#i feel very hollow and cold and i think this will be it . do not worry for me and thank you if anyone sees this for all these years of

[lotus-tower]

somehow when writing all this I forgot about the prosthetic phallus. gintoki the true protagonist whose sword is made all the more sword-like because its non-literality conveys more efficiently that what it embodies is the swordconcept—prosthetic also because it’s being forged before our eyes (though without us noticing at first). gintama says “if you don’t have your own, store-bought is fine” about the great institution of the Cool Signature Shounen Sword, which is funny, but mainly gintama posits that in the end you have to craft your own with everyone’s help anyway.

it’s then really interesting for gintoki’s evil clone to have, quite literally, a prosthetic dick. and kintoki knows that the dick is the key, that the dick is fundamental to gintama’s language of worth and its basic fabric—and he clearly understands that non-literality, that prostheticness is okay. in fact, maybe from his perspective, being designed to be what he is, the cold “facts” of gintoki as a character are quite obvious to him—blueprint data he was given as part of his construction. he at no point seems to have any real investment in the idea of being a human vs being a robot. he’s here to usurp gintoki as an animanga character, as a protagonist, so it really doesn’t matter. whether he’s artificial doesn’t really matter—according to his instructions manual gintoki is also artificial. and so someone as arrogant and self-absorbed yet relationally aware as kintoki feels neither inferior nor superior for being a literal robot.

but he doesn’t understand it, not really. he doesn’t understand the whys of the prosthetic phallus or the gintama swordconcept in general. this is, of course, because he isn’t gintoki but was instead designed to be Golden Boy Alpha Male gintoki, and gintama is fundamentally a story based in loserspace. by which I mean not an “objective” space where all losers go (kintoki is obviously a loser too), but a space focused on, preoccupied with, and making productive, loserhood. every part of kintoki’s body was designed in a way that makes him fundamentally incompatible with this, so of course he doesn’t understand.

tama, like lake toya, is a character whose artificial nature only serves to make her thematic package starker and easier to receive. gintama is generally blunt in its messages. just like lake toya is more sword-like by visibly carrying the naked idea of the sword, tama is made more human by being a robot that gained sentience through the Magic Humanity-Granting Seed. gengai’s introductory episode also very effectively used a hollow robot holding a very tender and sincere message inside it for sentimental effect. this is also a reminder that the first time we meet gengai, he’s constructed artificial facsimiles of his son—not meant to replace him, though, but rather for him to project his emotions on, and to embody a certain kind of will.

so by the time of kintoki’s introduction, we know that robots can be sentient, and this doesn’t really require any real storytelling or justification. and we know that gengai isn’t the type of character to actually think a robot can replace a person, as that person—rather, he built kintoki because he agreed with shinpachi and kagura that gintoki was fucking annoying, and he built kintoki to replace gintoki instrumentally. and, to his credit, kintoki does what he’s designed to do. and he doesn’t want to replace gintoki as a person—he does understand his assignment, he understands the blueprint data, he understands the instructions manual. if he wanted to replace gintoki as gintoki, he would have killed him from the getgo. he wants to replace gintoki as the main character, instrumentally, and for this purpose making gintoki part of his harem serves to convey how effective he’s been at accomplishing his goal.

he reboots the world as a vapid moe harem because that’s the kind of series that is most straightforwardly built around how important, unique, and special the main character is. he has no use for loserspace—he reads the abridged gintama script and sees that the ensemble cast must trust him, rely on him, and have their hearts moved by him—and he’s like, well, okay, but why is he a loser then? it would be more efficient like this.

which is to say, kintoki understands that he must be the recipient of all these relationships and emotions, but he fundamentally does not understand Hole. many, many people project all sorts of things onto gintoki. gengai projected his grief over his son onto his (very much non-sentient, yet all the more endearing as a carrier for it) robot. no one can project onto kintoki. kintoki understands that he’s empty inside—he’s a robot, after all, and he’s like two weeks old, and he sees the script, he sees that gintoki is too, it all checks out—he sees that gintama is lame, that it’s stupid, that it’s gross, that time doesn’t pass meaningfully, that time can keep cycling—so why not turn it into an incel fantasy harem? What is the difference between his dick joke and gintoki’s (gintama’s) dick joke? It’s still a dick?

I think that gintama’s lack of interest in engaging with dichotomies like human and non-human (in the biological or racial sense), organic and inorganic, is a large driving force behind what gives kintoki an interesting, understated texture. again, he is not concerned with being a robot. if anything, he is assured by it, he’s certain in his purpose and his goals and his ability to achieve them. there is no insecurity over being a hunk of metal, there is no insecurity about his humanity or lack thereof (see, he can just take his head off to wash it), there isn’t even loneliness despite him being one android in a huge city of people unlike him, because the protagonist is inherently a lonely role anyway (and gintoki is human and still lonely among humans). he feels no envy or animosity towards flesh.

instead, you could almost argue that he’s secure in artificiality. he thinks that because his dick is prosthetic, he can succeed as the main character. because his dick is prosthetic, it will last when others wither. because his dick is prosthetic, the world will revolve around him. it’s a fascinating concept, to have a main character with a prosthetic phallus for the sake of an embodied spiritsword, and to then create an evil clone of him who fixates on the prosthetic, and literalizes the wrong part of the metaphor. or maybe, literalizes it in the opposite direction? rather than the prosthetic (wooden) sword being a vessel for the thematic spirit of gintama, it’s gintama’s spirit—understood here not incorrectly by kintoki as its places, relationships, and symbols—that are twisted in service of the prosthetic sword, to highlight how shiny and prosthetic it is, how golden and stainless and immortal.

all this because he doesn’t understand hole. classic straight man mistake

[lotuseye]

yes, satoru, i will - it's the day of the parade.

satoru  gojo  and  his  special  grade  sorcerer  ex-wife  are  assigned  to  a  mission  together. part ii , trash magic.

word   count:   1566.

genre:   multi-chapter.

characters:   satoru gojo & special grade sorcerer ex wife.

trigger   warning:   none.

he is every bit of an annoying ass she remembers him to be.

it was a hard, long, thorny process - her learning curve embarrassingly flat when it came to satoru who indulged himself lavishly with the fruit of being the only person she had ever feel seen with. on par, with. understood with. it had not been what she had pictured for herself, for either of them, to end up with an entire hall filled with things they no longer spoke of, oceans stretching for thousands of miles between them. it wasn’t the divorce, not really - there would have been no divorce in the first place if he was capable of the same empathy she had felt in their youth, or at least what she thought to be empathy, when after loads of paperwork signed seemed like the whim of a teenage boy who did not understand what kind of a commitment he was getting himself into.

now, she could not call satoru someone that could not commit, that could not dedicate, when she has watched him work tirelessly year after year all for a better world for them. when he religiously waited upon suguru, when he stood tall against the upper echelon and when he decided to return to jujutsu high as a teacher, having found his hope in the young. he became the benefactor, mentor, older brother, father - whatever his students needed him to be, without complain, without hesitation. how could she, when he brought megs home, the boy of six with his father's eyes and his zenin pride? no. if she could say that, everything would be much simpler. less filled of heartache.

satoru was perfectly capable of dedication, commitment, and effort.

just not for her.

“ i am going to say something, but i don’t know how well you’ll take it. ” she spits out what she had been imagining rolling out of her tongue for the past half and an hour. she had time to ponder on their walk in the star corridors, having decided to start with the most reasonable option, which was talking to tengen to see if they had any inkling on the problem. that, and also simply checking on them would not hurt, especially considering the unstable frequency of the barriers that kept them all safe and sound, suppressed the emergence of cursed spirits and let the world become a more breathable place for sorcerers, even for a brief moment.

“ look at you considering my feelings, ” pleased and still lighthearted despite the alarming situation at hand, she doesn’t need to look over at him to know that he’s grinning. he wouldn’t, if he knew that she was about to open the box of pandora, but it was what it was - the hazardous bliss of ignorance. she can already taste the regret, bitter in the back of her throat like her very own curse to swallow. footsteps slowing down, yet not coming to a halt, keeping her gaze on the dimly lighted marble.

“ do you think it might have anything to do with the last star plasma vessel? ” she asks, and as soon as it leaves her mouth it sounds like a sane thing to ask and the most horrendous memory she could have brought up for him in the first place. his infinity almost buzzes in her ears, as she ruefully endures the sudden cold that creeps on her bones. he knows what she’s talking about, of course he does. the day he came home with that hollow look in his eyes, the very look that haunted him for years to come. riko amanai’s death cost them a lot more than they could afford, an entirety of a class disintegrating over time, a painful decay & an eventual dissolving in the unforgiving waters of grief.

“ it has been fine over a decade, ” satoru is not offended, but perhaps it would have felt better if he was - anything would be better than the self-hatred that dripped like the petals of a belladonna from his voice, shame and guilt so unbecoming of him. “ if something was wrong, wouldn’t it show itself sooner? ”

a valid question, to which she doesn’t have an answer to but a shrug, now feeling like she’s brought it over for nothing. “ you’re probably right, ” she concludes, now a lot softer than their initial greeting. it can’t be helped, the tenderness she had for him would survive foes greater than anger or disappointment. they were no longer children, and they knew better than to sulk over the unfortunate circumstances they have had to navigate in life. satoru, despite the intentional reservation on her part, was too precious to be discarded with so little care. he had been her best friend, once. “ i’m sorry, i was just thinking about what might have triggered this. ” she offers an apologetic glance, and it is satoru’s turn not to return it, keeping his head straight on the tiles that thud under their each step. “ nah, don’t be. what happened, happened. if you have a point, we can’t ignore it. anyway, ” he grasps the two handles of the doors that lay across him, and pushes it open. “ we’re about to find out. ”

.....

good news was that it wasn't what they feared.

bad news was that it was something much more difficult.

“ any clues on how to get this over with? ” she asks to the six eyes, steps much faster than the ones that brought her here, wishing to be done with the place as soon as possible. tengen creeped her out, and the tomb of the star corridor very shockingly did not make it to the list of her top ten vacation destinations. something about the energy that accumulated in the room overwhelmed her, dialed up to eleven, each cell buzzing with the overload of cursed energy. “ because i don’t know how we are supposed to figure out the problem of tengen glitching because they are losing their touch with humanity. what do we even do? take them outside to go touch some grass? take them out for dinner, roll them up in tinder? ”

he is laughing, and it is absurd - so absurd that she smacks him in the shoulder. “ don’t laugh, ‘toru, this is serious! ” but even as she says it she can’t help but snorting at the visualization of her own suggestion, tengen taking a stroll in the park, waiting for a blind date in the restaurant in the corner. “ tengen in tinder? ” he is still chuckling, and the sound is preciously kept and saved in-between her ribs. “ what does their bio say? foundation of jujutsu society, likes ping pong and fishing? ” and now they are both laughing, and as idiotic as it sounds, she does not remember the last time she laughed in satoru’s presence. “ shut up, satoru, ” she snorts once more, letting the last lights of the day blind her momentarily as they walk out of tengen’s quarters. “  good to know that you’re still an idiot. ”

“ an idiot who you still call ‘toru, ” he drawls out, nudging her ankle with his foot, teasing & coy. she offers him a knowing look. “ old habits die hard, ” she shrugs. “ don’t get any ideas. ”

“ alright, alright. ” hands up in surrender, it takes him a moment to realize she is walking over to the limo that has been waiting up front, the engine starting at the sight of her. she doesn’t need to look over to know satoru is trailing behind her with an arched brow. “ calling it a day already? rude of you to leave me alone. ” she turns halfway just to arch an eyebrow. “ some of us don’t have rct to reset their cooked brain, six eyes. us humble mortals need their beauty sleep to stay so brilliant. ”

before she is done with her sentence satoru’s heavy palm slaps the roof of the car, lanky frame doubling over to take an intrusive peek inside the driver’s seat, ijichi’s meek sound of terror muffled through the windows. “ ijichi, get the fuck out, ” satoru yanks the driver’s door open, gesturing the man outside with a far-fetched grace. “ i’ll be driving her myself. ”

“ but… but the orders were clear… ” ijichi trails, stammering, eyes finding the expected guest of the ride to which the woman replies with placing a soothing hand on his shoulder. “ it’s okay, don’t worry about it. i’ll give you a call when i need you, yeah? ” the urge to apologize on behalf of her ex husband is strong, but if she had attempted to apologize from every single person satoru was rude to she’d never get anywhere ever - so a kind smile is all that is offered and ijichi knows better than to push around. with a nod, he disappears from the sight of them in mere seconds, leaving the estranged couple. satoru, pleased, slides to the other side of the car to now pull the passenger door open, hand extended to her. “ may i take you to your hotel, ma’am? ”

the grin that curls the corners of her maroon glossed lips is absolutely diabolical. “ who said i’m staying at a hotel? ” just the look on his face is enough for her to break it off with a pat on his shoulder, cracking a bright and amused grin, slipping inside the seat. “ i’m just fucking with you, drive me to shoko’s. ”

“ you are not seeing the pearly gates, woman, i tell ya'. ”

© written by lotuseye. do not translate or copy my work.

[cowboyjunkiesz]

.

[pucksandpower]

Do-Over

Logan Sargeant x Andretti!Reader

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

Logan’s hands are shaking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

September 10th, 2022.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

You.

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

But first, there’s tradition to uphold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always,” you reply, your gaze unwavering.

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

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

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

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

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

“You did great today,” you say.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither can Logan.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, he can’t help himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

***

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

The first American to do so since Mario Andretti himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I really do.”

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

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

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

He’s found a home.

A family.

And he’s never letting go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for Logan Sargeant, that person is you.

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

He’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

And with you, he’s already won.

[luveline]

i just discovered bombshell reader but omfg she got hit in the face with a sledgehammer??? how does the healing process go for her? especially since she’s very focused on her looks. how would she cope?

thank you for requesting <3 fem

Your new scars are… an adjustment. 

The worst one is where the hammer hit you. Where your jaw shattered, and the impact of the hammerhead split your skin. You don’t remember the pain, just the nausea, and the blackness as your consciousness slipped away, and now you have a permanent reminder stretched from the corner of your mouth to your jaw. 

