the same people who performed the amputation on his leg in the first place. Some concerned Lothali citizens who couldn't bare to watch him hop around on his severely infected leg any longer. 12 year old Ezra was pretty pissed about it though (understandably). It didn't help that his first prosthetic was old as balls and awful to walk on.

Thankfully, using bits n bobs he'd collected out on the streets, Ezra was able to tighten the loose hinges at the joints and modify the top to fit better. Alas, he ended up loosing this leg after bopping Kallus over the head with it pretty early on into joining the spectres.

Hera set him up with a pair of crutches and then devoted herself to finding him a replacement. She was determined to find something that was better than his last prosthetic and thought she'd struck gold when she figured out Vizago had one sitting in storage. She haggled hard but eventually managed to pocket the rarity, and delivered it back to Ezra. Sabine helped modify it fit to properly, and to Ezra's delight he discovered that the hinges on this leg were motion activated, and could pack an even better punch (or kick) than his previous one.

Ezra hadn't really manage to curb his habit of using his leg as a weapon on occasion, and during such an incident ended up losing leg 2 (much to Hera's despair). Thankfully, Sabine had helped Ezra do enough maintenance on his last two legs that she was confident she could fix up some similar prototypes using her engineering skills. The spectres all contributed to a scrap box that would be used to build replacement legs whenever Ezra ended up losing or outgrowing one. All of them were very dedicated to scouting out parts for him and happy to help with maintenance.

At some point the rebellion had gotten large enough to start having a more organised healthcare system, and Ezra was offered a spot on the surgery waitlist for cybernetics. Ezra was initially hesitant, however, post the incident on Malachor he eventually agreed.

The cybernetic, although not the most advanced for it's time, is connected to his nerves giving him full mobility over the prosthetic. However, it came with it's own new quirks that took some getting used to. Detaching and Reattaching the cybernetic takes between 2-5 minutes to do, and often requires tools to help, rendering it no longer an option as a spontaneous mid battle weapon. As a result there was no longer need for him to cut holes in the left leg of his trousers either.

Ezra doesn't sleep with the cybernetic (same as one wouldn't with a prosthetic) cause it would be hella uncomfortable. On lazy days, he often goes without it, opting to use crutches around base instead. The cybernetic is waterproof, however, in both snow and sand it can sometimes become clogged and stiff, and may need extra maintenance after the mission is complete. The ghost crew is always willing to help pitch in with their engineering expertise (mainly Hera, Sabine and Chopper) or spare part gathering.

Anywho,,, yeah. I hope that sort of answers that question?? I'm not 100% familiar with how prosthetics and cybernetics work in the Star Wars universe so forgive me if some of this info doesn't check out. ( also if u see a spelling mistake,,, no u don't)

#star wars #ezra bridger #star wars rebels #sw rebels #hera syndulla #sabine wren #amputee ezra bridger #cybernetics #ty tidbit #asks #swr art #ghost crew #star wars fanart

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laurentpark · 13 days ago

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don’t tell my boyfriend! — [12] an unexpected bond

synopsis. where jimin stalks her boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend after a certain incident happened and couldn’t help but grow hatred over her. coincidentally, her and jimin happen to be global ambassadors of the same famous luxury brand and have to work together for a commercial. at first, jimin despised the girl with all her flesh and bones but soon understands why her boyfriend fell for the young actress in the first place… because she was starting to fall for the young actress as well.

the echo of “cut! that’s a wrap!” reverberated across the set as the crew scatters, packing up the equipment and winding down from a long day. jimin sighs, her shoulders easing from the tension of multiple takes, and shot a quick smile over at y/n.

it was only their second time meeting, but even the first had been…unexpected. jimin never thought she’d find herself working with her boyfriend’s ex. the initial awkwardness had been hard to ignore, but y/n was surprisingly laid-back, even cracking a few jokes between takes to keep the atmosphere light. and now, after hours of rehearsing lines and smiling for the cameras, jimin felt like she’d glimpsed a side of y/n she hadn’t expected.

“hey, jimin.” y/n’s voice was warm, a gentle smile tugging at her lips as she walked over, stopping just a step away from the idol. “ready to go?” she asked, referring to their lunch plans.

jimin glanced up, her heart skipping slightly at the sight of y/n so close. she could still feel a small knot of nerves around her, which only seemed to tighten whenever she met y/n’s gaze.

“h-hey, y/n…” jimin stammered, her cheeks warming as she struggled to find the right words. she cleared her throat, trying to sound casual. “yeah, i’m ready!”

y/n chuckled, clearly noticing jimin’s shyness. she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her smile widening. “don’t be so nervous, jimin. we’re just grabbing lunch.” her tone was playful, almost teasing, and jimin felt herself relax, if only a little.

jimin laughed, more at herself than anything. “i know, i know. it’s just… i don’t do this very often.”

y/n tilted her head, a spark of curiosity in her eyes. “what, lunch?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

jimin shook her head, rolling her eyes with a soft smile. “no, i mean… hanging out with someone i don’t know very well. and not just someone—you.” the admission slipped out before she could stop it, and jimin instantly felt her cheeks flush. she glanced away, half-regretting her honesty.

but y/n only smiled brighter. “well, then let’s fix that, yeah?” she gestured towards the door. “my chauffeur’s right outside. let’s go.”

jimin took a deep breath, letting y/n’s calm confidence steady her. “alright, let’s do it.” she gave y/n a small nod, and together, they walked out of the building.

as they stepped outside, jimin noticed how y/n made everything seem so effortless, and she wondered if, by the end of the day, she might find herself as comfortable in y/n’s presence as y/n already seemed to be in hers.

they slip into the back seat of y/n’s car, the hum of the engine soothing as it pulls away from the curb. the two stars sat beside each other as jimin glances at y/n, curious but also hesitant to ask where they were going.

“… so..” she starts off— her tone light, making y/n look at her, “where are we going?”

the actress flashes her a grin, “you’ll see.” she responds, sending a wink at the idol’s reaction. “just know that we don’t have to worry about fans or paparazzis bothering us.

hearing her statement, jimin lets out a sigh of relief slip past her lips before her eyes widened in realization as she looks down on her clothes, “you should have told me..” she points out with a small (unintentional) pout forming on her lips. “i should dressed myself up.”

y/n laughs at her reaction, shaking her head as she turns her head to the side to view the streets of seoul, “you’re fine, trust me. you look good in anything you wear. no wonder why you’re an ambassador.”

jimin felt her cheeks flush again. something about y/n kind and comforting words made her feel a strange… warmth, a kind of comfort she didn’t expect.

the car pulls up to a sleek, understated building with dark tinted windows and a subtle, almost hidden entrance. jimin looks out the window, curiosity sparking in her eyes as she takes in the exterior.

“where are we?” she questions, glancing over at y/n.

the actress only smiles, “you’ll see. thought i’d surprise you.”

as they step inside, jimin feels a quiet awe wash over her. the space was bathed in warm, low lighting, and the minimalist decor was elegant without being overdone. delicate plants lined the walls, and soft instrumental music played in the background, creating a calm, private atmosphere. it was the kind of place that seemed designed for whispered conversations and lingering glances across the table.

“wow,” jimin breaths, her gaze sweeping over the details. “this place is… stunning.”

y/n’s smile softens. “thought you’d like it,” she says, watching jimin’s reaction with a hint of pride. they were led to a cozy booth tucked away in a quiet corner, giving them a perfect little pocket of privacy.

“figured it would be nice to actually relax a bit,” y/n added as they sat down. “and maybe get to know each other beyond what’s in the spotlight.”

they settle in, ordering a few dishes to share. as the first course arrives, y/n leans forward, resting her chin in her hand as she looks at jimin thoughtfully.

“so,” y/n begins, “tell me something about yourself. something you don’t get to talk about much.”

jimin blinks, a little taken aback. “wow, no pressure,” she jokes, smiling shyly. but as she looks at y/n, she can see genuine curiosity in her eyes. “okay… well, i guess people always see me as confident and put-together because of my job, but honestly? i still get nervous all the time. especially around new people.”

y/n’s gaze softens, and she nods. “i get that. the spotlight can be… intense. but i think it’s kinda nice seeing this side of you. it’s more real, you know?”

jimin smiles, feeling a bit more at ease. “thanks… it feels good to be myself for a change.” she pauses, then glances up at y/n. “what about you? any hidden secrets i should know about?”

y/n laughs, leaning back thoughtfully. “oh, i have plenty. but if i had to pick one… i guess people always think i’m super outgoing, but honestly, i’m kind of an introvert. i love quiet moments like this.”

the idol’s eyes sparkle with interest. “really? i wouldn’t have guessed that.”

the way jimin saw it, y/n has always been confident and sure of themself on the screen and behind the screen. it’s what she had always admired (though she’d never admit to anyone, especially her members) about her.

“yeah,” y/n says, her expression softening. “that’s why i like places like this. they give me space to breathe.”

they continue sharing small pieces of themselves, letting the conversation flow with the arrival of each new dish. as they laugh and share stories, the initial awkwardness fades completely. in these quiet moments, jimin realizes that maybe—just maybe—she’s found someone who can see her for who she really is, beyond the spotlight.

when they finally leave the restaurant, the night is cool and calm, the streets bathed in soft city lights. jimin glances over at y/n, feeling a warmth she hadn’t expected.

“thank you,” she says softly, “for today.”

y/n smiles, nudging her shoulder gently. “anytime. we should do this again.”

“definitely,” jimin replies, her heart lighter than it’s been in a while.

her eyes bulges out, realizing…

she’s getting along with her boyfriend’s ex.

pre-chap. next. masterlist

tags. @xen248 @thefckghost @yunalvrrr @yeetaberry127 @lisaswifey @gtfoiydlyj @seunghancore @jeindall777 @multiliker @hyejin67 @1luvkarina @cwpiqwon @sunshinez4 @yoontoonwhs @wintersgff @celtyryuko @sixflame438 @rinapomu @ahnneyong @gayforalll @yukianism @winieter @inybits @nctislifue @pandafuriosa60

#aespa x reader #karina #karina x reader #aespa #don’t tell my boyfriend!#kpop #kpop x reader #smau

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pucksandpower · 3 months ago

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Do-Over

Logan Sargeant x Andretti!Reader

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

Logan’s hands are shaking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

September 10th, 2022.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

You.

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

But first, there’s tradition to uphold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always,” you reply, your gaze unwavering.

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

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

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

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

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

“You did great today,” you say.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither can Logan.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, he can’t help himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

***

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

The first American to do so since Mario Andretti himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I really do.”

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

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

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

He’s found a home.

A family.

And he’s never letting go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for Logan Sargeant, that person is you.

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

He’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

And with you, he’s already won.

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tojisun · 1 year ago

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im giggling thinkin about biker!simon finding out you haven’t ever ridden a bike before and so the first thing he does is tell you to stay put before hopping on his harley and driving away.

you stand there, blinking, still reeling over what happened. you’re quite confused if your date really just left you, before giving up on worrying as you hold onto the hopes that he’d come back. he did say he will but how many of your dates and ex-partners fooled you because, apparently, you’re too “gullible” and it’s just too “funny”?

too fucking many times, that’s what.

you amble towards an empty bench while you wait, fluffing up your skirt and dusting your sweater before fixing your hair. you itch to message your friends, anxious thoughts buzzing underneath your veins, but simon had always been such a gentleman with you. always so caring and pampering. always so honest with his affections. he isn’t like anyone you’ve ever been and so you want to trust him.

and you do. god, you do. because you trust him with your safety. with your heart.

time crawls by but the agonizing drag does end. you didn’t have to wait long, you realize with a giddy heart, as you see simon driving back. his head whips around the park, trying to find you, and you giggle as you stand up, waving your hand above your head to catch his attention.

his helmeted head snaps towards your direction and you smile as the purr of his engine becomes louder, his bike devouring the space between the two of you eagerly.

“hey, sweetheart,” he says as he snaps his visor up, his beautiful eyes crinkled as he smiles at you.

the butterflies in your stomach roar, and you almost choke on the intensity of your happiness as you whisper back, “hey there, big guy.”

simon preens like he loves the nickname and you sear his reaction to your memory, already anticipating the next opportunity where you get to call him that again.

“i‘ve got somethin’ for you,” simon announces before twisting towards the other side of his harley, reaching for something that you couldn’t see. you tilt your head, trying to act cool as you wait.

simon turns back to you with a shy smile tickling his lips, and your eyes instantly flicks towards his hands where he cradled a cute little purple helmet – one of the many things you didn’t expect him to return with.

“is that a bicycle helmet?” you blurt out.

“yeah,” he laughs, a pretty sound. “this is all they have.”

“‘they’?” you finally move close to him as you ask this, taking tentative steps on the gravel.

“the closest bike rental,” simon replies, sounding embarrassed. “you said y’ve never been on a bike and, well, this is a safe environment so i thought, ‘why not?’”

you breathe in sharply, his words curling along the crevices of your heart. “lemme get this straight,” you begin, swallowing the lump in your throat. “you heard me say i’ve never been on a bike before so your first reaction was to drive away to find a closest bike rental so you can get me a helmet because you want to give me a safe bike ride?”

“…yeah,” he whispers, hesitant. “i mean, if you don’t want to then that’s oka- are you crying?”

“shut up,” you whimper, hiding your face behind your palms.

you hear him curse, the engine of his bike shutting off, before hearing the way his feet drop on the gravel and march towards you. in a heartbeat, you are pulled in his embrace, with your face pressed on his chest, and you eagerly breathe in the scent of leather and ozone that is stuck on him. he pats your head softly, his palm dragging along your hair as he continues to comfort you.

you sniffle, unable to stop the tears because what the actual fuck.

you have never felt so loved. so adored. so revered.

you chew on your confession, your heart and mind syncing up for once. simon, i-

(later, when you’ve finally calmed down, you will let out a wet giggle and apologize for dampening the mood. simon will just smile at your adorable, tear-swollen face and tell you that you have nothing to apologize for. then, he’ll kiss your forehead before securing your helmet on your head. he’ll tighten the strap around your chin, gently knock on the shell, then pull you onto his bike. you two will spend the rest of the afternoon just making slow and gentle donuts around the park, laughing and chatting.

and then, gritting through the choking staccato of your heartbeat, you will tell simon that you want more than a flurry of dates. that you want something more official. then, you will tell him you love him and simon will buckle before you because,

“me too, sweet girl. i’m so in love with you too.”)

(ext.01) (ext.02) (ext.03)

#suns.f #biker!simon #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x female reader #simon ghost riley #another headcanon-turned-drabble of biker!simon #sigh this is expected atp 😣#suns

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cheenapri · 7 months ago

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Transactional [Yandere Illumi Zoldyck x Reader]

Day two + three

Summary: It is now day two (and three) of the trip and you are very adamant on ruining the experience; Illumi doesn’t take too kindly to that.

Word count: 14k

Notes: yandere, kidnapping, gender neutral reader, unhealthy relationships, unbalanced power dynamics, mentions of past abuse, Illumi tweaks tf out, lots of arguing, reader is a huge brat and gets put in their place

Day one Day four + five

Taglist: @lilyalone @yamekocatt

Something feels off.

You’re reluctant to leave your workplace once again, staring out the window and into the shadowy abyss before you. There were a few parked cars and the road was lit up with flickering street lights, making it look like something out of a horror movie. Those lights have been broken for some time now; they should really consider fixing those.

You worked overtime again, wanting the extra funds so you could join your friends at an upcoming concert. You originally had no intentions of going, figuring it wasn’t worth it since you didn’t care for the artist too much. They kept hyping it up, however, eventually making you give in and start working extra hours in order to pay for the expensive tickets.

You didn’t know the consequence of doing so would be encounters with crackheads after work.

You bit your tongue. You shouldn’t have declined that ride from your coworker earlier, but you wanted to take a quick trip to the grocery store and didn’t wish to inconvenience them further. You did have your own car, but it was at the shop at the moment as something mysteriously damaged the engine and rendered it unable to start. This forced you to walk to and from work for the last week. You sigh, your hand hesitating for a moment before you pull on the door handle and step out into the crisp night.

It’s rather quiet.

You cautiously look around before you begin speed walking; taking a brand new route despite how unconventional it was. Unfortunately, they always seem to find you no matter what.

Not even five minutes have passed before a taxi beeps and pulls up next to you, the driver’s movements stiff and puppet-like, his eyes vacant as he smiles creepily at you.

“It’s d-dark out… n-n-need a ride?” his speech was somewhat slurred.

This was the fourth time this week a taxi had summoned itself, the driver attempting to coerce you to hop in. You glare at him, pace quickening even further as you look for a way out, your hand slowly gripping the switchblade hidden within your coat pocket.

“It’s f-f-free of charge… just w-wanted to m-m-make sure you go-got h-home safe… You have s-s-someone waiting for you?” he says, still slurring.

It was always the exact same stuttered lines: state that it’s dark, ask if you need a ride, state that it’s free of charge, pretend to be concerned about you, then ask if there’s someone waiting for you.

You felt as though you were in some sort of simulation; to say it freaked you out was an understatement.

“I’m calling the police.” you say as you bring your phone out and dial the emergency service. If he were following the same script as the others, calling the police would cause him to drive off.

He doesn’t though, he must be going off script today.

He lingers far longer than the others have, driving as slow as your quick walking speed, jittering and jerking the steering wheel to avoid running into parked cars, expression in an almost trance-like state as he keeps his smile. He doesn’t react to you telling the dispatcher about your current situation, slowing the taxi even further when you try to linger behind it in order to give them the license plate.

“Do you h-have any… romantic interests?” he asks, the sheer audacity of this question caused your jaw to drop slightly. When you fail to answer in a timely manner, he keeps going. “W-What about exes? Do you… have any of those?”

You sneer at him once you finish giving his description and your current location to the operator. The person on the phone sounds a bit indifferent as they inform you that a police car is on the way and that you should try to move to a more populated area.

“You live alone… d-don’t you?”

You hadn’t even realized he was still talking.

“Fuck off!” you shout at him, tightening your grip on the switchblade. You were beyond tired of dealing with these creeps. What did they want with you? You glare at him, eyes catching the gold piercing on the left side of his head — a strange place for a piercing.

Right as you were getting ready to bolt, a cop car suddenly pulled up; it’s red and blue lights causing the taxi to speed off into the night. It came unnaturally quick, but you didn’t think about that fact. You were already frantically recounting what had just happened before the male officer could even get out of the car, clearly distressed and completely forgetting about the dispatcher still on the phone. They soon hang up when the officer informs them through his radio that he’s arrived.

He took your statement after calming you down and offered to give you a ride to the grocery store as you were still insistent on going. Your heart rate slowed once you reached the safety of the store, the presence of other, hopefully normal, people gave you a sense of relief. Rubbing your temples as you enter the store, you take your time gathering your items, picking up a few extra snacks to help relieve your stress.

You call an Uber to pick you up as you don't want to walk home anymore, the driver was a kind older woman who advised you against being out so late despite its hypocrisy. You rushed inside once you reached home, your dog greeting you with a wiggly dance and tappy paws.

Something still felt off.

You won’t be working overtime anymore, you’d have to cancel those concert plans. You sigh as you kick off your shoes and place your purchases on the counter.

Your dog whines.

You walk over to the back door and open it, watching as they cautiously step out and quickly relieve themself before practically running back in, their fur standing on edge.

“What’s wrong?” you ask as you crouch down to pet them, trying to soothe them of their worries as well as your own. Your paranoia made you think the taxi driver was out there.

They only whined again, large eyes staring at you before darting to the living room window, their tail no longer wagging. You stand up and go to wash your hands, hoping they’re just hearing the neighbor or some critter of the night passing by.