You turn your chin up in the mirror, looking. When you smile the scar puckers, rigid and starkly purple against your skin.  

You can hear Spencer in your kitchen. He’s singing. You haven’t heard him sing many times, despite all your days and nights spent together. Your smile is out of your hands, you don’t really think about it, and so for the first time in weeks you see your own happiness in the mirror. 

You didn’t have your jaw wired for as long as most people, just three weeks. At first you’d decided against it, and then you’d realised it wasn’t really an option. That entire time, Spencer stood by your side like he’d been glued there supporting every decision with vigour. And considering he hadn’t been your boyfriend for very long —your best friend, arguably, but not officially your partner— he’s done more than you ever expected of him. He’s been perfect. 

He continues to be everything you need. “Hey, Y/N! Are you eating breakfast today or not?” 

You give yourself a last look in the mirror, cringe at your scars, and check your newly repaired teeth. They look fine, Spencer swears that he can’t tell the difference. 

You can. 

You leave your room for the kitchen. There are twin plates of breakfast waiting and steaming hot on the kitchen table, with a glass of juice and a second of water waiting beside them. Spencer’s coffee sits half empty beside the cutlery. 

“I love breakfast. What are we having, Spencer Reid, egg and sausage muffins again?” 

He appears from your little pantry with a big smile. “No, it’s bacon and egg. But I can make something else.”

“That’s perfect, it’s perfect.” 

Spencer puts a package of rice crackers down on the table. “Let me get the hazelnut spread. Sit down.” 

“It’s fine, we can have them after. You need to eat before it goes cold, Spence.” You open your hand for him. “Please?”

Spencer takes your hand, but only for you to sit. He stays standing at your legs, looking down at you, all brown curls and eyes as his hand runs up your arm to your shoulder, where it stays. 

The other follows a similar path, but then he holds your face, and you feel your breath catch. 

Forward, for Spencer. 

Suddenly, he’s the confident one. 

“You were in there for a long time,” he says. 

“Just making sure I look alright.” 

“You do. You look more than alright.” His thumb presses into your cheek, forcing a hollow. 

You lean into it. 

“You’re beautiful. Nothing can change that.” 

You need the comfort, and you know you’ve had enough. He keeps telling you how pretty you are, and you are, but he must be getting sick of it. 

…But no. He’s not getting tired of it. 

“Love you,” you whisper. 

He’s only had a couple of those from you. Many more since your injury, not because you didn’t love him, but because it can be synonymous with so many things, like please, and thank you, and please stay. Lately, you’ve had to ask him for more than you’ve ever asked before. 

“I love you, too,” he says, with that pout that tells you his cheeks will be pink before he’s so much as sat down. 

He rubs your cheek. Over and over, little circles as your eyes close. You’re tired again. His hands smell like toast and butter. 

“It’s really not as bad as you think it is. Nobody at work will think anything less of you.” 

“Of course they will. I used to be perfect.” 

“Hey. That’s not fair, to you or anyone. A scar doesn’t have the power to– to make you less perfect,” —you peel your eyes open at his intensity— “you couldn’t be any less pretty. It’s not possible.” 

“I know it’s ugly, Spencer.” 

“You keep saying that, but it’s not.” He raises his second hand to your cheek, the one with the scar, careful though it stopped feeling tender to the touch weeks ago. The pad of his thumb follows the line. 

You raise your chin, pulling him down for a quick kiss. “Sorry,” you say against his lips. 

He smiles in turn. “It’s okay. I can keep telling you.” 

“Can you tell me again?” 

Spencer kisses you again. His way of kissing has been toned down now, and sometimes you miss feeling like he was gonna press you against a wall, but it was necessary. Even now you feel a phantom twinge as his nose smushes yours. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, pulling back now, just one hand at your neck. “You are. You’re so pretty it gives me palpitations.” 

“That can’t be good.” 

“I think it’s really bad.” He laughs like an idiot. “I just don’t care. I’ve had you-provoked tachycardia for years. Nothing’s gonna change that now.” 

—

bombshell au

[yandere-wishes]

⭒ㅤׂ ɪ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʙᴇ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇㅤׂ ⭒

⭒ㅤ𓈒 Yandere!WuWa! Men x Reader 𓈒 ⭒

゜⌒ヽ❥ Dark Romance

°•❃•°

꒷꒦꒷Scar | 伤痕

Your fear tastes like nectar, thick and sweet, and sacrilegious. Scar gulps down your apprehension in starving strides. Cradling the burn between his teeth, savoring the sensation of the embers coiling and seething inside his veins. You're too perfect, thrashing underneath him, caged and defiant his little lost lamb. trying to flee, begging for freedom like a fever dream high. He licks your iridescent tears with zealous maniacal jubilation. Relishing in the soft warm flesh of your cheek marinated in your woe. He wants to taste them every day, force them from your pretty petrified eyes with scorching kisses and touches that shatter your very bones.

Scar's talons etch jagged filigrees across your body engraving terrors and torments all parodying "I love you". But he can't love, not really, love is too gentle too vain, he needs to consume, to feel the reverberations trapped between your bones. Scar's kisses burn wakes down your spine, slipping between the vertebras. Hollowing out your essence piece by piece, his hunger knows no bonds, refusing to dwindle until he's bled every delicious part of you dry. Until he feels your heart between his teeth.

˚✶˚Jiyan | 忌炎

You trace his markings, nails gliding gingerly through the jagged crystals of his tacet mark. He kisses the hollow of your palm, basking in the sweet giggle you gift him. You're his precious treasure, a sweet gem imported from the silk roads themselves. He'd do anything to keep you safe binding your soul to his tattered one. Jiyan is the Qingloong that everyone looks up to, the indestructible pillar of Jinzhou. And yet a simple smile from you is all it takes to shatter his illusion of strength.

Between patients, his mother would sometimes grace him with fables about Dragons, not Loong, not the creature their nation worshiped but Dragons monsters from the western nations. She'd tell him How they hoarded exotic treasures from all corners of the world. Growing powerful in the light of other's envy. They did anything to protect their gold coins and pearl necklaces, kill, and maim in the name of obsession. Back then he'd found such creatures disgusting, dubbed it blasphemy to even mention them in the same breath as the deific Loong. Now he thinks he's more dragon than Loong. Hoarding you away keeping you only to himself. Promising to maul any who try to rob him of your sweet kisses and angelic laughter.

𒆜Calcharo | 卡卡罗

You come prepackaged with a soft smile and a docile heart. Calcharo thinks it's all from the privilege of having lived a satisfactory life. Cherished, overfed, protected. All the things stripped of him so young. He shouldn't be jealous though, after all, he has the complacency to thank for turning his darling into such an ideal doll. Jejune and helpless, shivering under his cold touch. He harbors you between his thighs, enjoying the way your pearl-kissed dress pools on the floor. An ivory testament to the innocence he so craves. Calcharo's calloused fingers entrap the hollow of your hips pulling you harshly against him, he can't get enough of you. His lips kiss the dip of your neck nose bumping the back of your ear. Enraptured by the floral scent of your perfume.

You tried to run again today, flee when he'd been out escorting a merchant across the desert terrain. His men had caught you, binded you all pretty and left you in his chamber. He flashes you a crooked smile upon entry. Watching as you struggle and glare knowing damn well it won't change a thing. "Really little rabbit? I thought we had ceased playing such foolish games." He grasps your chin pulling you closer, your knees slide across the wooden floor scuffing from the friction. His cold lips trace your own as he whispers degradations laced with romance. Calcharo leans down for the kill, a lethal crushing kiss. Trapping your lips and engulfing your essence. Laughing when you're foolish enough to return the favor. You shiver and moan and it takes every bit of willpower not to devour you right then and there.

☄Mortefi | 莫特斐

The universe reverberates to a familiar tune when he first sees you. Singing a melody he swears he's heard each night when he lays his wry head to rest. What kind of creature are you? A cacophony of starsongs and golden echoes. He longs to touch you, to permit his flames to traverse your body searing you until you shine with the purity you all so deserve. He loses himself in the melody of your voice, the lost tune of a fading nova. Something too ethereal to be of this crude world.

Mortefi fancies himself a scientist and takes utmost pride in the way his mind curves around a problem. Floating through the riddles seeking answers in the dark. He can fix anything, create anything. And yet you stand before him defiant of his understanding. Mortefi grabs you by the collar, cradling a rogue sun within his palms, kissing its rays trying to grasp comprehension between his teeth and swallow it whole. It doesn't work by the end of the kiss you are still an anomaly and he is still a scientist wearing the heart as some hapless love-struck schoolboy. The need to understand you grows claws tearing at his mind, desperation pierces his throat whenever he catches a mere glimpse of you. He needs to understand, to tear you open and choke your secrets.

҉　Aalto | 秋水

Aalto's fingers weave through your hair, silk traversing through bone and flesh, flowing free in the aero he produces subconsciously. He cradles you delicately in his arms, trying his best to ignore the sour frown etched upon your face. He creates fables, spinning stories out of silk and air trying to win your interest with tales of stray sheep and fallen stars. Of lost treasures on the jade road and little girls with fire flowing through their veins. Your frown doesn't falter.

He kisses you again, and again and again. Trying to pry out adoration and devotion from between your bones. He struggles, whining about detesting and freedom. It sounds so trivial especially when he can give you everything your heart desires. He can't let you go, not when his very essence aches to feel you between his arms. Aalto wonders what stories he must make to erase that blood-curdling frown of yours. What information does he need to lay out your feet for you to grace his lips with your own? A lover's kiss, not whatever this is. I love you he whispers, he doubts you even care.

Let me know what you think. Should I do yandere Jiyan x reader x Yandere Calcharo next? ~💜

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ Silent treatment. ✦ 」 Mattheo riddle x reader

Summary: Giving Mattheo the silent treatment after an argument wasn't the best idea after all

Words: 5k

Warning: [smut , heavy smut , strong language NSFW]

On days like these, I feel an overwhelming urge to rearrange Mattheo's face. Despite our discussions and my heartfelt pleas, he seems to have a remarkable talent for ignoring everything I say.

The memory of our conversation echoed in my mind: my desperate pleas for him to leave that wretched boy alone, the hollow promises he'd made to appease me.

And now, that very same boy was lying in the hospital. Quite a coincidence, isn't it?

The cold shoulder was the only response I could muster, a potent cocktail of disappointment and anger simmering just beneath.

"Look," he started, a cocky edge to his voice, "that jerk had it coming. You can't just let people walk all over you."

My blood ran cold. He wasn't remorseful, he was proud. My icy glare intensified.

"So you think injuring someone and getting them suspended is the answer?" I countered, my voice laced with controlled fury.

He shrugged, a nonchalant act that did little to hide the flicker of unease in his eyes. "He'll learn his lesson," he muttered, avoiding my gaze.

“ so , are you “ my voice tinged with disappointment as I turned away, leaving him behind. Maybe I wasn't that hungry after all

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

"Ah, I see you're in the mood for a silent treatment today," he remarked dryly as he leaned against the nearby wall, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Must be a new strategy in the art of communication, or perhaps it's just your way of keeping things exciting."

"Either way," he continued, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, "I'm impressed by your dedication to the cause. Who needs words when we can communicate through meaningful silence, right?" His eyes sparkled with amusement as he waited for my response, clearly enjoying the playful banter.

"Meaningful silence?" I scoffed. "That's a new one, Mattheo. Very poetic."

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Hey, I'm just trying to keep up with your level of dramatics."

I crossed my arms, feigning offense. "My dramatics? You're the one who turns every situation into a Shakespearean tragedy."

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Is that so? Well, I suppose every play needs a leading lady."

I couldn't help but smile despite myself. "And what role do you think you play in this drama?"

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The charming rogue, of course. The one who keeps the plot interesting."

I shook my head. "You certainly do that, Mattheo. Whether I like it or not."

His grin was infectious. "I'll take that as a compliment. Now, are you ready to break the silence and actually talk to me?"

“actually I have something to do “ i said

As I turned to leave, Mattheo's taunting words followed me. "Ignite me, Lady Macbeth."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Don't flatter yourself," I retorted.

He grabbed my arm lightly as I tried to walk away. "Don't roll your eyes unless you want this conversation to continue somewhere else y/n "

"I have something important to do," I replied coolly, trying to free my arm from his grasp.

He persisted, asking, "Like what?"

"Visiting a patient in the hospital," I said, finally pulling away and smiling.

Mattheo chuckled. "You'll regret this little act, baby."

"I thought we were in a play," I quipped before turning and walking away.

Truth be told, I had no intention of visiting that snobby Gryffindor in the hospital. Mattheo's broken promise irked me, but I couldn't muster any sympathy for the boy who got what he deserved.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

As the days went by, Mattheo's attempts to regain my attention became more evident. He started showing up unexpectedly in places I frequented, always with a casual excuse or a playful remark.

But today , today was something else , he deliberately sat closer to a group of giggling Ravenclaw girls, laughing a little too loudly at their jokes and engaging in animated conversation.

I couldn't help but notice, my eyes flickering over to his table every now and then. It was frustrating how effortlessly he could draw attention, even when he wasn't trying. I busied myself with my own friends, trying to ignore the pang of jealousy that crept into my chest.

However, Mattheo wasn't done with his antics. As the meal progressed, he caught my eye from across the room and winked mischievously. It was a subtle gesture, but it made my heart race in a way I didn't want to admit.

Feeling a surge of annoyance mixed with curiosity, I excused myself from my friends and made my way over to his table. "What's with the show?" I asked, trying to sound unaffected.

Mattheo grinned, leaning back in his chair casually. "Just trying to keep things interesting," he replied with a shrug. "Besides, it's not every day I get to make you jealous."

I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. "You wish."

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Admit it, you were totally watching ."

“ well played riddle well played “ I walked away

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The days crawled by, each one painted in shades of frosty silence between Matteo and me. Rumors swirled around the school like rogue Bludgers. Had we finally called it quits? The question hung heavy in the air, fueled by Mattheo's brooding demeanor and my own steely resolve.

One particularly dreary afternoon, I found myself drowning my sorrows (or at least trying to ) in a big cup of apple juice in the library. Lost in a dusty tome about ancient magical creatures, I barely registered the approaching figure until a shadow fell across the page.

Looking up, I encountered a smug face I vaguely recognized – Zacharias Clifton, a Quidditch player from Ravenclaw notorious for his greasy hair and even greasier personality. "Mind if I join you, lovely?" he drawled, his voice dripping with a forced charm that made me cringe.

Before I could muster a response, he slid into the seat opposite me, invading my personal space with a confidence that reeked of entitlement. "So, I hear you're single these days," he continued, his eyes gleaming with a predatory glint.

I gritted my teeth, the urge to hex him into a toad growing stronger by the second. Just as I was about to unleash a verbal scathing of epic proportions, a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Actually, Clifton, she's very much taken."

Mattheo stood in the doorway, his usual swagger amplified tenfold. His gaze, however, wasn't directed at Zacharias, but at me. A flicker of something that looked suspiciously like possessiveness crossed his features before he turned his attention back to the unwelcome visitor.

"See your broomstick awaits," Mattheo said, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "Don't let me keep you from your precious practice."

Zacharias, his face a comical shade of purple, sputtered something incoherent before gathering his dignity (or what little he possessed) and retreating with a disgruntled scowl.

The library door swung shut with a satisfying thud, leaving Mattheo and me alone in the hushed silence. My heart hammered against my ribs, a chaotic rhythm that seemed to echo in the stillness.

Mattheo took a tentative step forward, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before gently settling on the back of my chair. "Can we talk?" he murmured, his voice a husky whisper.

"Yeah, just not here," I managed to get the words out, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Lead the way," he said, his arm tightening around me possessively as we walked out of the library

The anger that had simmered within me for days threatened to fade once I saw him, and it just hit me how much I missed him.

As we made our way to our secret chamber (the hidden chamber we found last year and claimed as ours),tucked away from the curious eyes and whispers of Hogwarts, Mattheo's touch took on a possessive edge. His hands found every excuse to claim me, a silent proclamation to the entire school that I was still his .

With each step down the narrow passage, Mattheo drew me closer, his fingertips tracing tantalizing patterns on my skin. The sensation sent delightful shivers through me, igniting a quiet thrill of belonging in his arms amidst the bustling halls of our magical world.

The soft glow of the hidden chamber beckoned us, casting an enchanting ambiance that mirrored the intimacy between us.

As soon as we were finally in , I turned to him,my voice tinged with anger."What was that all about ? A show for the audience ? "

He met my gaze, a playful glint simmering beneath the surface of his seriousness. "Just reminding everyone that you're happily taken."

"Happily?" I scoffed, pushing against his arm, "We haven't spoken a word to each other in days!"

He leaned even closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "And whose fault is that, love? " His warm breath tickled my ear, sending shivers cascading down my spine.

My cheeks burned, a mixture of annoyance and something else entirely swirling within me. "Yeah, going to blame that all on me now?"

"No," he paused, his eyes searching mine. "I just don’t understand why you're so mad about what I did to that perk."

I sighed, "it’s not about him , Mattheo… You know that," I conceded, my voice softer than I intended. "It’s about the promise you made and broke. You know how much I hate that."

It stirred up emotions I'd rather forget. Let's just say, coming from a family where promises were often broken had its drawbacks.

"So you've chosen to give me the silent treatment instead of talking it out? Is that your solution y/n?"

I scoffed, crossing my arms defensively. "I didn’t expect it to drag on this long. I was upset,but Maybe then I get tired of being treated like an afterthought."

"An afterthought?" he scoffed back, incredulous. "You haven't spoken to me in days!"

"And whose fault is that?" I shot back, my voice rising. "You waltzed over to those Ravenclaw girls like they were the only ones who existed!"

"That was a stupid attempt to get your attention, alright!" he snapped, his frustration boiling over. "I never meant to make you feel like an afterthought."

"But you did!" I yelled, my voice echoing in the damp chamber.

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "I messed up, okay? I know that! But instead of talking to me about it, you shut me out."

"And what was I supposed to do?" I countered, my voice softening slightly. "Sit back and watch you flirt with every girl who walks by?"

"It wasn't flirting!" he defended, his voice strained.

"Then what was it?" I challenged, narrowing my eyes. "Because from where I was standing, it looked an awful lot like flirting."

"That's not fair," he said, his voice low. "And what about what you said? Visiting that perk in the hospital? Was that supposed to make me feel better?"

He was so close that I could feel his breath on my face

"Maybe I overreacted about Michael," I mumbled, finally breaking the silence.

"Maybe you did," he agreed cautiously anger in his eyes and lips so close to mine

“it’s really fucking rich of you to push the blame into me “ I screamed in his face frustration boiling over

“yet i was the only one putting in the effort to fix things!” He said back with lips so close to mine

“you didn’t even —” pulling me close. In a rush his lips were on mine I didn’t get to finish the words . It took a few moments for me to come to my senses; letting my eyes flutter closed as i kissed him back. The kiss wasn't gentle or sweet. It was needy and heated as mattheo’s tongue moved against mine.

In an instant, I found myself pressed against the wall, his mouth devouring me hungrily. His hand on the back of my neck drew me closer, while the other rested on my waist, kneading the flesh there. He pulled away slightly, speaking against my lips “ jump”He ordered, and I complied wrapping my legs around him

"Mattheo—" He silenced me once more with a kiss.

His black hair was hanging down into his face, so i pushed it back. 

As he ended the kiss, his hands reached for my robe, tossing it aside. Next, his fingers trailed to the hem of my shirt, pulling it upward. Throughout, his gaze remained locked with mine as he removed the shirt, adding it to the pile on the ground. . “If you just wanted a dirty fuck , you should have just asked” 

Gently placing me on the bed, he observed as I sank into the soft sheets. He removed his shirt and joined me, straddling my hips without a word. His eyes held mine as he pushed up my skirt. "This stays," he stated firmly, maintaining direct eye contact.

He then moved to hook his fingers in the waistband of my underwear. Slowly, he pulled down the lace material, causing me to close my eyes in response to the sensation.

"Matt, what are you doing?" I asked breathlessly, feeling his warm breath against my thighs.

His hands glided up and down my thighs, eliciting a soft moan from me as I savored the sensation of his skin against mine. It had only been a week, but I missed this closeness immensely.

My eyes flew open as his hands gently spread my legs, his face drawing closer between my thighs.“ You’re so wet for me.” he chuckled cockily “ i this a new kink we just discovered “

“you’re so full of Yourself .” I didn’t help the smile that comes

“and you’re about to be full of me, so what does that make us?” He Murmuring as His hands wrapped around my thighs, pulling me closer to his mouth.

“ Merlin's Beard! “I moaned so loudly

never breaking eye contact as his tongue lapped at my wetness. I moaned loudly, the sensation overwhelming me as Matt's tongue explored my wetness. Each flick of his tongue and gentle suck sent waves of pleasure coursing through my body, making me tremble beneath him. My heart raced, the sound echoing in my ears as I expressed how much I had missed him.

"God, Matt, I missed you so much," I moaned, my mouth agape and my toes curling into the sheets. My hands instinctively tangled in his hair, urging him on with each movement. I cried out his name as the intensity built, feeling like I was on the brink of ecstasy.

But then, it stopped.

Confused and desperate, I lifted my head from the pillow, tears in my eyes as I struggled to catch my breath. "Why... why did you stop?" I cried out, my voice a mixture of frustration and need.

Matt flashed me an amused smile, teasing me further with a kiss to my aching clit. My breathing quickened again as he kissed along my inner thigh, deliberately avoiding where I wanted him most.

"Matt," I whimpered, regretting the frustration I must have caused him. His kisses trailed back up my body until he was face to face with me, watching me quiver beneath him.

"Please," I begged softly, feeling the desperation creeping into my voice.

“ what is it my sweet girl? “ He brushed my hair aside and planted a gentle kiss on my forehead. "You've been teasing me all week," he murmured, his eyes filled with desire. "Wearing those short skirts, laughing with my friends, giving me the silent treatment."

He kissed me again, his touch sending shivers down my spine. "I've wanted nothing more than to take you right then and there , to fuck you senseless that my name will be the only thing you remember " he confessed, his voice husky with desire.

His lips trailed down to my earlobe, where he bit it softly, eliciting another moan from me. His mouth continued its journey, claiming every inch of my body with his tongue and teeth, until he reached my chest.

I arched back, silently pleading for his attention on my breasts. With a teasing hook of his finger, he slid down the neckline of my top, removing the lace of my bra in the process. His mouth captured one nipple, sucking slowly while his free hand caressed the other.

His actions sent shivers down my spine as he licked, sucked, and bit, creating a delicious rhythm that had me gasping for more.

"I'm sorry," I cried out, tears welling up in my eyes. "I missed you so much, and seeing you laughing with those girls hurt."

"I know, my sweet girl, I know," he whispered, his head buried between my legs once more. "Let me make it up to you."

With renewed fervor, he sucked harshly on my clit, his fingers pumping in and out of me rhythmically. The combination of sensations overwhelmed me, and I couldn't help but moan in pleasure.

As my body reached its peak, I gripped his hands tightly, feeling the fluttering release of my orgasm. I moaned his name loudly, I moaned his name probably too loudly for ghosts in the castle liking, pulled him up for a passionate kiss, savoring the taste of myself on his lips.

“Turn around,” he says,

I obeyed his command to turn around, and he slowly unpinned my hair, letting it cascade down my back in loose waves. He pushed it over one shoulder with deliberate care, his fingers trailing down my spine, igniting goosebumps along my skin , his fingers trailing down my spine, brushing the skin on my back.

His lips found their way to my neck, planting soft kisses that trailed down to my shoulder. Then, I felt his fingertips running along my skin again, sending a shiver of anticipation through me. His touch entered my hot, dripping core, and I couldn't help but let out a loud moan, begging for more.

"Do you like that?" he asked, his voice filled with desire.

"Yeah," I managed to say between moans.

“Is this why you were shouting nonsense at me? Because all you really wanted was me to fuck you senseless? Huh?” His words were like fire, and as he added another finger, I couldn't help but scream in pleasure.

continued to pump his fingers into me, increasing the intensity with each stroke. his finger got faster and faster His thumb pressed onto my clit, sending waves of pleasure through my body, gripping the bedding hard as the third finger carefully joins the others hitting my g-spot continuously , trying to close my legs, his free hand keep them parted I felt my orgasm building stronger than ever before, my body unable to contain the pleasure.

He turned me around, kissing my cheek softly before returning to my open mouth, sucking my bottom lip between his own. "That was so hot," he grunted, concern lacing his tone. "Are you alright baby ?"

I took a moment to gather my thoughts, my chest heaving with each breath. Despite the intensity of the moment, my predominant feeling was one of satisfaction and desire.I hummed

“ need words my love “

"Yes Matt I’m alright " I managed to say, pulling him down for a deep, passionate kiss.

His hips pressed against mine as we kissed, his covered arousal rubbing against my heat, sending a surge of desire through me. I trailed my hands down his muscular back until I reached the waistband of his sweatpants.

"Baby, stop," he murmured, concern lacing his tone. "Are you sure you want to keep going? I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed."

"I've never been more sure about anything," I whispered, kissing his cheek. "I missed you, I want you."

He moaned as I touched his erect member through the fabric, his breath hitching slightly. "You need to stop, love," he managed to say, his voice strained with desire.

"Sorry," I replied, pulling my hands away quickly. He leaned down to kiss my neck softly, causing me to close my eyes and wrap my arms around him.

"You never have to apologize," he whispered against my earlobe before whispering, "I’m going to make love to you," and pressing his lips to mine in tender kisses. then onc again pressing his lips to mine in sweet, sweet kisses.

one of my favourite thing about mattheo is how gentle he can be. He can be so passionate when he wants to and right now i can feel the love behind his kisses. 

Feeling his cock tapping against my clit a few times, I couldn't help but let out a moan as he guided himself into me. Taking hold of my leg again, he used them both as leverage to push himself fully inside me. I moaned into his ear, my breath hitching in anticipation.

"Fuck," I whispered, watching him mutter under his breath as he slid in and out of me slowly. The sensation was incredible; I could feel every inch of him dragging over my most sensitive parts.

"Keep those pretty eyes on me, baby," he whispered, and I opened my teary eyes slowly, doing as he said. He smiled, his gaze filled with desire. "That's it, good girl ."

Still buried deep inside me, his movements began to pick up speed. My breath caught in my throat as pleasure surged through me.

"Oh," I gasped, my head dropping back as my mouth fell open in pleasure.

"You feel so fucking good," he grunted with each thrust. "So fucking mine."

I hummed in response, words escaping me as Mattheo continued to drive me wild. With each thrust, my moans grew louder, reaching a crescendo of pleasure.

"Mattheo," I moaned, his name leaving my lips like a prayer.

"That's it, baby," he replied, his lips devouring mine softly. "So beautiful, moaning my name like that."

With a gentle touch, he pushed my hair out of my face before placing his hands on my cheeks. His eyes roamed my face while he continued to thrust into me at a slow, deliberate pace. I looked at him with half-lidded eyes, my chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

As he started to thrust harder, I grabbed a fistful of the sheets, feeling the intensity building within me. His hips bucked against me, his face buried in the crook of my neck. The faster pace and increased pressure caused my eyes to roll back in my head. I was on the edge of my high, having come so close moments earlier.

"Mattheo, I can't wait any longer," I screamed out, wrapping my legs around his torso tightly and intertwining our hands.

"Not yet," he grunted, turning his head to meet my gaze. He continued to move in and out of me, keeping eye contact as he held himself up by his forearms. I was so sensitive that the delay in my orgasm began to ache, and I felt the need to let go.

"Please, let me cum, baby," I pleaded, sounded desperate, begging him not to pull away at the last minute again. "I can't..."

And just as I was about to reach my breaking point, he freed one of his hands and snuck it between us, his fingers expertly rubbing at my clit and pushing me over the edge.

"I need you to do something for me, pretty girl. Want to try something?" he asked, and I nodded, willing to do anything he asked in that moment.

He kept everything slow, almost torturous, building up the tightening pressure inside of me with each pass before thrusting so hard the next time that I felt like I was going to pass out.