You make dinner, giving yourself and your pup something gracious to comfort the both of you before starting your nightly routine.

Your dog is growling at something.

You step out of the bathroom and head downstairs, confusion on your face as you watch them pace back and forth from the living room window to the kitchen window.

You head to the back door, hoping letting them out to investigate would calm their nerves. Opening the door only seemed to make it worse, however, as they began barking, tail tucked between their legs as they backed away from you.

Concerned, you decide to call the police again. You’d been calling them since your second encounter with the taxi drivers, your fears never being dealt with, the officers doing nothing but telling you that they’ll “take your statement and check for the taxi around the neighborhood” and to “call back if something happens.”

You’ll be found dead if this keeps up.

A female officer and her male partner arrive and you immediately explain your earlier encounter, telling them about the weird questions you’d been asked, the driver trailing you for a whole block, and the other police officer taking your statement.

“Could you check around my house? My dog has been on edge since I got home and I’m afraid he followed me here.” you plead, not sure you’d be able to sleep tonight if they didn’t give you a peace of mind.

They agree to check, leaving you anxiously waiting by the front door with your pup by your side. After a few minutes, you faintly hear a slight commotion, causing your heart to drop and your dog to bark.

You continue to stand there, unsure of what to do. After a few more moments, the doorbell rings. You’re slow to open it, only sighing in relief when you see it’s the officers once again. They appear to be fine, though they look sluggish all of a sudden. The female officer informs you that it was just a raccoon hiding within the old grill out back, her words slurring and her eyes droopy.

“Oh?” you nervously chuckle, eyebrows wrinkled with worry. “Was that all?”

“Yeah… it was j-just a biggg raccoon… We’ll take your s-statement and ch-check for taxis around the n-n-neighborhood… C-Call back… if something… happens.”

There goes that exact same line again. As they slowly turn around and begin to leave, something within the female police officer’s hair reflects the porch light for the briefest of moments. You’re confused and shut the door immediately. Your hands are on your hips as you look down at your dog, worry still on your face. You let out a huff, choosing to return to your nightly routine as there wasn’t much else you could really do right now.

Your dog has quieted down as the night progressed, much to your relief. They haven’t barked for a few hours now and slept peacefully at your feet in the living room. You’ve been talking with your friends, getting their advice about the whole situation and agreeing that you needed to find a better place to live. You hang up the call after a while and look down at the fuzzy creature by your feet. You give them one final pat before heading off to your bedroom upstairs, turning off the lights as you make your way up.

You leave your bedroom door slightly cracked in case your dog chooses to come up and sleep on your rug. You glance over at the window — the moonlight seeps into the room, perfectly illuminating your face.

It’s rather quiet.

You don’t know how long you’ve spent laying in bed, scaring yourself as you think about today’s events, but you eventually fall asleep. Maybe tomorrow you could start looking for a new place to live.

…

Something feels off.

You’re awoken, a bit groggy as you wipe your eyes. It’s still dark outside. How long were you asleep for? You give your eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness, turning over on your right side.

…

Your heart jumps into your throat, all traces of tiredness instantly leave your body as you stare up in horror at the featureless, black figure standing next to your bed.

“Don’t scream and I won’t kill you.” it warns.

Your breath hitches, you couldn’t scream even if you wanted to. What the hell is that? You scoot away from it, nearly falling off the bed in the process.

You swallow hard, “What are yo-“

“Be quiet.” its voice was low and smooth, a complete contradiction from its appearance. “You really love making my job harder, don’t you? Why couldn’t you just get in the car the first time, hm?”

You don’t answer. Your heart was beating rapidly. You can’t read its expression, all you see is it’s big, black eyes looking down at you. You couldn’t make out any attributes of the figure, it was like one big, black blur in an almost humanoid shape.

A few moments of silence pass as it simply stares at you, as if thinking about something, the room slowly filling with a black mist. Your eyes quickly dart to your bedroom window then back at the monstrous entity. Maybe if you’re fast enough, you could jump out the window-

“Don’t even think about it.” it takes a single step toward you. “Things will go much smoother for you if you come with me willingly. If you so choose to be obnoxious, however, I will knock you out. You have five seconds to decide what you’ll do.”

“Y-you better leave this house right now, or else I’ll call the police!” your stuttering foiled your already awful bluff. It was close enough to do whatever it wanted to you before you could even reach for your phone. What the hell was the police supposed to do about this thing anyway?

It only tilts its head, large eyes staring eerily at you. After a few moments of silence, it finally spoke, “Very well.”

You scream as it charges at you, blacking out instantly as the black mist completely engulfs the room.

You scream and flail your arms as if you were being attacked, eyes shooting wide open in the process. Your breathing is heavy like you’d just ran a marathon; sweat beads form on your forehead. It takes a couple seconds for you to calm down, coming to the realization that it was only a nightmare.

A nightmare regarding a memory rather.

Your breath is shaky as you sit up on your elbow, leaning over the side of the bed. You felt nauseous, anxiety bubbling within you as you tried to control it. You look up towards the bathroom door, then towards the TV in front of the bed, then finally towards the man sitting upright behind you.

Looks like you’re still in a nightmare.

You let out a frustrated groan, throwing yourself back onto the bed and covering your face with your hands. In your daze, you had forgotten where you were, only to be harshly reminded upon locking eyes with Illumi.

“Good morning.” Illumi starts with his typical flat tone, observant of your quick shift from disorientation to exasperation. “Are you comfortable?”

“In a way.” you mumble, closing your eyes as you try to fall back asleep. You didn’t feel like having to deal with him first thing in the morning.

He continues regardless, “You sound uncertain.”

“The bed is comfortable, yes.” you mumble yet again.

“But there is something you’re uncomfortable with, right?”

It’s him.

You let out another groan as you knew he’d keep questioning you, wanting you to explain all of your answers in explicit detail while not understanding your point behind them. You take a second to stretch before propping yourself up on your elbow once again and looking back at him.

You were skeptical about this unusual attitude of his, thinking it was a new manipulation tactic he’d randomly thought of trying. You’re curious as to how long he’d let you push him over, though.

“Were you watching me sleep all night?” you ask. Your tone hinted at a bit of annoyance which caused Illumi to tilt his head slightly.

He admits casually, “Yeah.”

If there’s one thing you appreciated about Illumi, it was his honesty. His ability to nonchalantly admit to anything he was willing to answer both amazed and frightened you.

“No wonder I had a nightmare.” you say, looking away from him. It took everything in you to say something so blunt, so confidently.

Illumi doesn’t respond, confused by your sudden shift in attitude. You’d just woken up and you were already trying his patience. He keeps his attention on you, watching as you throw the blankets off and slide out of bed. You stretch yet again, back turned to him as you do so.

“I’m hungry.” you state in an almost entitled tone.

“I’ll tell them to begin preparing breakfast now. You should freshen up in the meantime.”

You take a deep breath. “Are you dictating what outfit I’m wearing today as well?”

Again, Illumi doesn’t respond — you turn to look when you hear the bed creak, a tad bit worried he was on his way to rip your head off. You knew you wouldn’t even have time to react if he was, though.

He slowly walks to the wardrobe, shuffling through it for a moment before retrieving an outfit. You notice that he’s already dressed, he must’ve gotten ready while you were sleeping then hopped back into bed so he could continue staring at you.

What a creep.

The outfit was catered to your taste, but it clearly had a touch of his inspiration written on it from how… tight fitting… it appeared to be. You look at the outfit with disdain, allowing your facial features to tell him just how you felt about it.

He’s indifferent to your scornful look, however, only staring back as he waits for you to take the outfit. He wasn’t changing his mind about this. You’re reluctant but you snatch the clothes from him, nearly stomping into the bathroom.

The outfit turned out to be more tight fitting than you had anticipated. You hate him.

You eventually come out of the bathroom, ignoring the way Illumi’s head immediately turned in your direction, and move to sit on the lounge chair.

He was on the phone, presumably calling the butlers to prepare today’s events — eyes still lingering on you as he spoke with them. He hangs up after a minute, fully turning to look at you.

“That outfit looks great on you.”

You look away from him, eyebrows furrowed. “It doesn’t need to be so snug.”

“It suits you.”

“Of course YOU like it.” you roll your eyes at him, quickly getting tired of his ogling.

He takes a moment to eye you further before speaking, “Let’s go.”

You follow him out of the room and down the hall, that surreal feeling from last night returning once again. As you walk into the main section of the hotel, you instantly notice a huge lack of butlers.

“Where did everyone go?” you ask, still looking around for other souls.

“I told them to stay out of view since you have a tendency to stare.” he simply states, staring forward as he leads you down the halls.

You scoff at him. If anyone had a tendency to stare, it was him since his unblinking eyes never seemed to leave you. It was perspicuous that he didn’t want last night’s dinner experience to take place again, only wanting your attention on him and him only.

“You know,” you suddenly speak up, voice a bit louder than usual, “If you truly want my opinion on things, l'd say you’re failing in terms of atmosphere. It's not normal for a place as busy as a hotel or a restaurant to be so devoid of other people, it makes it feel as though you and I are having a standoff.”

Illumi doesn’t acknowledge your comment right away, only continuing to stare forward as he attempts to process your audacious attitude. You already knew why he was doing it like this: he wanted to keep you away from what he deemed as “distractions.” you were smart enough to recognize and deflect his manipulative tactics to the best of your ability, which is how you’ve managed to retain your sanity for this long.

You know he loves you — obsessed rather — although incapable of expressing it in a healthy manner. He arrogantly assumed you'd reciprocate the feeling with time and some gentle conditioning, but you never did out of spite, preventing yourself from falling for him as a way of fighting back. Not that you could fall for him anyway. He was far too rough with you, especially when he first brought you to the estate. He didn’t know how to handle someone so fragile, breaking your wrist when you swung on him and crushing your throat when you cursed at him.