"Don't be nervous," he murmured, kissing my forehead. "Just relax and let go. I'll keep going until you tell me to stop." His soft tone sent flutters through my heart, and I nodded in response.

My breath hitched as his hand returned to my clit, igniting a fire in my belly. His hard thrusts hit my g-spot, and I screamed out, clinging onto his hand as if my life depended on it.

"Shit," I hissed, feeling him deep inside me, the pleasure building into a heavy weight in my gut. A tingling sensation hummed through my limbs.

"Let go, baby," he ordered, and I did just that as waves of pleasure crashed over me. It was an intense release unlike anything I'd ever felt before, leaving me shakily tilting my head up, tears in my eyes as I watched clear fluid gushing out of me each time Mattheo pulled back.

When he noticed me watching, he withdrew entirely, bringing his soaked fingers to my clit and rubbing fast circles that made me cry out loudly as my muscles spasmed again. Without his presence inside me, an unbroken stream of fluid rushed out, spraying over the bed sheets.

"Oh my god," I whimpered, needing a moment to focus on the overwhelming sensations. Mattheo made a noise of appreciation, reentering me, the wet sounds now more intense as he pushed in again.

"That's my good girl, you just squirted for me, baby. See how good you are," he praised, his words adding to the intensity of the moment.rl you just squirt for me baby see how good you are ”

Pounding into my g-spot hard enough to make my legs shake, he elicited another wave of pleasure that rolled through me. Instinctively, my body responded to Mattheo's instructions, bursts of arousal shooting out of me as I moaned softly with each pump of his hand.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I gasped in sync with his movements.

"Holy shit," Mattheo rasped as he drew his fingers out again, groaning when he returned to my clit and easily worked even more wetness out of me. "You just keep fucking cuming, baby."

I could barely process what he was saying. "Please, cum inside me, Matt," I wanted to mention that I finally got on pills this week but couldn't find the energy to.

"Yeah?" He breathed, "Want me to cum inside this pretty pussy?" Thrusting hard, his fingers still circling my clit, I moaned out his name as I squirted again and again. My pussy started to quiver as he continued to fuck me through it, crying out loudly when I felt him coming inside me as well.

Wetness splashed out of me in endless spurts, soaking my cunt, his hand, and the bed. It felt like I was coming for hours, amazed at what my body was capable of.

"You okay, my love?" He asked, concern evident in his voice as he looked down at me. My eyes were closed, and I gave no indication that I was listening to him, feeling like I had passed out for a second.

"Hey angel, open your eyes to me, please," Mattheo implored, kissing my cheeks and rubbing his thumb soothingly.

"Yeah, I just need a moment," I managed to whisper, feeling drained. "I think you ruined me, Matt," I added with a weak smile.

He chuckled softly, giving me kisses all over my face. "Yeah?" he teased.

"In a good way though," I reassured him.

With a small grunt, Mattheo pushed himself off of me and sat up from the bed. I reached out for him, not wanting him to leave my side yet. He chuckled at my antics, lightly grasping my hand and stroking my fingers before letting it go and stepping away.

"Just going to grab a few things to clean you up, love. I promise I’ll be right back," he assured me.

Nodding, I closed my eyes again, too exhausted to do anything else.

"I brought you some water, darling. You should drink a little," he said as he sat back down on the bed next to me, helping me sit up a bit. I complied lazily, sipping from the glass he held against my lips.

"Now, spread your legs a little, sweetheart. I need to clean you up. Not too sore?" He asked as he gently cleaned me up with a washcloth, my body still sensitive .

As he cleaned me up and tidied the sheets, I felt sleep starting to take over me, comforted by his warmth and embrace. He kissed my face a few times and chuckled softly before I finally drifted off to sleep, feeling content and loved.

"I don’t think I would ever be able to walk again," I joked softly .

"I would carry you then," he replied affectionately.

"Since it’s all your fault, so yes," I teased, feeling a mix of emotions.

"I’m so sorry," he apologized sincerely

"Matt—"

"No, listen. I’m really sorry for everything. It was all my fault from the start. I shouldn’t have promised you that and then go and break it the next day," he admitted regretfully.

“ I’m so sorry too “ I hugged him tightly, hiding my face in his neck as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling the blanket over us.

"Can we sleep here tonight?" I asked, wanting to be close to him.

"We can do anything you want, baby. I will do whatever you want," he promised, kissing my forehead.

"I love you so, so much," I whispered, feeling sleepiness creeping in.

"I love you so much too, my love," he replied, kissing my forehead back.

"Baby?" he said after a moment.

"Yeah?" I replied, feeling sleepy.

"Did you ever think about kids?" he asked, surprising me.

I laughed softly. "What?"he said

"I’m on pills, baby. I finally managed to get them," I explained, resting my head on his chest as I got ready to sleep.

"Baby?" he said again, and I hummed in response.

"Just for your information, I’m going to hit that Zacharias boy so hard tomorrow he can join Michael in the hospital, and Michael doesn’t have to feel lonely anymore. I’m telling you now,"

"I was thinking about hexing him into a toad, but we can decide tomorrow," laughing while giving him one last kiss I said .

[mariasont]

Could you do a story where Y/N Is taken in a hostage situation and we see more of a dark hotch? like that early episode where hotch and reid are hostages in the hospital?

TOO EMOTIONAL - A.H

a/n: thank you so much for requestin <3 i hope this is what you were wanting!

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: honestly yall i feel like this is way darker than anything i've written so far, not sure if its good or not but alas, mentions of blood, violence, unsub threatens reader with a knife and a lighter, mentions of sexual assualt (it doesnt happen just mentions of it), unsub cuts open readers shirt, hotch is a dick for a plot, hurt/comfort

wc: 1.4k

Your vision was blurred, you fought to focus as dried blood flaked from your lashes with each heavy blink. You swallowed a cough, the floor's cold concrete punishing your knees. The ties around your wrists and ankles were merciless, digging into your flesh. You tried to focus on the sounds around you—the drip-drop of water, the soft wail of distant sirens.

In the dim light, you caught glimpses of Hotch, his distinct cologne mingling with the warehouse's musty air. He was agonizingly close yet not close enough to touch. The unsub's footsteps were barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Panic fluttered in your chest, unwanted and insistent. Only three cases in, and it seemed the universe was conspiring to reroute your career choice.

Frantically, you attempted to wipe your face on your shirt, pulse roaring in your ears as the footsteps ceased before you and Hotch. The man was a ghastly figure, burns cutting from one side of his face to the other. You couldn't breathe.

"What a day to have feds come knocking." His voice was hoarse, fingers absently playing with a lighter.

"You know, they say the most intelligent criminals are the ones who don't get caught, yet here we are," Hotch said, his chin defiantly up, words sharp and calculated.

Suddenly, the unsub was right there, his disfigured face uncomfortably close, the heat from the lighter singeing your skin. His breath was a hot, sticky assault, and you fought the instinct to flinch.

"Smart men don't leave witnesses, and I intend to be very smart about this."

The foundations of your training flitted across your consciousness, the methodologies for keeping control of the situation, but they sifted through your fingers like said, rendering you paralyzed.

"Take her then. She's new, inexperienced. Probably more trouble than she's worth." Hotch's voice was cold, jarring like a slap to the face, his expression empty of emotion.

You strained to keep your face impassive, your eyes darting to Hotch, pleading for his attention. Your breaths were shallow, scarcely there. He had to be bluffing. You felt sick. The unsub shifted his weight, scrutinizing you both, edging closer to hotch, no doubt with suspicion.

The unsub laughed, a cold and calculating sound as he circled around Hotch. "You expect me to believe you'd turn on your own that quickly? I'm not a fool."

"Look at her and tell me what her worth is to me." Hotch's voice was even, almost bored. "She's a liability. Too emotional, too soft." 

His words were flung carelessly, yet they landed with precision, straight into your chest. Your teeth punished the inside of your cheek.

The remarks were like sharp barbs to your chest, instilling a hollow feeling as you attempted to convince yourself that the wetness on your lashes was anything but tears. His assessment was not unfounded. Your empathy, your sensitivity, traits deemed too tender for the harsher realities of your job, were now being used against you. Hotch had always been an exception, until now.

"Well, I could see her worth in other ways." The man's words oozed contempt, his gaze crawling over you in a way that threatened to turn your stomach. "I bet that's how she got the job in the first place, huh?"

"What do you think?" Hotch's laugh was a sinister match to the unsub's. He tilted his head in your direction. "Look at her. That's all she's been good for."

Your breath caught in your throat, your body turning as much as the ties would permit in Hotch's direction. You could almost hear your heart shattering, could feel it in Hotch's inability to face you. Was this a plan or had he truly discarded you?

You never deluded yourself into thinking you were Hotch's favorite--his reserved interactions with you made that abundantly clear. In fact, you were probably his least favorite. He had kept you at an arm's length, while seemingly forging bonds with the others that didn't seem to extend to you.

This was all within reason, given your inexperience and younger age, but the disdain lacing his words was unexpected, shredding through any pretense of professional detachment.

Hotch had never wanted you on the team, it was Rossi who had vouched for you. And now, look where that got you both.

Maybe this was all deserved.

"Then you won't mind if I try her out for myself?" The unsub's insinuation felt like a perverse validation of Hotch's doubts. 

A low hum escaped the unsub as he closed the distance, his gaze predatory. You stilled, breath caught as he produced a knife from his pocket, skimming your cheek just shy of cutting. You were scared and you were scared to show it. Desperately, you looked to Hotch, the blade now hovering precariously close to your sternum.

Hotch wouldn't look at you. You wanted to scream, to cry, to throw something, but that was all shoved to the bottom of your throat as the unsub sliced down the middle of your shirt, exposing your chest and compelling your gaze to it. Tears of humiliation prickled your eyes. How could Hotch let this happen to you?

The unsub's clammy grip clung to your waist, your lips trembling as you prepared for the worst. You closed your eyes, escaping to your house in your mind—tea brewing, fireplace going—anywhere but here.

A sudden splatter to your face jolted you back, eyes opening in alarm you saw Hotch's eyes, not the unsub's.

"You're okay, you're okay," Hotch murmurs. 

The words did little to comfort you, his hands moving blindly to release the binds at your wrist and ankles. Looking down, you see the unsub, knife through his back, blood pooling around him. Hotch's hands are on your wrists, his thumbs massaging away the sting. 

When your hand touches your face, you feel the splatter from earlier, coming back away with a smear of blood on your fingertips. 

Your voice felt like it was a prisoner inside yourself, words and sounds slipping past you like ghosts. A persistent ringing in your ears muffled all but the pungent scent of the warehouse, which clawed at your senses. 

You felt the jostle of hands, the motion of being lifted, a sensation so distant it barely registered. The world was a smear of lights and faces--the team showing up, the paramedics--until it slowly came into focus. 

You barely registered that Hotch was speaking to you, his words indistinct and muffled.

"What?" you asked, your speech slow to form and blurred at the edges.

You had a jacket over the front of you, his jacket, covering your exposed chest.

Hotch's eyes were pools of worry as he grasped at your hand. It was weird, the feeling of his hand in yours. You realized that was the first time you had felt it. 

"More water?"

You could only nod, and he promptly fetched a bottle, twisting it open and placing it in your hand. You took a small sip. 

"It's too loud," you mumbled, you were aware you weren't making sense.  You shifted to face him, your knee grazing his thigh. "Did you mean those things you said?"

"Of course I didn't mean it," Hotch replied quickly, his gaze intense. "You thought I meant that?"

Your gaze dropped to your lap, voice faltering. "I don't know... I wasn't sure, I mean, no, but I just... I don't feel very useful, and this whole mess, it's because of me and I--" 

Tears interrupted you, your hands fumbling to hide them. Hotch reached out, gently turning your face to his, thumb brushing away the tears. 

"Hey, look at me. Don't say that. This isn't your fault. Nothing I said back there was true. I needed to distract him, had to make him concentrate on you."

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm crying like this," you stammered between sobs. 

"You don't have to apologize. You're crying because you've been through a lot. Just breathe, take your time."

You managed a wobbly smile. "You hit the nail on the head with the too emotional part," you sniffled.

Hotch gave a small chuckle. "Your compassion, your sensitivity, it's what sets you apart as an agent--in fact, it makes you an outstanding one."

You were close now, your gaze inadvertently drawn to his lips. You could kiss him if you wanted. Not that you were in the right headspace or that it was appropriate. But you could've.

"Oh, my goodness, I'm so glad you're okay!" You were barreled into a hug, the familiar voice and blur of color of Penelope enveloping your senses.

Hotch cautioned, "Watch her head." 

With Penelope's hands around you, you found yourself looking over her shoulder, locking eyes with Hotch. His gaze held a new light, a recognition that maybe, just maybe you weren't Hotch's least favorite agent after all.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme

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[writing-fanics]

Nothing lasts forever

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

[warning: cheating: angst: panic attack: implied death]

‘More than anything music box’

As you stood there, your heart felt as though it had stopped beating at that very moment. Your breathing started to slow down as your smile faltered and transformed into a frown. A look of profound sadness and sorrow took over your face as you gazed at the scene before you.

Your eyes were fixed on Lucifer, one of the most beautiful angels in all of Heaven, the one you had opened your heart up to and shared your deepest feelings with.

But now, you were witnessing him cheating on you with Lilith, the first woman and Adam's wife. The pain you felt was almost unbearable, as you watched the love of your life betray your trust and shatter your heart into a million pieces.

You could feel your throat closing as your breathing quickened. You felt sick to your stomach as if someone had punched you in the gut. You wanted to throw up. You wanted to scream. To cry, to disappear from existence. You couldn’t believe he’d do such a thing to you, were you not enough?

Were you not as beautiful as she is? Were you too clingy? To annoying? Why did he betray you and your trust?

He promised to always be by your side when you needed him, to always catch you when you fall. To be your shoulder to cry on. To never break your trust.

But here he was breaking that very promise and trust, leaving you feeling empty and hollow. The two of you were made for each other, and with the scene unfolding before you. Made you think otherwise.