It took a while before you found out why he’d taken you, connecting the dots when he casually mentioned one day that he felt drawn to you before summarizing the five months he spent stalking you. He referred to you as his spouse once, but you were more of an experiment to him in the beginning, his feelings towards you cementing as time went on, confirming to him that he was indeed in love with you. You took advantage of that to the best of your ability, enticing him occasionally, giving him a false sense of your affections when you really wanted to avoid punishment, even if it didn’t always work out in your favor.

“You’ve woken up in a bad mood, you’re just being grumpy.” Illumi finally responds.

“I’m not being grumpy. You may be used to being alone, but I’m not. For me, the lack of people takes away from the experience, it makes it hard to focus.”

Illumi swiftly glanced down at you before looking forward again, expression remaining neutral. You were dancing around the subject, hiding your true intentions under the guise of helping him improve the atmosphere.

“I see, but I don’t think exposing you to the public would be ideal.”

“Ideal for yo-”

“Ideal for us.” he corrected, putting emphasis on the word “us.”

Your attempts at persuading him into taking you somewhere more public wasn’t working, in fact, you were only succeeding in annoying him. Perhaps you were being too ambitious right now.

“Surely not.” you mumble mainly to yourself, folding your arms as the two of you continue to make your way through the hotel.

You reach the restaurant and sit at the same table, last night’s rose petals and candles still present. The butlers were nowhere in sight and there was a partition put up to block your view of the chefs. The glass wall was also covered with a thin drape, allowing light in but not see-through enough to give you a clear view of the people below.

Pay attention to him.

“So uh,” you begin, feeling awkward as you try to get used to his direct staring once again, “what are we doing today?”

“We’re doing what I’ve planned.” Illumi states, not elaborating.

You attempt to pry for more details. “Could you be more specific?”

“No.”

What a jerk.

Despite the day just starting, the two of you were already getting on each other’s nerves. Since you can’t look out the window to distract yourself, you ultimately decided you would interrogate him in an attempt to fully understand the situation you were in.

You take a long, deep breath before speaking. “You know,” you start, looking directly into his eyes, “I’m curious to know what made you decide to do all of this, did you watch some cheesy romance movie or did someone give you the idea?”

…

After a few moments of silence, Illumi slowly blinks at you. This was the first time you’ve seen him blink, mainly because you tend to avoid eye contact with him. He was caught off guard by how you directly questioned him, your bold confidence as interesting as it was concerning.

“I was not inspired by anything. This is a simple product of my own ideas.” he stated, eyebrows slightly raised.

That’s doubtful, though you knew he wasn’t lying.

“I see… men in romance movies typically don’t kidnap their partner, it was foolish of me to think you’d be inspired by that. Perhaps you were inspired by a horror movie?” it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain eye contact as you spoke, trying your best not to react to his silent indicators screaming at you to shut your mouth. You’d already dug yourself a hole, however, may as well keep digging. “Tell me, what inspired you?”

He’s glaring at you now, slight but noticeable.

“Like I said, there’s no outside inspiration. I chose to do things this way on my own volition.”

“And that’s exactly why I described it as the ‘typical Illumi experience.’ it’s empty, devoid of life, and unnerving.” you say boldly.

His glare disappears, his neutral expression returning as he slowly tilts his head to the side.

“‘Empty, devoid of life, and unnerving,’” he repeats slowly, “quite a descriptive set of words. Is it truly that way for you?”

“Yeah, I thought I made that clear by now.”

He straightened himself, blinking slowly once again. “It’s unfortunate to hear you see it that way.”

His voice feigned politeness, turning his attention to the food now being brought to the table. The presence of the butlers doesn’t stop you from retorting, however.

“I gave you a clear solution to help you improve but since you’re so focused on isolating me, you won’t hear it.” you narrow your eyes at him. He doesn’t respond until the butlers have left the room entirely.

“Is your solution to see other people?” he finally responds in an almost sarcastic tone.

You hated the way he worded that.

“Yes, the place is empty.”

“It’s not empty, we’re here.”

“We are two people.”

“The butlers and hotel staff are here.”

“Paying guests,” you were becoming annoyed with his intentional stupidity. “people from all walks of life who just want to enjoy some time at the hotel with us. You know what I meant.”

“You should eat before it gets cold.” he looks down, picking up a fork and beginning his unnatural eating habits. You don’t heed his indirect warning to drop the subject, however.

You continue, “Tell me why you won’t.”

He doesn’t even look up at you, pretending you hadn’t even said a word.

You speak again, determined to keep going until he gives you an answer. “Give me a reason.”

“Drop it.” he replies after finishing his plate.

“I won’t until you give me a reason!”

“The reason I chose not to have people here should be evident.”

“And it should be evident as to why your little date with me is a waste of time! You refuse to listen to me at all!”

Illumi is silent. He didn’t like your tone. Your words got to him more than it should and he couldn’t understand why. He was doing everything he could to make this date go smoothly and you were doing everything you could to make sure it wouldn’t.

He didn’t like how aware you were — how aware of him you were. You should have given into Stockholm syndrome months ago, yet here you were forcing him to actually try to earn your affections. Him. A professional assassin who was raised for the sole purpose of killing, whose soul was filled with nothing but darkness. You had made it clear that he could rip you away from your past life, torment you, and force you to go out with him, but he couldn’t force you to love him. Genuinely at least.

Illumi wondered if he should even continue trying…

No. He’d put too much effort into this to call it off. You were just looking for a reaction, that’s it.

The thought that you wouldn’t be resentful had he taken a healthier approach to your relationship does not cross his mind. In fact, his mind is clear as he gazes upon you, no emotion present on his features.

You slowly began to eat once it was apparent the topic wasn’t up for discussion anymore. At least the food was good, even if it failed to distract you from the near deadly tension in the air. His presence felt more suffocating than normal, though he wasn’t releasing aura, causing you to quickly eat just so you could get out of here sooner.

He makes no move to stand nor does he speak once you finish, making you awkwardly sit before him a little longer. This was your fault. You should’ve just shut your mouth. The effects of his staring was taking its toll on you the longer you sat there.

“What’s the plan? Are we going back to Kukuroo Mountain now?” you ask. As much as you hate being in that room, you’d prefer your solidarity over this.

Illumi doesn’t reply, only turning his head slightly before standing and beginning to walk out of the restaurant. He didn’t feel the need to explain anything to you, leaving you to figure it out through his actions. You considered staying seated, but ultimately got up to follow him, knowing that’s what he expected of you.

You trail slightly behind him as he leads you out of the hotel and into the parking lot, a black Mercedes truck parked just outside the entrance. He opens the passenger side door and just looks at you, not even bothering to give you a verbal command or even a gesture. You stare at him for a moment, wanting to irritate him, before climbing inside and buckling yourself up.

You stare at the hotel as he walks around and hops into the driver’s seat. He soon begins driving. He appears to have a destination in mind, not Kukuroo Mountain as he’s driving opposite of when you were first taken to the hotel.

He’s not a quitter, unfortunately.

He was taking you to a grand mall, one he, of course, cleared out. He still wanted to please you despite your earlier ungratefulness, or so he convinced himself.

The ride was soundless. He chose not to turn on the radio. His eyes unmoving as he stared straight ahead, left hand on the wheel while his right hand sat dangerously close to you on the armrest.

There were a few more Mercedes trucks within the mall’s parking lot; you could see there were butlers inside as Illumi drove past them, the pink haired butler from yesterday making direct eye contact with you through the windshield of her car. He parked, glancing at you for a brief moment before moving to open the driver’s door.

He climbed out of the car while you stayed put, you watched as he circled around the front to come open your door. You wished the car had magically started itself and ran him over. You take your time unbuckling yourself, sighing before taking his hand as he “assisted” you out of the truck.

He led you inside the mall, stopping once you reached the middle of the food court. It was completely empty, just as you’d guessed. You look around as he stands there, staring down at you. Your uncomfortableness is evident as you awkwardly shift your weight and fiddle with the hem of your shirt.

“You’re free to begin shopping.” Illumi finally stated, giving you the go ahead.

You gave a quiet “oh” before looking ahead, hesitant to take a step. You genuinely didn’t even feel like moving, not wanting to participate in his plan to keep the date going. Eventually you begin walking, figuring since you were here, you’d get some stuff to entertain yourself with back at the estate. You felt no interest in visiting clothing or jewelry stores considering Illumi would police when you wore whatever you got.

“This is so ominous.” you mumble, hands in your pockets as you walk through the food court and into the main shopping section of the mall. You were curious to know how Illumi did it, how he was able to almost completely clear out all of these places. Did he strike a deal with the owner? Did he kill them and take over the place? You turn towards Illumi, “How come all these big places are so empty? What did you do?”

“Does it matter?” his response was quicker than you’d anticipated. He didn’t appear to be upset though, maybe you could pry some details out of him.

“Did you kill the owner or something?” you look back at him as you’re trailing ahead slightly, his eyes meet yours for a moment before looking forward again.

“That would’ve been the cheapest route, but no.” Illumi admits. “I didn’t kill them.”

“So what did you do?”

Illumi is silent for a moment, as if contemplating something. He then says, “I rented the place for a period of time.”

“You rented this entire mall?!”

“I did. For two hours to be exact, so make the most of it.”

He chose to humor your questions. Good.

Your pace is slow as you walk, taking note of how certain stores were closed down. The accessible stores contained a couple butlers and a store clerk, the butlers standing directly in front of the checkout as if trying to block your view of the clerk. You continue to peer inside but make no effort to actually enter any of the stores.

You tried to the best of your ability to ignore Illumi’s looming presence behind you, finally entering a store that caught your eye. It was a store that sold adult craft projects ranging from diamond art, to crochet, to even DIY houses similar to the greenhouse you had.

You quickly look around. You felt invisible, but under a microscope at the same time. The clerk looking down from what you could see of them, the butlers occasionally glancing at you with their stoic expressions but ignored your presence for the most part, and, of course, Illumi gazing directly into your soul. Examining a diamond art kit, you check the price tag out of habit.

“You shouldn’t worry about the tags.” Illumi’s voice scared you a bit despite how gentle it was.

He’s right. You shouldn’t worry about the price tags.

You grab as much as you can hold, almost considering buying out the entire store, but not wanting to be questioned as to why you wanted ten of the exact same craft.

As you approach the checkout with the items in hand, the two butlers gently take them from you and proceed to purchase on your behalf.

You stand and stare at them while they do their job, Illumi placing a hand on your shoulder and nudging you back, “You don’t have to wait for them to finish.” Illumi spoke as he watched the butlers. “We can go to the next store now.”

You don’t respond to him, side stepping out of his hold and walking out of the store. As you enter a video game store, you purchase, or rather the butlers purchased, several games, most of which you’ll probably never even play but interests you enough to grab. You’ve kept your back turned towards Illumi the whole time, a privilege only a select few could enjoy, wanting to keep him out of your line of sight as much as possible.

“You’re acting strange.” he stated as he followed you out of the store, “Is something wrong?”

“I’m just trying to enjoy myself.” you said, head lowered as you walked.

“You’re deliberately avoiding me.”

You stare down at your feet for a few moments before responding, “You're like an entity that only I can see whose sole purpose is to haunt me.” your tone was indifferent as you continued to stare down, an echo accompanying your footsteps while silence accompanied his own. “I feel like you're not even real and I’m just hallucinating.”

Illumi didn’t understand what it was you were talking about, and neither did you really, his eyebrows slightly raised as he fully turned his head to face you.

“I’m very much real.”

“That’s the issue.” you close your eyes for a moment, swallowing hard. Which was truly better? A real person tormenting you or a hallucination tormenting you? Illumi had no words for your comment — he turned to face forward again, eyes leaving you for much longer than they ever had since you entered the mall. “I don’t even know why you’re dragging this out, it was doomed from the start.”

He’s quick to respond, “Was it? Or are you just intent on being difficult?”

You can sense a ping of his aura, causing you not to respond further. You stop walking, you’re now at the far end of the mall standing next to the escalators. You watch the moving stairs for a bit before looking up into the skylight.

The slight humming of the escalator was strangely comforting — the sun shone perfectly down upon you, bathing you in a warm light. You looked down at your feet once more; you felt like crying. The nostalgic feelings you were trying desperately to repress were becoming too much to bear.

Illumi watches, studying your strange behavior as you stand there with your eyes closed.

“What are you doing?” Illumi asked after watching you for almost a full minute.

You consider ignoring him, but you can still sense him releasing the tiniest amount of aura.

“A skylight in my room would be nice.”

“Your room is underground.” Illumi stated matter-of-factly. His response was quick, almost as if he’d predicted you’d say something like that.

“You’re more than capable of giving me a room above ground then installing a skylight.”

“I am.” he gave you a subtle side eye. He indeed had more than enough funds to make your new room, he just didn’t like the thought of giving you one. He assumed it would give you ideas, ideas he didn’t want to have to severely punish you for.

“So do it.” you open your eyes and look at him, meeting his black, empty ones.

“Your current room is sufficient enough.” he retorts.

“I like natural light, Illumi.”

His aura is no longer present, his shoulders dropped slightly. He continued nonetheless, “You can survive without sunlight.”

He won't budge on your request. He saw nothing wrong with keeping you in a windowless room and having you take vitamin D supplements. This was normal to him after all.

“Anytime I request something that would genuinely make me happy, you dismiss it immediately.”

“Your requests tend to be quite ridiculous.”

“But renting a mall isn’t?!” your voice was getting loud, you were frustrated with him. “You’d rather spend all that extra money on bullshit than something that would actually make me happy?!”

“This date was supposed to make you happy. In fact, everything I do is for your well-being.” Illumi spoke slowly, making sure to look you dead in the eyes as he said this.

Despite your outburst, Illumi remained stoic. Not a trace of annoyance or even irritation within him, he was completely neutral.

Deep breath in, hold it, breathe out slowly.

You turn on your heel, walking past him and back towards the food court. You stop near the exit doors, peering out the glass and into the parking lot.

“I’m done shopping.” you were beyond finished with this.

You wish he never came up with this pathetic little date idea and just left you back at the estate. You hated the constant mind battles between the two of you; you were mentally exhausted and just wanted time away from him to reset, preferably the rest of your life.

“We’ve been here for thirty-five minutes. We have about another hour and twenty-five minutes to shop.” he says casually. You don’t respond, only glaring at him before looking out into the parking lot once again. His eyes continue to linger on you. “You should shop some more.”

It was clear it wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order.

“Save your money-” you attempt to argue, but he cuts you off.

“Don’t worry about my money. I’m telling you to continue shopping.” he spoke, signaling he was slowly becoming a bit irritated despite his very, very calm expression.

“I already got what I wanted.” you glare at him again.

You knew exactly what you were doing. You were intentionally rushing so you could leave sooner and waste the money he’d used to rent the mall.

He was aware of this.

“Do you not know how to enjoy yourself at a mall? I’m giving you a great privilege here.”

“It’s hard to enjoy a mall under these circumstances.”

“You’re just being difficult.” Illumi retorted, trying to make it seem as if your unhappiness was your own cause.

“That’s NOT-”

“Watch your tone.” his voice sounded menacing, causing you to shut your mouth immediately.

His aura returned, his patience was running thin. You’re quiet for a moment, glancing out into the parking lot and daringly taking another step towards the doors.

“Can…” your voice is low as you speak, “can we just go back to Kukuroo-“

“Let’s continue shopping.” Illumi cuts you off once again.

You’re not daring enough to take another step, let alone actually make your way through those doors, as much as you want to. You continue to stand there despite Illumi’s request. Would you even be able to open the door before he grabbed you?

Your question was unfortunately answered when he moved swiftly and stood directly in front of you, basically teleporting before you. He cupped your face just as fast in a firm, almost tight hold, forcing you to look up at him. His hands were surprisingly warm.

“(Name).” he’d drawn out your name in a sickeningly soft tone, his eyes failing to match the gentleness of his voice. It was a sight you didn’t want to behold. You step back, to which he lets go, and turn to proceed back into the main shopping section. His eyes linger on you before he clapped his hands together once, all traces of aura instantly vanishing. “I’m glad you’ve decided to enjoy this experience further, (Name).” his voice was still soft, almost cheerful as he followed close behind you.

Your heart is still beating rapidly as you walk through the mall, slowly taking your time exploring each of the stores. You don’t buy anything though, you were simply staring at the merchandise as if they were artifacts in a museum. Illumi starts pointing out things you’d like, or rather things he’d like on you, when you fail to make a purchase after the third store.

Only an hour remaining.

You began staring at items for far too long, attempting to shave off as much time as possible, ignoring Illumi when he asked if it was something you wanted. He bought them anyway so it didn’t matter. He began purchasing anything you stared at, annoyed but not commenting on your stubborn attitude.

Only thirty minutes remaining.

As you walk the halls, you choose to stop and examine a statue you’ve passed at least three times. Illumi stands awfully close to you.

“You’re testing my patience, (Name).” he says. You don’t feel his aura, thankfully, but you knew you were pushing him too far.

“I don’t know what you want-”

“You know exactly what I want.” he slowly brought his hand to rest on your shoulder. You don’t sense any hints of mischief behind it, but you knew better than to trust it. “I thought this would’ve been a nice way for us to bond, but, of course, you’re obstinate.”

“Bond?” you ask, voice somewhat soft from the threat of his hand on you.

“Yes.”

“How?” you asked. Despite being held captive for months, you still fail to fully understand how Illumi thinks. You can feel his grip on you tighten slightly before resting once again.

“We bond whenever we are with each other, that’s how it works.”

You’re too tired to correct him, not that he’d understand anyway. “Tell me,” you start, “what is the purpose of this, Illumi?”

“This is the second time you’ve asked me this.”

“You never answered why you’re doing this, you only stated you weren’t inspired by anything and chose to do this on your own free will. I’m asking you why you’re doing this.”

Illumi is quiet for a few seconds before responding, “I wanted to spend time with you, that’s all.”

“Really?” you questioned.

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” you brought your hand up to your chin, trying to think of a possible ulterior motive. There was definitely more to this, but you couldn’t think of what it was.

Only twenty-seven minutes remaining.

“We don’t have much time left here. I believe it would be wise for you to do what I expect of you.” Illumi states as he removes his hand from your shoulder.

You go along with it, just wanting to get it over without being overwhelmed by Illumi.

One minute remaining.

You half assed the last twenty-six minutes of shopping, but it was good enough for Illumi. He didn’t complain, or speak at all really, as he watched you hand the butlers random items you’ve picked up.

Once that was done, he led you outside and back into the truck, a weight being lifted off your shoulders when you felt the wind blow against your skin.

You didn’t bother asking him about the next location, knowing he wouldn’t tell you. He put on some music this time; he must be feeling better.

Your tiredness instantly evaporated once you realized he was driving into the city, other Zoldyck trucks joining and forming a motorcade around the two of you.

The car comes to a stop on an empty street, your eyes scan the butlers standing guard, locking on the pink haired one for a split second, before moving to the blockades blocking off side streets. Illumi does his chivalry deed before walking you towards the bus stop.

Your head doesn’t stop swiveling, turning towards the buildings, to the lake, to the butlers, to the birds pecking at the ground, to the approaching bus.

“Is this a tour bus?” you ask, instantly recognizing it as you’d been on one with your friends before.

“Yes.” he responds flatly.

As the bus pulls up, you get a good look at it. It was a big, red double decker bus, the windows a little too tinted to be legally owned by any company. You’re a little quick to climb inside once the doors open, it was empty aside from two butlers seated at the very back.

“Can we sit on the roof?” you ask, wanting to feel the breeze on your face but also wanting a vantage point to scout for other signs of life.

“No. Sit here.”

Illumi doesn’t offer any reasoning, only pointing to a row of seats on the right side of the bus. You take the window seat and Illumi sits next to you, caging you in.

Perhaps you should’ve let him take the window seat instead.