“I love you, Lilith,” whispered Lucifer, as he stared at Lilith in awe kissing her on the lips.

Your whole world shattered as your back hit the tree, and you slid down onto the ground. Placing your hand over your mouth, muffling your wails. You couldn’t breathe and felt the world closing in on you. You were nothing to him. You sniffled quietly placing your head into your hands, and wept as you swiftly flew away.

You fell into a heap on the floor of your house, sobbing as you curled up into a ball. You saw everything and what you saw would forever be engraved into your memory, you’ll never get it out of your head. Seeing them like that, him like that with another woman. Made your stomach turn, how could he do such a thing to you?

“W- Was I not enough?” You whimpered, as you lay in the fetal position. Your face is red and puffy cheeks stained with tears, your heart aching and unbearable pain. You knew he felt what you were going through at this moment, and couldn’t care less to comfort you. Your love was bound and could feel each other's emotions when they became severe, and you knew for a fact he could feel it.

But didn’t care enough to comfort you. He was having too much fun with Lilith, doing things that he should only be doing to you his lover.

You thought he would never do such a thing to you. Never betray you and break your heart, and here he was ripping it right out of your throat. If he had noticed you would he have stopped? Would he have kept going? Taunting you, teasing you, on an act he’d never done to you. Such an act he’ll never do to you now.

You thought your relationship was good perfect even. Yes, you had the occasional fight but would always end up back in each other’s arms, holding each other lovingly. Feeling safe and secure in each other's warm embrace.

“I'm so sorry, my dear duckling," he whispered, pulling you close and showering your shoulder with gentle kisses. "Please know that I understand how you feel.”

"I forgive you, Luci," you said, enveloping him in a warm embrace and smiling through your tears as he held you. He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead and whispered comforting words in your ear, promising to make things right.

You banged your fist against the cold ground; gripping at the fabric of your clothes, as you cried. The tears didn’t seem to stop and wouldn’t anytime soon. You couldn’t breathe, the room around you started to spin. You felt dizzy and nauseous, feeling bile rising in your throat causing you to gag. You swallowed and gripped the side of your head.

You tossed it to the ground, screaming and crying in anger and frustration. “HOW COULD HE DO THIS TO ME!” You shouted, trashing everything that reminded you of him. You couldn’t stop crying, the things this man did to you. How he made you smile and laugh, how he made you fall head over heels.

You wanted to disappear and fade back into dust, your original form. To not be forced to live with this pain for all eternity, knowing that even after this you’d still love him. He’d come back and apologize slowly making up for it but…..

You stood there with the other angels, his siblings trying their best to comfort you. As you watched him be banished from Heaven, cast down with his new lover. Leaving you there alone in Heaven, with no shoulder to cry on.

You found yourself standing amidst a group of angels, feeling a sense of unease and trying hard to keep yourself composed. As you looked ahead, you noticed him standing before Lilith, his wings stretched out protectively, shielding her from any harm. The sight of him being so close to Lilith made your heart ache with a mixture of emotions.

You couldn't help but wonder if you were so unpleasant to look at that he couldn't even spare a glance in your direction. The whole situation left you feeling conflicted, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy towards Lilith, who seemed to have his undivided attention.

As you stood there looking at him, you noticed that his gaze had shifted to meet yours. It was then that you saw a hint of remorse in his eyes, and you couldn't help but feel a wave of sadness wash over you. In that moment, a single tear trickled down his cheek, and you averted your eyes, unable to bear the intensity of the situation.

As you looked away from him, he noticed the tears that had welled up in your own eyes, and the hollow, defeated expression etched on your face. It was a moment of deep emotional turmoil for both of you, and the silence that hung between you was almost suffocating.

“Nothing lasts forever,” Azrael said, as he placed his hand on your shoulder squeezing it gently in reasurrance.

You shook your head and stepped outside of the courtroom, stopping at the stairs. You reached around your neck taking off the necklace, Lucifer had given you years ago.

You stared at it for a moment, opening it. A soft melody played, tears trickled down her cheeks as whisps of yellow magic swirled, around the locket music box. A duck swam in a pond while a swan, swam up next to it nuzzling their heads into each other.

As she witnessed the heartwarming scene unfolding before her, she couldn't help but let out a choked sob. A tearful smile graced her face as she watched the duck and the swan gradually transform into Lucifer and You, respectively. The two characters held each other closely, their embrace exuding a sense of comfort and security.

Lucifer, still holding onto You, took to the skies, flying around with exuberance. His laughter filled the air, and his smile was contagious. You, too, shared in his joy, reveling in the moment with him.

As they soared through the clouds, a vivid memory of their first kiss flashed before your eyes. You remembered how you had wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, and he had held you close to him. The moment had been magical, and it was a memory that you cherished deeply.

You smiled, closing the locket as a gust of wind blew the magic away, and you along with it, returning back to your original form to dust.

A/n: idk what I just created there’s no part ii for this unless y’all beg me for it but idk still]

Taglist

@froggybich

[moyazaika]

indulgence.

m! yandere x gn! reader / nsfw; shadows, phantom limbs, tongues, a degree of infantilisation. stalking && obsessive thoughts. ( mdni. )

beware; for here there be monsters, and this one is hungry.

“oh, there you are, sweetheart,” he drawls, and you feel something wet and slithering against the hollow of your throat, over the drool on your slack jaw and right up to your swollen lips, which part for him in silent submission. “you taste delicious. far sweeter than any cloying nectar.”

“i think i might just…” your back arches against the soft tablecloth he has you laid over, flushed skin slotting up right against an abyss; shivering against the yawning chasm of his own body (could you call it that?) which threatens to devour you whole. through the darkness, you can make out the shape of a man barely-there. pathetic glimpses of the features of your generous host.

“yes…” two more tongues, you miraculously manage to count through the daze of your poor, confused mind—squirming helplessly under the wet muscle as it licks the tears that well up in your eyes, whilst simultaneously lingering at your belly button, moving lower and lower—a hum, “i think i might just eat you from the inside out.”

“ah!” your hips buckle. it’s something cold, and slimy. invasive in its nature, as it slips over and under your slick skin, pulsing with need. “please, please, please.” the string of pathetic pleas leaves your bruised lips like a chant. “please, please!”

and your host, who had let you in so graciously when you showed up at the door of his crumbling manor, lost and in need of shelter, has always been nothing but generous. phantom lips brush against the shell of your ear, as he promises to take such good care of a sweet, lovely, needy human like you—

“sing for me, songbird.”

—and, you do.

the loveliest little sounds just for him, for the cold, wispy touch that digs into the plush of your thighs, holds down your arms so you’re rendered completely helpless to him (it, you remind yourself. this is no mere man) as he paws at your heaving chest, kneading and pulling and pinching. a sort of detached awe. fascination for how humans can be so soft and pliable.

“how utterly adorable.” unblinking eyes look down at you, truly a feast the way you’re laid down on his expansive dining table like one. an unwavering gaze through long, dark lashes, against impossibly cold skin. “you’re so helpless, spread out like this on my table. you should know you’re also incredibly lucky, sweetness.”

“oh, so very lucky,” he grins, flickering before your eyes, shadows lurking beneath the stolen skin that’s wrapped over weary, ancient bones. those lips of his, curling into a crooked grin. “that i only want to take good care of my little human guest. lucky—” you gasp when his nails, sharper than they were only a second ago, scrape and claw and dig into the most sensitive parts of your quivering body. “—that i’m not some big. bad. monster.”

the simulacrum of a man—his facade falls apart at the seams as he has you coming on fingers and tongues with no solid state; shadows that leave you gasping through the wisps that tickle your sensitive skin, against a hand, the lithe shadowy digits willing (eager, even) to pull you past the brink you’ve been teetering on for the past hour; an act of mercy, that has you twitching in all the right places—and coming, with a long, petulant whine, incredibly and completely undone over the palms of his cold, cold hands.

“yes; you’re quite lucky,” he hums pleasantly, when the cold shadows curl against your ankles only mere minutes later, to pull them over his broad shoulders; now solid, like the sharp, greedy teeth that sink into the swell of your chest. his eyes flicker to meet yours, as he bites down. “that i love you.”

†

hours later, when you make to leave, thanking him profusely for his generosity, for allowing you a safe place to stay and… taking such good care of you; a lost traveller, in more ways than one; you fail to notice something important.

it comes as no surprise to your host, of course. you’re too soft to be left to your own devices. too sweet and darling.

it doesn’t dawn on you that your shadow is missing.

even as the sun sets, casting you in its dying glow, there is no trace of the shape of your constant silhouette that should be projected onto the forest floor. no mark of your existence, against the marvellous red sunset.

instead, your shadow is entirely separate. no longer attached to you, it follows behind instead, curling around the thick trunks of trees and slinking across the mossy forest floor; following close behind you, stepping right into every step you take, but never quite passing by; and when you find yourself lost, inevitably, it will return back to the crumbling manor you were in only hours before.

it will phase right through the main grand doors and the walls with their old, cracked paint; right besides the being who ordered it to follow you in the first place. a pleased smile on familiar lips, when he’s told the news, rejoicing in the act of ignorance; like he didn’t already know your exact whereabouts in his own domain, “oh, is my little human lost again?”

“very well,” he’ll make a show of sighing, though there is no attempt to mask the glee in his gleaming eyes. “i suppose i’ll have to find them, again. hm, it looks like i shouldn’t have let my pretty songbird fly away so soon.”

rest assured, he doesn’t intend to make the same mistake twice.

he’ll pull on a coat, then. not because he needs it, but because he’ll drape it over your shaking shoulders when he stumbles upon you, once again, ‘completely by chance.’ sweet, helpless thing like you, clinging to him in the darkness of the forest.

he descends the steps of his crumbling manor, shadows parting with every step he takes, a darkness swirling restlessly underneath cold, taut skin. he whistles a merry tune, itching to get all of his hands and tongues all over you again; driven by an insatiable hunger.

and this time, when he finds you (and he will; for there is no way you can outrun your own shadow) he intends to have his fill.

he will gorge himself, like a man long starved, on the feast that you are. oh, you’ll be dribbling down his chin and smeared all over his jaw as he works to drink you dry, and he’ll lick up every last drop. this time, the abyss doesn’t intend to let you go. you will stare into the yawning darkness and lose yourself, just as he has lost himself in you.

humans are often told not to play with their food, he recalls—

—it is a lovely thing, then, he supposes, that he was never human.

[neiptune]

jjk characters x how to know they're in love

cw: mentions of alcohol, i wanted something quick and fun to write, as always this is nothing but my personal interpretation of characters i happen to love very much! i really hope these will warm you up on cold december nights :)

it's common knowledge that yuuji is affection & warmth incarnated therefore the question is, how can you tell that someone like him has fallen for you and is not simply being his usual self? well, he had to learn the hard way that extra efforts are needed to convey what he feels for that special someone. they aren't going to assume, they won't guess, so what's left to do if not being absolutely adamant about his feelings? you will know yuuji is in love because he will tell you. yuuji, in turn, will know he's in love because his heart will disclose the feeling to him immediately, as soon as he starts thinking that a good day is not so good if you're not around and certainly never good enough if he can't tell you about it. his love resides in his eyes and nestles between his eyelashes, it's the one thing he's jealous of and selfishly hopes no one else will ever look at you and see just how brightly you shine. he makes the process of falling for him exceptionally gentle, too: you never once have to brace yourself for the landing because he would never allow you to crash to the ground anyway.

megumi knows the second he starts noticing all the times you're not there, which means he will stop taking for granted the mornings when you utter soft greetings or show up with an extra coffee for him. he knows when the fact that you have his order memorized feels special enough to make him want to investigate & find out what your order is, an entire afternoon spent racking his brain & asking himself if you enjoy milk or cream or nothing at all, exasperation forcing him to sternly interrogate mutual friends until a conclusion is reached at last. you will know megumi is in love when he stops hiding away from your touch, pretty blush coating his cheeks as the pads of your fingers explore his features, travel along the bridge of his nose or run through his strands. his love is strong, explodes in a chest that feels exceptionally hollow when you're not pressed against it at night. megumi thinks being in love is scary and something he may not be entirely built for and yet he welcomes the feeling bravely, never shying away from a challenge with himself.

it would take nobara some time to get accustomed to the idea of having fallen for you: she doesn't let people in easily and the fact that you have managed to reserve such a unique seat for the messy spectacle that is her life takes her breath away for quite some time. she knows she's in love as she rejects the idea right away, to protect herself and to protect you. what does she have to offer, really? why would you want to take whatever she has to give? still, nobara can't help but constantly bring the thought of you with her. she's shopping, busy paying for a cute sweater and oh, would you look at that? you'd love that shirt, so she gets it. she's at the movies with yuuji and a particularly disgusting scene comes up: he's in awe and, with a grimace, she knows you'd find that splatter mess cool too. so she has to snap a picture and send it, heart nearly bursting at the little "seen" that blinks at her just a few seconds after the message is sent. nobara's love is on her lips, as they tremble when she's at her most vulnerable, when they trace your jaw and explore your throat. you know she is in love way before she stops resisting it, way before she even realizes herself.

oh man satoru will know he's in love the literal second he feels the urge to talk to you. i know the man never shuts the fuck up but he'll want to really talk to you: he can't bear the thought of his reputation, fame, or whatever you want to call it, shaping the idea you have of him. he knows he's in love because he cares about what you actually think, he worries that his smart mouth has annoyed you beyond repair, for once he is desperate to sculpt his true identity himself and engrave it in your mind. you know satoru is in love when he speaks of what he doesn't mention to anyone else: his walls are not particularly high but he calls the shots on who gets to climb over them and he wants to welcome you on the true side of his persona so badly it keeps him awake at night. satoru's love lives in his hands, pale, lithe fingers that always have to be on you somehow. he touches you to make sure you're listening, to check if you're actually in his kitchen putting breakfast together. he touches you to memorize the spaces between your ribs, to wonder if between all the muscular layers and the neurovascular bundle there is room for him to take root in the body of the very first person he truly wants to stay alive for.