There’s a screen in front of you playing a pre recorded audio commentary as the ride begins, it was the only voice heard within the bus. Your heart sinks a little when you see people walking about and civilian cars waiting at intersections. It was a normal day for them.

You look forward, then behind you, ignoring Illumi and the butlers’ curious eyes, as you confirm that the bus indeed was part of another motorcade. You slump slightly, looking out the window and at the curious faces of pedestrians completely unaware of what was going on.

You had barely caught anything the audio commentary had explained about the various landmarks you’d passed, too busy reminiscing on past times to even care. The bus had done a full loop around the city, soon coming to a halt at the bus stop it picked you up from.

Instead of walking you back to the truck, Illumi holds your hand, correctly this time as he didn’t give you time to freak out, and walks you to a nearby grassy area along the lakefront. His hold was a little tight.

There was a large blanket set out underneath a lone cherry blossom tree, Shiori setting down a singular basket, bowing to the both of you, then leaving.

You both settled onto the blanket, Illumi sitting unreasonably close despite the vast amounts of space. You allowed yourself to relax a bit regardless, taking in the view of the lake mixed with the falling cherry blossom petals. You paid no mind to Illumi as he fumbled through the basket, using hand sanitizer but not offering you any.

He carefully unpacked the contents, laying out a meal too small to be enjoyed by two people. You silently glance over at it before looking forward again. The view was nice, various skyscrapers and buildings lined the horizon, and a few clouds decorated the big, blue sky.

It was silent, you and Illumi haven’t spoken to each other since you got on the bus — it was better that way. Illumi savored your docile demeanor, content that you were finally relaxing around him for once. He wasn’t fixated on you surprisingly, only gazing upon the city view before him.

You’d sat there for about ten minutes, relaxing enough to shut your eyes as you envisioned yourself in another place, before Illumi finally spoke up, “Aren’t you going to eat something?”

You slowly opened your eyes, looking at the mini meal sprawled out on the blanket, then at the fork Illumi held tightly before closing them again.

“No.” you said simply. This was a trap.

Illumi tilted his head as he looked at you. “Why not?”

“Why aren’t you eating?” you question him instead. “You’ve been holding that fork for a while now, and yet you haven’t reached for anything.”

You were suspicious. This was a one person meal and Illumi was holding the only fork you could see yet made no move to use it. This could only mean one thing.

“This is for you. I’m not hungry.”

You sit upright. “Where are all the forks?”

“In my hand.” he stated nonchalantly. “What would you like to eat first?”

You were becoming nervous. “Just give me the fork.” you state, holding your hand out to him.

“What would you like to eat first?” he repeats, looking down at the options before him and ignoring your hand.

“Please don’t do this to me.”

“You will eat the chicken Alfredo first.”

You retract your hand as he reaches for the chicken Alfredo, opening the container and allowing its savory scent to escape. You watch in horror as he collects a few noodles onto the fork and holds it up to you.

His intentions were clear; he was going to feed you.

“I can feed myself.”

“I know. Open your mouth.”

“Illumi-“

The fork was shoved into your mouth, the prongs hitting the back of your throat and causing you to choke. You cover your mouth when he pulls the fork out, coughing through your nose as you collect yourself from the sudden assault. At least the chicken Alfredo was good.

“Hopefully you’ll listen this time. Come.”

He scooped more noodles and chicken onto the fork, holding it out to you again. You glare at him before complying, allowing him to feed you gently this time. The cycle continues until the entire meal is gone, leaving only empty containers.

He didn't say anything else once he was finished, but you noticed a slight smile on his otherwise expressionless face. He was happy. Very, very happy.

Both of you sit in silence for a while, Illumi enjoying your presence and you ignoring his. Eventually he stands up, motioning for you to follow. He leads you back to the truck, performing an unneeded act of chivalry as he helps you inside, before pulling onto the road, the same Mercedes trucks driven by Zoldyck butlers surrounding the vehicle once more.

Illumi had one more activity planned for the day, one he was sure you’d love: a botanical garden. He had a slight smile on his face as he drove, eyes never leaving the road but he was definitely paying close attention to you.

It took a short while, but he eventually reached his destination, quickly helping you out of the car before guiding you through the gates and into the garden. He seemed quite eager. The garden was huge, so he expected the both of you to be there for at least two hours, walking and analyzing all the different plants.

You were partially in higher spirits as you took in the different sights and smells, your facial features softening slightly. You were docile as you followed Illumi throughout the garden, engaging in conversation with him about all the different plants. He educated you on the purposes of different plants, ones that healed, ones that calmed, and ones that were extremely toxic but had a sweet, almost candy-like flavor. You don’t question him about that.

He felt like he was truly bonding with you for once as you engaged with him. There wasn’t an ounce of negativity within you as you walked beside him, though you weren’t exactly beaming and doing heel clicks. You were calm; that was enough for him.

The sun had set and the moonlight bathed the garden in a white glow, fireflies fluttering about in the near darkness. You two had already begun the long walk back to the entrance a few minutes ago, silent as you listened to the chirping of numerous crickets and other critters.

“It’s nice being able to enjoy nature like this.” Illumi stated as he stared ahead.

“Yeah.” your tone was indifferent. “I used to go on walks like this all the time, but then something really unfortunate happened.”

“Hmm.”

Illumi only gave a simple hum in response, not wanting the mood to turn unpleasant so suddenly. Thankfully you didn’t say anything else to force an argument, quiet as he led you back to the entrance and into the car.

The drive back was smooth, the only sounds being heard was the humming of the engine and the soft music coming from the radio. He takes you to the restaurant upon entering the hotel and dinner was just as quiet. You must be too tired to challenge him as you simply stare down at your plate. Good. He was finally able to enjoy a meal with you without getting a headache.

After dinner, he took you back to your shared suite, both of you showering before hopping into bed. You immediately roll onto your side, facing away from him as you try to escape into a deep sleep. He’s sat up in bed though, silently staring at you.

The curtain covering the balcony door was partially opened, allowing the moonlight to flood the room and perfectly illuminate your figure. The sight causes him to reminisce for a moment.

“You were happier today —” Illumi spoke, voice a bit soft, “in the later half at least.” he’s silent for a moment as he thinks to himself. “I want to discuss something before you nod off.”

“Mhm.” you lazily hum.

You’d contemplated ignoring him in hopes he’d think you were sleeping, but you could count zero times that actually worked for you before.

“Despite the rocky start… did you enjoy yourself today?”

He was seeking reassurance. He was being vulnerable.

You’re in no rush to respond, allowing the silence to linger longer than he’d like. You think of all the different types of responses you could give him, ones that would please him enough to get him to shut up, ones that would severely upset him, and ones that would probably lead to him laying hands on you.

“Would you enjoy doing your favorite things with someone who torments you?” you ask, ultimately deciding your answer would be up to Illumi.

“So you enjoyed it? That’s good to hear.”

You don’t bother to correct him, knowing it would lead to a back and forth that would never conclude.

Illumi, on the other hand, is completely satisfied, despite misinterpreting the true meaning behind your indirect answer. He was convinced that, ignoring your earlier defiance, today had been a total success and a step forward in the right direction.

He’d only hoped he could make even more progress with you tomorrow.

Day three

Illumi rises very early, as he usually does, and gets himself ready for the day. His movements are silent as he walks about the suite, putting his clothes on, combing his hair, and more. He stands next to your side of the bed for a moment, gazing down upon your sleeping face and admiring your relaxed features.

He stares for way longer than he intended to before quietly making his way out the suite and to a secluded area. He makes a long phone call before returning to the suite and sliding back into bed, sitting upright as he stares at the blank TV.

You stir three hours later, yawning and stretching before sitting up. You wipe your eyes then look back at Illumi.

“Morning.” he greets.

“Hi.” your voice was softer than you meant it to be.

“Sleep well?”

“Mhm.”

You slide off the bed and head to the bathroom before he could ask you more pointless questions about how you slept. You complete your morning routine, taking a moment to stare at yourself in the mirror, before opening the bathroom door and standing in the doorway. Illumi slowly looks over at you.

“When are we leaving?” you ask, wanting to limit the amount of time spent locked in an enclosed space with Illumi.

“Whenever you’d like.” he responded simply.

You silently maintain eye contact with him for three seconds before making a request, “I want to pick my own outfit today, Illumi.”

Illumi taps his chin as if contemplating before sliding off the bed and heading toward the wardrobe. You watch him from your spot in the doorway as he lays multiple outfits out onto the bed, all featuring short sleeved tops and shorts coupled with some form of sandals for shoes.

“Take your pick.”

Sometimes you wonder if he’s intentionally misinterpreting you just to play mind games or if he’s really that unaware. You know it’s the latter, though.

“This isn’t what I meant.” you state as he stares at you.

“You said you wanted to pick your outfit. I am giving you options to pick from.”

You decide not to fight it as this was the most control you’ve had over your own outfit in several weeks. You pick one that seemed to have the least of his inspiration and head to the bathroom with it.

Illumi watched as the door shut behind you, clueless as to why you still had a problem with him even when he let you do what you wanted. He doesn’t dwell on it, packing the leftover clothes back into the wardrobe and calling the butlers to prepare breakfast.

Once you were done and ready, he escorts you to the restaurant as usual. You feel a ping of unexplainable dread bubbling within you, but don’t think too much about it, chalking it up to the thought of having to deal with Illumi for yet another day for who knows how long.

As you sit across from Illumi, you notice the rose petals have been replaced with fresh ones, some white and pink ones thrown into the mix. You fiddle with them as Illumi blankly stares at you.

“We will be spending a lot of time outdoors today.” Illumi said. He figured he’d be the conversation starter during breakfast today as yesterday’s breakfast conversation led by you turned out to be very unsavory. “It’ll be good for the mind.”

“Yeah, I bet.” you continue fiddling with and even slowly tearing apart the rose petals.

“Aren’t you going to ask what we’re doing?” Illumi inquired.

You don’t even look up at him. “What’s the point?”

“Do you not want to know what we’re doing today?”

“It’s not like you’d tell me anyway.”

“How do you know?”

You finally look up at him. “Why are you interrogating me?”

“I’m not. I’m just trying to have a conversation.”

You’d prefer if Illumi just kept his mouth shut as you weren’t in the mood for his pathetic attempt at a conversation.

“For what? You’re not the talkative type.”

“I just wanted to talk.” he simply states. His voice had been slightly softer as he spoke with you.

“Is this another bonding experience of yours?” you mock, mentally rolling your eyes.

“Yes.”

Of course he doesn’t sense your sarcasm.

“You know,” you start, noticing how Illumi stiffened slightly. “You know” was always your way of starting an argument. “communication in a healthy… relationship… is key. If you truly wish to bond with me, you’ll tell me everything you refused to tell me before.”

“I’ve already been doing that.” he states, referring to all the tiny bits of information he’s given you the last couple of days.

“There is something bigger I want to know, something you’ve been refusing to talk to me about since you took me.”

Illumi looks down at the pile of mangled rose petals in front of you before looking back up into your eyes. He could already predict where you were headed with this and knew it would most likely lead to something that would put the progress he believed he made with you in jeopardy. You were simply seeking some sort of approval from him to talk, though.

“I’m not interested in this discussion.” Illumi boldly replies, the softness in his voice long gone.

“It’s the least you could do, Illumi.”

“No.” he didn’t budge.

“You’re only going to end up sabotaging yourself.”

Illumi’s eyes narrowed at your subtle threat. You were basically telling him that if he didn’t have this conversation with you, you’d make the date hell for the both of you.

“There is nothing positive that could come from this discussion; therefore, I see no reason to have it.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yours.” Illumi says boldly. You were slightly taken aback by how quickly and effortlessly Illumi pinned the blame onto you, completely believing he’d done nothing wrong. “I see no point in giving you the chance to start unneeded drama.”

“You don’t need to give me the chance, it will happen regardless. I’m throwing you a bone by trying to settle things in a civil manner.” you say, watching as his eyes narrow even more.

“There is nothing to settle. Nothing will change whether you know or don’t.”

“You’re obligated to talk to me at this point.”

“I’ve been talking to you this entire time, I’ve fulfilled that obligation. You’re only going to throw a fit and ruin what we have going on currently.”

“You think we have something going on between us simply because we didn’t argue for a few hours?” You mock, your balled up fists resting on the table.

“Yes.”

Your words are caught in your throat as you realize just how out of it he truly is. Two butlers come and deliver breakfast, gently setting the plates of food in front of you and Illumi. They quickly leave, probably sensing the tension in the air, and Illumi immediately begins eating. He’s eating much, much slower than usual, though.

He’s staring down at his plate as he does so, avoiding eye contact with you and hoping you’d just drop it for his sake.

You don’t.

“What was… the aftermath of my disappearance?” you ask, carefully choosing your words due to past experiences with Illumi’s negative reactions. Usually bringing up this topic was punishable by strangulation. Illumi had only warned you once before not to ask him about it, not explaining why or what he’d do if you did, only leaving you to find out through trial and error. “I deserve to know that much after so long.”

The dread coupled with asking the forbidden question is building in your stomach. You instinctively hold your hands under your chin, preparing yourself in case your plan to hold this date over his head doesn’t work.

He doesn’t look up at you, but he’s not eating anymore either. Illumi had his reasons for not wanting to talk to you about this. It wasn’t because he felt guilt or shame for what he’d done, no not at all, it was because he didn’t want to deal with your reaction to it. You were a screaming, crying mess back then and even though you’ve calmed down to some degree, you’re still quick to return to your old roots.

He found you as fascinating as he found you irritating, no longer questioning why he couldn’t bring himself to just kill you and move on with his life. You were a breath of fresh air, someone who kept him interested, someone who kept him wondering, and someone who always managed to surprise him with how bitchy you continued to be.

The realization that you’d rather be stifled until you’re unconscious than favor his simple demand sinks into him. You truly are an unruly brat. He finally looks up at you, which causes you to stiffen.

“What do you want to know?”

Illumi was made aware that you’d never shut up about it, and he wasn’t fond of the thought of cutting your vocal cords. He caved into your threat, to some degree, thinking that if he chose his words carefully, he could make it out of this discussion with minimal damage. He’d just have to walk on eggshells for a few minutes, eggshells he put down.

Your eyes widened slightly. Was he actually agreeing to talk with you about it?

“You’ll… you’ll tell me?” you ask, hands slowly coming down to rest on the table.

“If we can move forward quickly afterwards and you never bring it up again, yes.” Illumi responded, making sure to place clear conditions.

“I will, only if you answer all of my questions truthfully.”

“Understandable.”

Your heart was beating rapidly as you looked into his eyes, all questions you had about the subject nearly leaving you before you quickly collected yourself. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, mentally preparing yourself for what’s to come. You open them again after a moment, staring straight into his black ones.

“Have you harmed any of my friends or family since you’ve taken me?”

“No.” his answer was quick and concise. You were relieved.

“Was I reported as a missing person?”

“Yes.”

“Did you… influence my case at all?”

“Yes.”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly. Yes he was answering your questions, but he wasn’t elaborating. “What did you do?” you ask.

“I made sure your case wasn’t thoroughly investigated.”

“Could you be more specific? I want to know the details.” you say with a hint of irritation in your voice.

“I paid detectives to ignore all the statements the police took from you and to limit how long search parties spent looking for you. You were concluded as a runaway.”

Your eyebrows furrow even more as you think how distraught your family must’ve been when you vanished, what they must’ve been thinking when greedy detectives fed them lies in order to make a quick buck. You hate him.

“Why me?!” you yell at him.

You were beyond fed up with this, beyond fed up with him. He tilts his head at you, expression neutral as he brought a hand up to his chin as if he was thinking.

“Indeed. Why you?” he doesn’t say anything else as he continues to stare at you in that pose.

“Why me?! Tell me, why are you doing this to me?!”

He takes a moment to respond, “That is indeed a good question.”

“You don’t even know why, do you?”

“No. I don't.” Illumi admits casually. “But even without knowing, the need is still there.” He straightens himself again, hands moving to rest on his lap. "I originally intended to kill you. I thought you were using some kind of power to control me. Imagine my surprise when I found out you weren't a nen user."

“A nen user? What the hell is that?”

He doesn’t answer your question, only silently looking at you. When you fail to say anything further, he looks down at his plate and continues eating in his usual quick fashion. It’s over with. He’s relieved.

You ponder momentarily, looking down at the food before you as you contemplate what you’re about to say. It was a long shot, but did you really have much to lose?

“I want to talk to my family. I want them to know I’m still alive and well.” you say confidently, not a trace of fear in your voice.

If Illumi wasn’t obsessed with you, he would’ve killed you right then and there for making such a stupid, ignorant request. His frustration is calmly taken out on the fork he’s holding, his tight grip bending the metal into all sorts of shapes as his neutral expression remains fixated on the plate before him. It was a terrifying sight.

“Absolutely not.” his voice is terrifyingly nonchalant. “This discussion ends here.”

His aura warns you. You don’t care, though.

“I want to talk to them.” you repeat.

“We are not discussing this any further. Eat your food. Now.”

“Why can’t I talk to my own family?”

Illumi looks up at you, you see something flash in his eyes. “If you talk to your family, they’ll come looking for you. And if they come looking for you, I’ll kill them. By keeping them unaware, their safety is guaranteed. I’m doing you a favor.”

Your hands balled into fists once more. “How?! How are you doing me a favor?!”

Illumi replies quickly, “By not killing them from the start.”

“How can you say that and expect me to be happy with you?!”

“Because they’re still alive.”

“And so that’s it?!” your voice is starting to get loud. “Because you didn’t kill my family, I’m supposed to love and accept you?!”

“Correct.” he states boldly.

His aura was becoming more suffocating despite his completely neutral demeanor. You grit your teeth in anger.

“You’re fucking insane!” you shout at him, slamming your fist on the table and causing your untouched drink to spill. Illumi watches as the reddish pink fruit punch soaks into the table cloth. “Why would I want to live the rest of my life with someone like you?! I’d rather you just kill me at this point, it would be mercy!”

This is why he didn’t want to have this discussion, you were forgetting your place.

“Watch yourself, (Name).” he says as he looks up at you. “This is your only warning.”

“Fuck you.”

Illumi abruptly stood up, the force knocking his chair back a few feet. Your anger immediately vanishes, fear taking its place. He grabs your wrist tightly, yanking you out of your seat and dragging you out of the restaurant. He had enough, your audaciousness had gone unpunished for far too long.

Your weak attempts to pull away were only met with him tightening his grip more, causing you to cry out. It felt like he’d crush your wrist if he tightened any more. The tears had already begun streaming down your face, but you refused to beg for forgiveness.

He’d taken you back to the suite, practically throwing you on the floor as he slammed the door shut behind him. He stood there, staring down at you with a look that would normally kill.

“I’ve been very patient with you, I’ve been very lenient with you, and I’ve been very considerate of you, and this is what I get in return?” he asks.

You remain on the floor, wiping your tear stained eyes before looking up at him. “I don’t owe you shit. You ruined my life.”

“Ruined your life? You don’t know what ruining a life even means.” he takes a step towards you. He was convinced he saved your life, saved you from what would’ve been a violent death. You don’t seem to understand the type of person he is. “If I really wanted to, I could make your life a living hell. You understand that, don’t you?”

You glare up at him, your intense hatred for him evident on your face. “I hate you.”

Such a childish response should not have any sort of effect on him, but it did when it came from you. His aura quickly became overwhelming, striking you with complete and utter terror as you lay frozen on the ground. His eyes wide, his pupils shrunken to dots, and his hair floating in the air. You’d activated his bloodlust.

His aura reached far and wide, paralyzing the hotel employees and causing the butlers to think he’d finally killed you.