suguru is already all too familiar with love and its many facets: affection, devotion, loyalty, obedience. he's received a great deal of what he recognizes as love but hasn't really ever been in the position of reciprocating the feeling in its most raw, helpless form. yet, that is exactly what you reduce him to. he'll know he's in love when all he wants is truly, actually listen to you. learn all there is to learn, explore all there is to discover. you know suguru is in love when he stares at you so intently as you speak, not even interrupting the string of sentences to warn you about the tea he has prepared going cold, his own cup turned icy long ago. you know suguru is in love because he makes no secret of how avidly he craves your presence in his life, of the way for the very first time he prays it doesn't come with any deal breakers: is it okay that he has two young daughters? will the blood on his hands scare you off? the feeling of being in love conquers his entire being, selfish tenderness blossoming in his lungs, flowing relentlessly in blood vessels and vertebral arteries. you take over. you soothe his mind. you're all he feels, you're everything he'll ever want to have. tell him, tell him, tell him and then tell him some more: he'll be there to take you in every chance he gets.

to me shoko's approach to love is very analytical, she doesn't want to make a big deal out of it. she'll know she's in love because you prompt all the usual reactions: racing heart and occasional sweaty palms, happiness, the so-called butterflies in her tummy. but unfortunately she also knows the scientific details about what's really going on, which makes everything far less romantic. noradrenaline, dopamine, phenylethylamine. love isn't but a fairly complex chemical reaction, the feeling given by attraction doesn't differ much from what stems from indulging in a couple bottles of wine. and yet alcohol doesn't smile the way you do, the thought of it doesn't make her stop in the middle of a medical examination and it certainly doesn't make her want to go out of her way to change. shoko will know she's in love as the feeling plants itself in her altered brain chemistry and convinces her that her personality should follow suit. because you'd never want someone who seems so distant, always calm and rational and so... boring. right? you'll know shoko is in love because she makes the effort and she'll know you're the right match the moment you murmur that you'd never want her to change, to be anything but the powerful, familiar grounding force that makes her so graciously human.

nanami writes more when he's in love. he's always been a reader, never has enough time to explore all the books he keeps adding to his never ending list really, but he's also always been a writer: short stories, haikus, poems, single sentences that are nothing but timid attempts at encapsulating days, moments, feelings, nights spent thinking or reminiscing. you start to become part of those stories, of those messily scribbled poems and thoughts. this will sound very cheesy but i'm confident nanami's love settles over his heart like a warm blanket. he knows he's in love when everything he reads, writes, does, leads back to you. what good are his cooking skills if he can't make you your favorite dinner? why should he buy that book he's been waiting forever to start, if there's this other novel you can't stop excitedly telling him about? did his writings ever hold any value before he could go through the pages of one of his leather bound notebooks, you comfortably settled in his arms, back pressed to his chest on the couch he only bought because you jokingly said it could accommodate you both? you know he's in love because softness settles in the corners of his eyes whenever you utter his name, an elegant fountain pen frozen mid air at the sound of your voice, the simple word kento suddenly earning a whole new meaning, always pronounced with an inflection so special it's now more than just his name.

yuuta feels a lot and he feels it deeply: fear, courage, affection. his feelings clutch his stomach and make him feel as if his insides are being squeezed. he doesn't appreciate newness, he's perfectly content with the people who are part of his life and a routine that doesn't make him wonder what the new day will bring. but then you happen and the boy who thought he knew everything is left to learn something new about himself: how he navigates a love that is real, pulsing with life, threatening to overturn his carefully built balance. he welcomes it tentatively, willing to learn, accepting the chance that he might have to confront it. but love doesn't turn out to be a challenge for him. yuuta knows he's in love because it's the first thing that feels easy in his life, to love you is the one thing that comes naturally. you know he's in love because he doesn't attempt to hide it and, hell, he doesn't even care if love makes him weird. he wants you there always, wants to ask about your day and hopes you'll also going to be interested in his. yuuta wants to pose silly questions because you're the first real person he needs to learn everything about. have you ever slow danced? how often do you experience food poisoning? what's your favorite song to sing in the shower? it's okay if you don't love him back too (as if lmfao), you have already given him everything by allowing him to find out that he can feel this way.

as a heavily stubborn & independent person, maki would understand right away that you're dangerous. a threat, even. she'd interally panic about it lol too bad you're equally strong-willed and determined to break through that standoffish facade. you succeed earlier than expected but maki won't let you know until months later, the first christmas holidays spent together, yuuta's house warming party the perfect excuse to indulge in a little too much mulled wine. you find out that maki's love is all in her voice, sincere affection vibrates along the entire story of your first encounter recounted to a table filled with your mutual friends in great, borderline obsessive detail. she remembers your hair, the outfit you were wearing, that cute tote bag filled with groceries. her voice is warm and tender when no one else can hear it, on the frosty mornings she orders to forget about cooking breakfast to keep you in bed a few minutes more, in secret moments she gets to hold you close and murmur sweet nothings in the curve of your neck, pauses between words and stifled giggles sounding suspiciously similar to i love you, i love you, i love you.

inumaki's love lives in his throat, torments him day and night because there's nothing he would rather speak of. you, you, you. he was always worried he'd fail to express how he truly feels but you happen to get it just right. not just because he makes significant exceptions for you (sorry but the man will speak and his dumbass sense of humor will cause a sore throat endless times) (yes he has used his cursed technique to ask you to stand still while in compromising positions or to give him a kiss after a stupid argument -> you'll do so and then smack his arm as he sticks his tongue out) but most importantly because the limited communication inumaki has been used to ever since forever also forced him to learn how to get the message across differently. and so you know he's in love because he makes sure you have your cup of tea ready in the morning, because he texts you pictures of stray cats or memes he doesn't really understand with a demanding '???' underneath them. you know inumaki is in love because his friends seem to know a whole lot about you and it's only the first time you're meeting most of them. he knows he's in love when you fall asleep next to him and his pointer finger delicately traces the echo of those three words along your spine over and over and over again.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

By Your Side Always

Summary: You comfort Astarion after he breaks down due to your near-death experience.

The last thing you feel before the ground hits you is a burning hot pain in your stomach where a sword had run you through, your mouth opening in a small ‘oh’. The last thing you hear is a familiar voice screaming out your name, filled with anxiety and fear. The last thing you think about is how Astarion would react when he saw your body. Would he mourn? Would he continue on with his life as though nothing had happened? You hoped that he would find the strength to carry on and become his own person, unafraid of others. With the last of your strength, you try to search for his face, wanting to see the vampire you had fallen hard for one last time, but darkness claims you before your eyes can lock with his.

“Y/N!”

The first thing you feel when you wake up is the coldness of someone’s hand tightly wrapped around yours. The first thing you hear is the soft whisper of his voice telling you that you’re safe, that he’s right here with you, sending waves of reassurance through you. The first thing you think about is whether you’re in heaven or hell, but that wouldn’t make sense since Astarion was here. You were pretty sure you died or something when that sword ran you through.

“Y/N.” You look up into ruby red eyes filled with concern.

“Star.” The word catches in your dry throat, sending you into a coughing fit. Astarion quickly hands you some water and makes sure you finish it all before speaking again.

“Where are we?” You rasp.

“At camp, darling. Don’t you worry,” he presses a quick kiss to your forehead.

“The goblins –”

“All take care of, dearest!” He chirps, far too chipper for your liking.

“Astarion, what happened to me?” The smile falls from his face, ruby red eyes downcast. He stares at the bedroll you’re lying on, playing with the cloth of his tunic before looking back up at you, his smile no longer reaching his eyes.

“Nothing Shadowheart couldn’t fix.” The smile is plastered to his face, a facade perfected over the course of almost 200 years but you see right through it immediately.

“Did I die?” You decide to go straight to the point.

“Well, I don’t believe I’m dead dead so I doubt you’d be seeing me if you were in the afterlife,” he gives a hollow laugh.

“Astarion,” you frown. “You don’t have to fake anything around me, I won’t hurt you.”

His face falls, his genuine feelings shining through at your words and you automatically reach out but he pulls away to compose himself. He fears he will simply break down if you were to hold him right there and then, giving you more problems. He’s on the cusp of baring himself to you, and the very thought scares him. He searches your face, looking for signs that you will tear him down after he’s shown how vulnerable he is but as per usual, finds nothing. The nagging voice in his head, however, says otherwise and he’s torn between trusting you and trusting that voice.

“If it’s too much for you, you don’t have to say anything. I’m just worried about you bottling it all up, I don’t want to see you suffer.” You force yourself to sit up despite the sharp pain the action brings, schooling your face to ensure Astarion doesn’t notice the pain you’re feeling. He’s already struggling with his own emotions, you don’t want to add to his burden.

“I thought you were dead.” The words leave his lips in a whisper. “I was afraid, far more afraid than I’ve ever been. Your barely conscious body scared me far more than Cazador ever could. You were lying so still with that damn sword sticking out of you and all I could do was wish that you were still alive, still breathing as Shadowheart did everything she could to heal you.”

He squeezes your hand so tightly it begins to hurt, his bottom lip trembles and he bites down on it to stop the trembling. Astarion can feel tears pricking at the edges of his eyes, a lump swelling in his throat that he tries to choke down.

“Didn’t work for me,” you grin, pressing a kiss to his tear-stained cheek. “I’m right here, alive, and the goblin who tried to kill me is dead.”

He clutches at your sleeve, desperately hugging you as he inhales your scent and feels the warmth of your skin against his. You’re here, alive, warm. Your heart is beating, a steady thrum in your chest that fills his ears and reassures him that you’re safe.

“I’m sorry,” he presses his forehead against yours, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left your side, I should have been faster, I should have seen the attack coming.”

“I failed you.”

He shrinks at his words, body tensing up. Sharp nails dig into his palms as terror floods his mind. He failed you. You’d punish him for it, kick him out of the party, leave him to fend for himself. He can’t bear the thought of leaving your side, he can’t envision a future where you’re not there, lying right next to him as you hold him in your embrace. He doesn’t want to.

“My star,” you murmur, reaching out to wrap him in your arms despite the twinge of pain in your chest. You can feel him shaking and your heart shatters, an ache that is replaced by a wave of anger at Cazador for what he did to your lover. You nuzzle into his soft silver hair, pulling him close so that you can tuck him in your embrace. The pain from your stab wound is nothing, not when your beloved so clearly needs you right now.

“You didn’t fail me. I’m alive, you killed the goblin who attacked me, and you’re right here, by my side. That’s all I need.” Pressing your lips against the top of his head, you gently rub circles on his back all whilst cuddling him. He leans into your touch, gripping your shirt and curls against you, biting back his sobs. He’s supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around and yet here he is, getting all emotional while you console him.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you whisper, pressing comforting kisses all over his face. “I promise, I won’t leave or abandon you. You’ll always have a place with me.”

“You…mean it?” He hates how pathetic he sounds but the soft look in your eyes eases some of his worries. You look at him with such genuine love and care, eyes devoid of the lust he’s used to seeing in the prey he brought back for Cazador and devoid of the malice Cazador’s eyes always held. Your every touch is filled with gentleness and warmth, flooding him with a nice feeling he can’t quite describe, he only knows he can never get enough of it.

“Of course, Astarion. You’re my star, I’ll get lost without you.” If your younger self could see you right now, they would never believe their eyes. It wasn’t long ago when you would do anything to avoid physical contact, hissing whenever anyone brushed against you, even if by accident, and yet here you were, initiating a hug so tight that Astarion would have suffocated should he have needed to breathe.

Astarion squeezes his eyes shut, imprinting the feeling of your arms around him in his mind. He feels safe, loved, needed in your embrace.

“Promise me,” he chokes. “Promise me you’ll never put yourself in such danger again, innocents be damned. I don’t care what happens to anyone else, I just need you to be safe.”

“Then I’ll need you to continue fighting by my side to guard my back, don’t I?” You run your fingers through his hair, admiring how soft it is despite its owner clearly not having taken care of it in a good while.

“I suppose you do. After all, what will you ever do without me?” A hint of confidence floods back into him, a small smile playing on his lips. He gives you a grateful look, undead heart soaring at your declaration of your need for him.

“Hmm, I don’t ever want to find that out,” you give him a peck on the lips, “but I would like my star to at least clean himself up before cuddling with me any further.”

“Anything for my love,” he happily nuzzles you. “I’ll see you in a bit, Shadowheart should be here any time now to check up on you. After that I’m all yours.”

“And I’m all yours too,” you smile. “Now go.”

With one last kiss, he reluctantly leaves your side and you let out a sigh of relief. He was dealing with your near-death experience rather well considering how new he was to having someone to call his own.

“No more martyring then,” you chuckle to yourself, “not when there’s someone who cares so deeply about me.”

[sahisan]

hollow.

⭒ summary: arlecchino comes to your lands in hope of getting your gnosis non-violently. having hidden feelings for the harbinger, you offer a bargain, which she ends up accepting. it hurts both of you in the end.

⭑ cw: suggestive (no nsfw). angst. a lot of angst. angst no comfort (i warned you). hidden feelings. archon!reader. reader and arle both feel, and i mean feel.

⭒ wc: 3.4k.

⭑ a/n: oh wow. hi. this is like, the first fic i've written that was so long. ended up beta reading it with grammarly for two straight days. also tried improving my writing style, hope it looks like it lol. please like and reblog !!

"so, lady arlecchino," you started. your gaze remained cold but calm despite the inner hesitation you were feeling while facing the harbinger. "what business do you have in my lands?"

an unexpexted visit of the fatui delegation along with the fourth harbinger visiting her homeland was quite the news to you this morning. having no other choice than to face them, and you knew precisely why she would visit, hearing the news from the archons of other regions from last months.

it scared you, in some way. but you were expecting they would eventually reach you.

arlecchino slowly lowered herself into her own comfortable chair opposite of you before looking at you again. her face became expressionless again.

"It's a pleasure to see you too, miss [name]," she retorted in the same calm manner, despite her words clearly having a mocking undertone somewhere deep down. her eyes studied you as she continued, hearing you not reacting to her words.

you didn't change much from the last time she saw you. she didn't want you to, anyway. the same eyes, hair, accessories, manners... so on. she remembered every little detail.

"miss [name], do you really think you can rule this region on your own for the rest of eternity?" arlecchino suddenly asked, crossing her legs and arms simultaneously as she leaned back in her seat, seemingly making herself very much comfortable.

you blinked in confusion, head tilting the slightest bit. the woman had the dignity to let a corner of her lips raise upward at your reaction. she knew this "start" of the conversation wasn't what you expected.

"...i'm sorry?" you asked, not quite getting the meaning of the question.

"i'm sure you've already guessed what i'm here for. what i'm getting at is..."

arlecchino leaned forward in her chair, her eyes studying you. her face became expressionless once again, but a dark half-smile was painted on it. her voice became slightly threatening, nearly causing goosebumps to run across your skin. she knew your exterior wouldn't be cracked so easily - you're tough; much tougher than many people she's met in her life. but this was a start.

"...what do you want in exchange for your gnosis?" the question was almost a demand. she simply voiced her intentions - get your gnosis, and it wasn't an invitation of any sort.

your eyes narrowed, eyeing arlecchino. what is this? a negotiation? it does sound like one. but is that really it?

"and when did i mention something about giving up my gnosis, lady arlecchino?" you asked calmly.

"don't pretend you don't understand."

arlecchino's voice now held the slightest hint of threat to it, but her face became a little kinder and she continued in a more calm and friendly tone. or she only intended for it to sound friendly. uh, these diplomat things.

"i think we both know perfectly well what I want to hear from you; a clear answer. why don't we come to an agreeable conclusion and you'll give up your gnosis to me? certainly with no harm, you have my promise," she said, her voice getting a more expectant undertone as she spoke the last words, then looked at you in anticipation of the answer.

you leaned back in your seat, unsure of what to make of this whole 'visit'. it was suspicious, you couldn't deny it, but the pull towards the forbidden was finally getting to you, and your bottled-up for centuries-on-end feeling might be getting outside right at this moment.

this is an opportunity you have once in a life, your heart screamed at you. use it.

despite floating somewhere deep in your thoughts, you could easily feel as if arlecchino kept trying to burn a hole in you. and her eyes - especially the shape and color of her pupils - weren't helping either. she did look intimidating like this, but nonetheless, she was willing to wait. at least for now.

you weren't the type to risk, but...

so, an opportunity.

"now, what was that you said about getting something in exchange?" you inquired, exhaling a soft, quiet breath as you got out of your mind. shouldn't have entered it in the first place, you thought. too much of everything.

arlecchino smiled and her eyes gleamed a strange glint you couldn't quite decipher what meant.

"oh, it's good that you're interested," her voice became inviting again, almost soothing, but behind the façade was clearly a not-so-hidden intention. "i wouldn't want to use force against you if this escalated any more."

"of course i wouldn't just take your gnosis from you. i am a woman of honor and deal, miss [name]. if you'll give your gnosis to me i will, of course, give you something in return," she leaned back in her chair and stared straight into your eyes.

"would you like to hear what i would offer you?"

"no," you instantly replied, dismissing the woman. "i already have something i want to ask of you. but first..." you looked around the room, noticing a few fatui soldiers standing here and there. you didn't need extra ears from here anymore. "i need them to leave us alone."

arlecchino's lips curled slightly upward, resembling a smile.

"i see no problem in that. if you're planning on saying something personal, they don't need to witness this conversation."

she glanced at her soldiers and then turned her gaze back to you. the fatui left the room instantly, with no further words said.

"and now to the important part: what can i offer you in exchange for the gnosis, miss [name]?"

you kept silent for at least a minute. you licked your lips, then let your teeth bite down into her lower lip as you thought. arlecchino already seemed to notice one thing that stood out the most - you hesitated.

a deep inhale and the same deep exhale.

"my offer is..." you started slowly, eyes drawn to the table. you simply just couldn't bring yourself to look the woman in the eyes when saying what you were going to say. "we spend the night. together," you said, knowing that she clearly understands what you're talking about.

"and in the morning, i will grant you my gnosis, and we won't have any more business together after that."

silence.

this was precisely what arlecchino was hoping to hear from you.

she raised an eyebrow after a few moments of processing your words, expecting something like this, but still surprised by such a straightforward proposition. however, she quickly regained her composure, leaning back in her seat.

she knew where you were getting with this. she knew you craved this since you both ever saw each other. this was seemingly what you and her needed, but it was so much more complicated than just that.

she also knew that you would hurt so much the next morning, after giving up that gnosis, if she accepted this deal.

for the first time in a while, arlecchino felt torn by the thought of someone being hurt. surprisingly, it's you she was thinking about at that moment.

"my, my... i must admit such a proposal from you is a shock to me. so bold of you to assume that i would accept your deal so easily," she gave you a look, which held the tiniest bit of sympathy and compassion. she had mixed feelings about this.

"however, i'm indeed sure that you mean no harm, especially to me. so, i'll accept your offer on one condition."

she accepted it, immediately flashed in your mind. she accepted it almost instantly. your heart seemed to take a leap, no, a thousand of those as your eyes widened at the realization.

what was going on between the two of you?

you finally found the courage to look up at the woman. hearing no further elaboration, but wanting to hear it right now, you pried further, "that condition being..?"

arlecchino's eyes found yours, as if trying to read you from the outside, and she leaned in closer to the table separating the two of you.

"we keep this a secret," she said, eyes narrowing slightly and voice becoming nearly a whisper. "from the fatui and from everyone else."

"do we have a deal?"

you nodded. "i thought it's only logical that we keep it a secret. so, of course," you continued, eyes focusing on the woman. you didn't want to look away from her for a second, afraid she might disappear. "we have a deal."

a small smile played on arlecchino's lips as she gave a slight nod of satisfaction in response to the fact that you agreed so eagerly. her voice became slightly louder now, as if to not cause any suspicion if someone were to listen from the outside.

"very well. i accept your terms. and i give you my word to keep this... arrangement, a secret from everyone else," she said. her piercing gaze met yours, but the smile on her lips did not disappear.

"where would you like to meet, miss [name]?"

—

you didn't know how you both made it to your room, but the second the front door was closed and secured with a 'click' of the lock, arlecchino's lips crashed onto yours, as well as you found your back to quickly meet the wall.

there were lips biting one another, hands everywhere, tongues intertwining, your own heartbeat loud in your ears as you kissed, your hand shooting up to grab the back of arlecchino's neck... and you were hoping to forget about the gnosis just for this night. just for the duration of these hours.

just for one night. and then it'll all be over in the morning.

arlecchino's lips felt soft and warm as they pressed against your own. her tongue gently licked your lower lip, teeth tugging at it slightly as her hands roamed all over you. she didn't seem to want to pressure you into something, but she wanted to show you how much she wanted this, too. she then broke the kiss to catch her breath, eyes gleaming with hunger for more, despite the softness in them.

her fingers tangled in your hair as she looked deep into your eyes, "you're even more beautiful than i imagined."

with those words arlecchino pulled you closer, pressing herself against you, as her lips found their way to your neck, kissing her way down to your cleavage, before finding her way back onto your lips.

you felt like you were suffocating; suffocating in arlecchino. in her touch, lips, breath, and in your own sensations of all of the above.

"not here," you managed to whisper out breathily, already panting. you were sure your lips were already red and swollen from all of this. "left door."

arlecchino's lips came back to trailing kisses down your neck, biting softly in some places, but she seemed to obey you. her hands seemed to settle on your waist as she led you to the said left door.

"are you sure?" she whispered in your ear, her lips brushing against the skin there, and you immediately felt shivers crawling down your spine.

"are you sure you want this?"

"are you?" you asked in return, words barely a whisper, brows furrowed a small bit as if you yourself contemplated your choice.

you didn't. not for a single second.

"i am."

with that, arlecchino pulled you closer to herself again and claimed your lips once again. it was a hungry kiss, filled with passion and desire and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of longing.

"i want you," she whispered against your lips before kissing them again. the sound of your heartbeat was so loud that you were sure the woman could almost hear it in her own ears. her hands wandered over to your shoulders, pushing you through the door and into your bedroom, and she pushed the door with her leg to close it.

"all of you... i want all of you," arlecchino murmured, letting her lips detach from yours for a split second, eyes finally meeting yours, seeing all the need and yearning in yours.

she craved this a lot, but she knew you craved it more.

"then have all of me," you whispered in reply, ignoring the fact that the loud pounding of your heart in your ribcage seemed to reach the limit of its loudness, almost drowning out all other sounds. you pulled her along with you, your back falling onto the bed with a soft thud, leaving the woman to settle on your hips and watch you from above.

if arlecchino was sure, then you were also sure. you knew it wasn't how that worked, but you could let yourself forget that just for tonight.

arlecchino seemed like she was about to pounce on you, the hunger and lust in her eyes increasing rapidly as she watched the rise and fall of your chest; the way your breath would increase as she looked in your direction. her eyes wandered over your body, taking in every curve, every muscle, and every movement you made. her own breathing became slightly more ragged and she licked her lips.

"you're so beautiful," came out as a soft whisper, arlecchino's eyes now resembling a newfound tenderness that wasn't there before.

she leaned in closer, warm breath caressing your neck, her scent filling the air around you as her palms settled on your cheeks and jaw, thumbs caressing the skin mindlessly.

"may i?"

gods, she still asked for consent.

you exhaled shakily while realizing that; that she didn't want it to be just a decision in the heat of the moment. it warmed your heart, even if a little bit.

"anything."

arlecchino suddenly felt loved and wanted, and it was almost the same feeling that she always wanted to feel from no one but you.

you were giving yourself up to her for one night, and she was going to make it count.

she kissed you like it was the last kiss of her life. she kissed you deeply, heartfeltly, lovingly, and with such intensity that it was like you two were the only people in the world, and both your and her touch screamed please, don't let me go.

—

you awoke just as the sun had begun to rise, the light from it shining through the curtains and onto the bed. the woman beside you shifted, too, seemingly being already awake for a little while.

arlecchino had watched you for a little bit while you slept. it was a sight she couldn't tear her eyes from away even if she wanted to. duties and titles long forgotten, this was what she wanted to see every day.

you blinked as the light found your eyes, rubbing them for a few seconds before focusing your gaze on the woman on the other side of the bed. neither of you spoke, for now.

you sat up on the bed, having the blanket cover up your naked, marked, loved body. arlecchino followed your every move, eyes only once wandering down to your back and back up to your face.

your heart hurt at the realization that it was already morning.

the night had ended.

you didn't want it to be over so fast.

looking down at the woman, you averted your eyes, feeling the need to blink away the sting of tears threatening to find their way out. one of your hands moved up, palm facing upwards. your fingers trembled as you exhaled shakily.

you got lost in your thoughts for a few moments. what if arlecchino won't take the gnosis? was that even possible in a situation like this?

certainly not, you must be daydreaming of some kind of hope.

glowing a soft light, floating up and down over your hand was your gnosis.

you stared at it, not blinking, then stared a little more, and then your hand shifted and offered the gnosis to arlecchino.

it was over. as simple as that.

arlecchino's breath hitched as she sat up to have a look at the small, glimmering chess piece. her hand slowly reached out and she took the gnosis from your hand, her fingers closing around it. she examined it closely, as if making sure it was real. to you, she looked satisfied with your deal.

"thank you very much, miss [name]."

you immediately noticed the change in tone. it became professional in just a few moments, leaving you confused.

she then stood up from the bed and started to put on her clothes. it was the sign that the deal was over and that her mission was complete. she didn't even look back at you, you thought. oh.

"well then... i guess my work here is done."

"...i guess it is," you could only reply quietly, eyes rooted to the woman's back as she got dressed.

you noticed the change in the woman's attitude, in her voice, and your heart basically shattered. it was like there were no kisses shared between you two just hours before, no compliments whispered, no intimate connections made. like the night before never existed.

you were just another mission.

of course it would be like this, you thought. you were the first to suggest that you both will never see each other again after this, and you were the one to fall for all of this.

but it still stung.

"you never meant it," you whispered in the end, realizing those words spoken and whispered so intimately were, apparently, just in a haze of situation. how predictable. you fell for that yet again.

arlecchino paused for a moment before she picked up her remaining clothes and turned to face you. her gaze was cold and emotionless, but she hesitated, before her expression purposefully changed into a more serious expression.

she needed to make you feel like she didn't have any feelings for you. it would be better for both of you. no bonds. no strings attached. she never wanted you to pine for her, as she was certainly not the one you needed to have beside her.

an archon and a harbinger. comical.

"i was agitated," arlecchino replied, voice turning back to previous hardness and flatness, zipping up her pants.

she hated saying the next words.

"you were just a means to an end."

pause.

your chest hurt. your eyes stung.

you wished you'd never heard any of this. you weren't ready to hear any of this. but now, these words will surely be engraved into your memory.

you didn't reply, and thus, there was silence. a loud one at that.

arlecchino felt the said silence like no other. she knew she'd achieved what she wanted just by witnessing your reaction.

you didn't stop looking in the direction where the woman was getting ready. neither did you react, just blinking away the tears from her eyes, preventing them from appearing.

your chest suddenly felt hollow, and not because of the gnosis that was no longer there.

arlecchino finished getting dressed quickly, since the silence in the room was getting more and more uncomfortable. it was a sign of your defeat, and she hated the realization of that.

she wanted to say something. wanted to take it back. to hug you. to kiss you again. to make love to you again. she wanted to tell you that she had fallen in love with you and that she wished everything was different.

but she knew that she would only end up hurting you more if she did so.

"i will be taking my leave."

you bit your lip hard enough to draw blood just trying to hold back your tears. your emotions. you weren't allowed to feel, but you felt, and it was suffocating you, dragging you towards the bottom.

"good job," you could only mutter, voice barely a whisper, gaze shifting back to the blanket.

arlecchino felt so much guilt for the words she had said. she knew how much pain those words were causing you, but she couldn't take them back even if she wanted to. the hurt was necessary.

she wanted nothing more than to go over to you, pull you into her arms, comfort you, and whisper how much she loves and cares for you. she wanted to apologize to you; wanted to tell you how sorry she was for hurting you.

but she didn't. she couldn't, because no one could know about the true feelings she had for you.

not even you.

so she just got dressed in silence, the weight of your gnosis in her pocket feeling heavier with every moment that passed. it's not like she could do anything other than that.

you heard arlecchino's hand placing itself on the door handle, and the woman paused momentarily, eyed wandering over to your form on the bed, scenes of the previous night flashing in front of her eyes as she looked at you.

the door clicked open, and she took one step outside your room before speaking her last words to you.