“No, you don’t. You love me.” he spoke his words as if they were fact, something you could not argue with. He takes another step toward you, eyes boring into you. “Isn’t it funny how you beg for death yet freeze in terror when the possibility of death becomes a reality?”

His voice was unnaturally soft for the state he was in. He was happy, happy that your talk of wanting to die was nothing more than a bluff, a tactic to control him. You didn’t actually want to die, you were just overreacting.

After a few seconds, he calmed down. His face returned to his neutral expression, his long hair falling back down into place. It’s as if nothing had even happened.

“Hm…” he hums, looking down at your paralyzed figure on the floor. He ponders for a few seconds before suddenly crouching down, scooping you into his arms, and gently placing you onto the bed.

Without thinking twice about it, he lays beside you, one arm awkwardly outstretched on top of you as his head sits atop of yours. He was comforting you, though he didn’t know it. He had gotten an uncontrollable urge to do so, one he’d never gotten before, and was in no state of mind to resist.

He stares out the balcony door as you lay unconscious in his arms. This feeling was foreign to him, just as everything relating to you was. He couldn’t comprehend how he felt right now, but knew he was at ease as he absorbed your warmth and slight twitches.

Illumi doesn’t move at all as he waits for you to wake up, awkwardly sprawled out partially on top of you as he continues to blankly stare ahead. His mind was empty, he felt no desire to dwell on what had happened, only allowing time to pass as he accepted this bizarre feeling.

You eventually begin to stir, but he still doesn’t move, only shifting his eyes to look down at you. You slowly sit up, groaning as you do so, and wiping your eyes in the process. His arm falls lower than you’d like, causing you to grab and remove it off of you entirely. Neither of you say a word, but the tension doesn’t feel as heavy as you’d expect it to be after something so traumatic.

Illumi remains in his awkward position, watching as you slide off the bed and head to the bathroom. You stay in the bathroom for quite some time, your quiet sniffling and sobbing reaching Illumi’s ears. He doesn’t move to check on you, or rather put a stop to your crying, choosing to sit by and let you cry it out for once.

He finally gets up after a while, thinking he’d given you more than enough time to recover and move on. He pulls out his phone, quickly texting Shiori, before moving to knock on the bathroom door. He casually states that the two of you will be leaving soon and encourages you to come out.

You don’t respond but you do comply after a few minutes, eyes reddened and slightly puffy. He doesn’t comment on it, only silently walking you out the suite, outside the hotel, and into the truck once more.

Despite almost brutally murdering you twice within a five minute time span and bruising your wrist, Illumi was nonchalant. He has the radio playing so he must be in a good, or at least neutral, mood.

He parks near his next destination — the beach — and assists you out the car as usual, his hold much, much gentler than it ever had been. He continues to stand there after shutting the door behind you though, holding your uninjured hand and watching Shiori as she appears out of nowhere. Shiori doesn’t say a word as she gently takes your injured wrist. You don’t know what she does, but the pain and bruising is suddenly gone. She swiftly bows before leaving.

You’ve never verbally questioned her magical abilities but you mentally thank her as Illumi proceeds to escort you towards the beach. You think to yourself how strange this whole ordeal is but don’t feel the need to comment on that obvious fact, only remaining silent as he takes you over to two lounge chairs set up under a beach umbrella.

You sit down, propping your head up on your hand as you stare out into the ocean. This was relaxing. Shiori appears once again, placing a pineapple smoothie inside of a hollow pineapple on the little table beside you before leaving just as quickly, a red umbrella and a swirly straw placed inside for maximum corniness. You ignore it.

There was a surprising sense of tranquility within you as you sat in the lounge chair; the breeze felt nice, the sound of the waves was like a massage for your ears, and the occasional seagull noises gave you a sense of nostalgia.

Your mind was calm, yet racing all at once, a feeling you were all too familiar with. You fully relax onto the chair, kicking your sandals off and turning onto your side — away from Illumi. You rest your head on your hands, shutting your eyes as the warm sun cleansed you of your stress.

An hour passes, then two, then three.

“The view is nice.” Illumi finally speaks, continuing to stare ahead of him as he had been doing since he sat down.

You don’t acknowledge him, not that he minded — for once — as he retained his calm demeanor.

Illumi continued after a few minutes, ”We’re going to have dinner with my family back at Kukuroo Mountain tomorrow.”

Your heart sunk into your stomach. You immediately sit up, looking over at him for the first time since you came here.

“What?!” you ask, clearly distraught over this unfortunate information.

Illumi turns his head slightly, shifting his eyes toward you as he repeats himself, “We are going to have dinner with my family back at Kukuroo Mountain tomorrow.” he turns forward again. “It’ll only be for a few hours, we’ll come back to the hotel once it’s over.”

“But-but why?”

“Because we have more to do here.” Illumi states. God, you can’t stand him.

You fully sit up in the chair, “I’m asking why are we suddenly having dinner with them when you’ve never introduced them to me before?”

“They’ve been wanting to meet you since they found out about you, especially my mother.” Illumi taps his chin with his pointer finger. “I reached a compromise last night: you said the lack of people took away from your ability to enjoy time with me, and my family won’t stop pestering me about you, so by taking you to have dinner with them, I’m killing two birds with one stone.”

Unbeknownst to you, the rest of the Zoldycks, at least his mother and father, had been extremely curious about you. Illumi had only mentioned you to his father when he was asking for permission to construct your living quarters near the Butler’s Quarters as well as when asking for his advice on courtship. The idea of Illumi being in love with someone completely caught the man off guard, but he gave Illumi what he wanted nonetheless.

His mother found out when she questioned her husband about the construction workers, her jaw dropping dramatically before immediately bolting to find Illumi. She spread the news and hounded Illumi since then, never missing an opportunity to ask a question about you, which were all left unanswered, and even going as far as to harass Shiori and any other butlers who saw you in person. She never got the answers she wanted from them, courtesy of Illumi.

His father, on the other hand, was patient and allowed Illumi to do his thing, thinking he was finally transitioning into the next stage in life. That doesn’t mean he didn’t order his loyal, pink haired butler to keep tabs on you, having her use her monocle to record her very rare interactions with you. He even had her join the large group of butlers Illumi took with him on his trip, giving him intel on what went on as everything unfolded.

Illumi was aware and assigned her with jobs that would keep her the furthest from you.

“What?! Why would they want to meet me?! Did you lie about me to make me seem cool?!” your voice raises slightly.

Illumi doesn’t react to it. “I only told my father that you were my partner, that’s it. I’m guessing he told my mother who then told everyone else.”

Illumi didn’t want to introduce you too soon for one simple reason: you weren’t ready. He wanted you to be his happy, willing partner in everyone’s eyes, even those who knew better, and was concerned your lack of respect and unpredictable behavior would ruin that image.

It made sense for them to be so curious, none of them had ever imagined Illumi of all people finding a lover and being so committed to them. They were intrigued and wanted to know who it was that Illumi thought worthy enough for his time, effort, and affections.

You’re clearly terrified at the thought.

You sink back onto the chair, pulling your knees close to you as you think of all the different ways you’ll be humiliated and brutally tortured, how high their expectations of you must be, and how they’ll laugh when they find out you’re just a normal, average person. They probably thought you were also some kind of murderer, taking jobs and lives left and right. It was nerve-wracking.

“I don’t…” you start, “I don’t want to…”

Illumi looks over at you. “I did what you wanted, you can’t back out of it now.”

“Why'd you even bother telling me this? You never told me your plans before!”

“You said communication was key in a healthy relationship.” he answered.

You don’t say anything else to him. Whenever you thought you’d gotten the upper hand, Illumi found a way to counter it. You wondered if you would still have to meet his family tomorrow if you had kept your mouth shut the other day or if Illumi would’ve even told you about it if you hadn’t started that argument during breakfast.

He was taking you into consideration, just in all the wrong ways.

The two of you sit in silence once again, your mind dreading tomorrow’s dinner and his mind as relaxed as can be. You continue to sit there for a couple more hours before Illumi announces it was time to head back.

Your mind never stopped racing, replaying thoughts of them attacking you over and over again. You don’t say anything during the car ride, you don’t say anything during dinner, which was much appreciated, and you don’t say anything as you ponder in the shower, only coming out after Illumi rushes you for taking too long. He slides onto his side of the bed after coming out of the bathroom, reaching for the remote and turning on the TV. You were already tucked under the blankets, trying and failing to fall into a deep slumber as your mind continued to torment you with endless possibilities.

Illumi browses through channels until he ultimately settles on a random cooking show. He didn’t particularly care for it, only wanting something to fill the silence while he waited for something. You shift constantly before laying on your back, allowing yourself to watch as the contestants on TV failed to execute a successful dinner service, a British man pointing out all their faults and demanding they fix it.

Watching the show eased some of your anxiety so you stay up for another couple of hours before you feel yourself beginning to drift off. You turn onto your side once more, getting comfortable as you try to fall asleep again.

Illumi sees this and swiftly powers the TV off, completely turning the room pitch black as the curtain covering the balcony door was shut. He continues to sit up, however, eyes lingering on you in the darkness.

He suddenly moves, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you towards the middle of the bed, wrapping his arms around you and causing all traces of sleepiness to leave you immediately. You shift once, slightly pushing against his arm. He only pulls you closer to him. You shift again, pushing harder this time. He only tightens his grip. He was getting way too comfortable.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your heart rate beginning to quicken.

“Holding you.” Illumi stated simply.

It was clear by your body language that you were uncomfortable, body tense and stiff as you tried not to rub against him even more than you already had. He didn’t mind, though.

You internally curse him for spooning you as you now find yourself unable to sleep. You lay wide awake in his arms, too nervous to move due to how close and personal he was, but too uncomfortable to stay still either. You couldn’t help but shift a bit more, eventually finding a position comfortable enough to grant you the escape of a deep sleep. Illumi, however, remains wide awake, a slight smile on his face as he absorbs your warmth once again.

Tomorrow will be one hell of a day.

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