"it was a pleasure doing business with you, miss [name]."

the door closed.

[moonstruckme]

I’d love to see you write James and reader who’ve suffered the ‘never the right time’ trope, and finally, it’s the right time. It’s like so soft and just a moment of peace, like ‘finally, finally, it’s our time’. I have literally no ideas further than that, but I know you’d kill this Mae <3

hope you’re having a lovely day!

Thanks for requesting my love! Also, is that a new theme I see?? It's giving me renaissance vibes, like the clouds are going to part and there'll be an oracle and it'll be you ! I'm so here for it

cw: alcohol

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 2.1k words

Sirius and Remus keep fighting over who gets to play the music. Sirius more pointedly, tracking Remus down every time he has to change the record, whereas Remus just sneaks over while his boyfriend is occupied to switch it out again. Now Fleetwood Mac’s come on, and James can only assume Lily has finally stationed herself by the record player. 

A knock sounds at the door. Someone must have ordered pizza, he thinks. Anyone who goes to these things knows that Sirius always leaves the door unlocked. Being the closest to the door, James answers it. 

He thinks he stops breathing when he finds you on the other side, clutching a dissolving paper bag in both hands and nearly wet through. 

“Oh.” You look as surprised to see James as he is to see you. Which doesn’t seem strictly fair, because the last time he checked, he spends practically all of his time here and you live far away. Have since you took that cushy job right after school ended. “Hi, James.” 

“Hi.” His voice is mystified, tinged with the joy of the smile he can’t repress. “What’re you doing here, sweetheart?” 

“Remus invited me.” 

James stares at you. You look somehow exactly the same and yet impossibly more beautiful than he remembers. It’s odd seeing you out of your old school uniform, in a very adult-like coat that comes down to your knees and ties primly at the waist. Your hair is slicked straight by the rain, stuck in damp tendrils to your shoulders, and he swears your face has changed, too, a droplet of rainwater curving over a cheekbone he doesn’t remember being as visible when you were younger. 

“Um, can I come in?” 

“Yes! Yeah.” He steps out of the doorway, and your shoes squelch slightly as you wipe them off on the rug inside the door. James looks around as if for help. He thinks he spots Remus’ head poking out of the kitchen, but then it disappears. “Here, let me take your coat.” 

“Thanks.” You undo the tie for yourself, letting James pull it off your arms. “It’s really good to see you.” 

“You too.” He’s beaming; he can’t stop. “God, I just can’t believe you’re here. Are you in town for a visit?” 

“No, I—” You pause to give him a bemused sort of smile. “Did Remus not tell you? I moved back.” 

James feels like his chest has been hollowed out. Like someone’s taken out his heart and put the sun back in its place. 

“Really?” It comes out more breath than word. He fumbles for his voice back. “You’re back for good?” You nod, biting down on a smile. “When did you get here?” 

“A couple weeks ago,” you say, looking down to step out of your shoes. 

“What?” James’ tone is doing nothing to disguise his astonishment. He’s in no state to try and conceal it. “And we’re not hearing from you until now? You’ve only spoken to Remus?” His hurt goes unvoiced: Why didn’t you come find me?

You look sheepish. “I just ran into him at the store yesterday.” 

“Why didn’t you call?” 

“I didn’t want to assume…” 

You look like you’re trying to shrink away, but James gives chase, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. The cold of your clothes and hair sinks into him, and you both shiver. He only holds you tighter for it, scrubbing a hand up and down your shoulder blade. 

“You should have called,” he says next to your ear. “You know we’ll always want you here, love. We’ve missed you.” I’ve missed you. 

“I missed you guys, too,” you reply, squeezing him back. The paper bag you’re holding digs into his spine. 

James gives himself a couple more seconds before he releases you, taking the bag and unearthing a bottle of wine. 

“Nice of you,” he acknowledges. “Sirius will appreciate it, he loves reds. We should get you warmed up, yeah? Do you want some of this, or I could make you a hot buttered rum?”

You look like you could melt in relief. “A hot drink sounds amazing.” 

“Great.” He grins at you, knowing you have to go but unwilling to let you. If you leave his sight now you might very well disappear for another several years. After a second, his better sense wins and he juts a chin towards the stairs. “Go find something to wear. It’s the last door on the left, and the closet across from the bed should have things that’ll fit you.” 

James sees your protests in your face before they start spewing from your mouth. “Oh, I shouldn’t—” 

“If you go into the kitchen all dripping wet, Remus will only bring you up there himself. Save yourself the time, love. He’d want you to help yourself, trust me.” 

You chew your lip, hesitant, but then another shiver takes you, and James gives you a good-natured shove towards the stairs. 

“Alright,” you capitulate, going. “Thanks, I’ll be right back.” 

“No hurry,” he calls up after you. Then high-tails it for the kitchen. 

“I cannot believe you’ve set me up for ambush like this,” he says as the door swings open for him. His two closest friends look up with expressions of equal guilelessness, though Sirius is putting on far more a show of surprise than his boyfriend. 

“I had no idea!” He insists while James stalks to the cabinet, helping himself to a mug and the supplies to make your drink. “Moony kept it from me, you know I’d have told you if I knew.” 

James glances up at him, then shakes his head, reaching over to flick the kettle on. “No, I don’t believe it. You’ve both been colluding against me.” 

“It’s only against you if it’s not good for you,” says Remus. “And I don’t see how y/n being here is all that bad for you.”  

“Yeah, I’d have thought you’d be fairly chuffed about it,” Sirius agrees, forgoing the innocent act as smirk curves his lips. 

“I am.” James blows out a breath. “I just wasn’t expecting to see her. I didn’t even know she’d moved back.” 

Remus shrugs, cracking open the oven to check on something inside. “Well, I think she might have been afraid to seek you out.” 

“Why would she be?” 

Amber eyes meet James’ with disbelief written all over them. “You know why,” he says softly. 

The kettle finishes boiling, and James turns to pour it over the contents of your mug. “Well, I directed her to Sirius’ closet as retribution.” 

He hears a gasp behind him. “You prick—”

The door to the kitchen swishes open, and you breeze in wearing one of Sirius’ hoodies. 

“Sirius!” 

“Hi!” He’s all smiles as he folds you into a hug, glaring sharply at James over your shoulder. “Fuck, haven’t you become stunning? It’s been awhile, gorgeous.” 

“It has,” you agree, looking slightly flustered by Sirius’ complimenting. Which, James notes, is an improvement over your school days; you were never able to weather it then. “It’s so good to see you.” 

You go to Remus next, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders fondly. “Glad you could come,” he says. 

“Thanks for having me.” Your eyes move between the three of them, seeming to note their placement throughout the kitchen. “Sorry, were you all busy talking about something?” 

“Actually,” Sirius says, “Remus and I were just canoodling when James interrupted, quite rudely I think. If you’re going to join the party, please take him with you.” 

“Alright.” James takes your drink and grabs a cider for himself, nudging you towards the door. “No need to be a dick, just come find us later.” 

Sirius winks at you both as James ushers you out, Remus sending him a long-suffering look from by the oven. 

“Nice to know some things don’t change,” you laugh, finding a space on the couch for you both. 

“Yeah,” James sets your drink down in front of you, “I doubt those two ever will.” 

“Thanks. Ooh, this is nice.” You take the clear mug between your hands, lifting it up to admire the liquid inside. “When did Remus get so posh?” 

“Well, Sirius lives here now.” 

“Oh!” Your eyes widen, surprise and maybe a little of something else. “Wow, that’s so lovely for them. Then, is this Sirius’ sweatshirt I’m wearing?” 

James chuckles. “You could tell, huh?” 

“None of those looked like Remus’ clothes. Are we punishing him for something?” 

He raises his own drink to his lips, hiding his smile. They’ve always come especially easily around you. “Perhaps.” 

You hum, take a sip from your mug, and hum again. “Shit, this is really good. Thank you.” 

The praise settles comfortably in James’ stomach, as warm and mind-fuzzing as if he’s had a gulp of your drink himself. “Anytime, sweetheart.” 

This time, he notices your eyes flicker away from his at the endearment. “So,” you say conversationally, “how’s Lily?” 

Ouch. James glances behind you to where Lily has pulled a chair over near the record player. She’s sipping from a glass of red wine that’s only a couple of shades darker than her hair, smiling at something Pandora’s saying. 

“She’s good,” he says. Then, somewhat abruptly, “We’re not together anymore.” 

Your eyes flit to his, something almost like guilt twinging across your features. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” you say. The caring in your face is nearly too much; James wants to take it between his hands and kiss it all over. “Are you okay?” 

He gives you a smile. “Yeah,” he says sincerely. Perhaps with too much feeling, because your eyebrows bunch slightly. “It happened a long time ago. Not long after you left, actually.” 

“Oh.” You nod, and James finds himself watching you more carefully than he normally might. He waits for the sense of bliss he’s feeling to find its way into your expression, but you still appear hesitant. “Can I ask if something happened? You just, you were together for so long…”

It’s true. Most people they knew, even Remus and Sirius, thought Lily and James would be married someday. In the end, it just seemed that they’d been together for so long that their relationship had become a routine instead of a choice. They were cohabitors more than partners, and when they were doing everything they could to spend time away from their shared home, Lily had been the only one brave enough to call them both out on it. 

“We just wanted different things,” James says. Namely, Lily wanted Mary and James wanted you. Had for too many years. 

You make a soft sound. “I suppose that’s how it goes, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “So, come on—you’ve had my update, let’s have yours. How did you like your job?” 

You pair your shrug with a small smile. “Not very well, honestly. I don’t think I really fit there.” James tsks sorrily, and you shrug again. “It’s just as well. I missed you all too much. I wanted to give it a try there and I did, but I’m glad to be back.” 

“Ah, well,” James says. “I suppose that’s how it goes, isn’t it?” 

It’s a terrible joke, but you laugh, the sound like water trickling over stone. He feels the smile spread on his face. 

“I really have missed you,” he says, earnestness aching in the back of his throat. 

A similar sentiment reflects back at him in your eyes. “Same here.” 

“I’m glad you’re here.” 

“I’m glad I am, too.” 

“Would you want to get coffee tomorrow?” With anyone else the invitation would seem abrupt, but your smile looks something like relief. You’ve both been waiting for this for too long. 

“That sounds nice,” you say. 

“Great.” James can hear the love in his own voice. It’s probably written all over his face, too. Just as well. “There’s a new cafe by my place that has really good almond croissants, would you want to meet there?” 

You nod, not trying to downplay your happiness. His heart swells to see it. “I love almond croissants,” you say. 

James remembers. It’s one of the things he’s glad to know about you. There was a small, censured part of him that took satisfaction in knowing those things even when he was with Lily. It’s not something he’s ever been proud of, but a spark of that satisfaction comes back now. 

“Perfect,” he replies. Behind you, Remus is letting Sirius pull him out of the kitchen. Remus folds himself into an unoccupied chair, where Sirius happily sprawls across his lap. They’re both pretending not to be watching you. “How’s one?” 

“Not soon enough,” you say without hesitation. You take another sip of your drink, miming unconcern, but your eyes are playful. “Ten?” 

James feels like his face could split in half. “Ten it is.” 

[anantaru]

DAY 28 — VAMPIRE AU

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — diluc

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, vampire au, reader is a little delulu, mentions of blood & blood drinking, rough and very passionate

vampire diluc who has never experienced a real, centered moment of happiness before meeting you— or at least not without turning into a cruel, evil monster, whose intention was to drain the blood of others.

but now he revels in your beauty, and he thinks you're intoxicating, tainting your mind with his small compliments.

when you see him, you cannot help yourself but feel frightened, yet also excited— and you wonder if something has been wrong with you all along, especially when you let him get closer to you, the cold breeze outside your window bristling over the dry leaves as you're solely focusing on the view in front of you, your breathing continuing to escalate as he sinks into your warmth.

vampire diluc who hides his face in your neck as his cock drags with a lack of purpose other than thrusting a maddening fusion of thrill and pleasure into you, your eye sight becoming blurred each moment you taste his roughness in your body with his erection twitching within your walls in searing need to release— for a solid minute, he ponders and caresses the sensitive flesh on your neck, his sharp canines like a feather crossing over the skin.

vampire diluc knows you would let him do it, meaning you'd approve of him tasting your blood on his tongue— and it somewhat terrifies him, actually, that you're willing to go through that for him. there was a small tug on your hips, then a squeeze, with the scarlet haired pushing you into him before he slows his movements for a bit, "tell me if it hurts," he mutters finally, "i cannot hold myself back.. any longer," his voice webbed in grit and stones that you're vibrating all over the second he mouths wet spots over your neck.

"i will," you whisper back, watching him nuzzle his face closer, "i want this.. want you," an instinctual feeling was urging you to hold yourself steadily against his body, your breath erratic yet your eyes, they told a different story because they, for one, were glimmering with an emotion everyone could easily discern— it's pure excitement, glittering beneath the humid air.

vampire diluc who proceeds slowly, parting his lips ever so slightly before pressing his sharp canines into your flesh, immersing his teeth deeper until he opens a little spot to hollow his cheeks on before making contact with a taste of metal, a taste vampire diluc was utterly familiar with— and ugh, he knew you'd taste better than any other before, he was aware that you're so special, from inside and out.

your breath hitches as a new warmth embraces you, his hands on every inch of your skin as he repeats his thrusts on you while never letting go of your flesh between his teeth— the tug on your skin was stinging a little and the feeling of getting blood pulled out of you was frankly, something you thought you never had to experience in life.

but.. it feels nice, exciting, and it urges your cheeks to burn hot, for some reason it makes you feel so full when he drinks from you together with crowding you to the hilt with his erection— long and thick and just so right.

regardless, it has you seeing stars and copious amounts of planets flickering throughout the universe— his entire weight on you, molding his front into you while pinning your breasts against his broad chest, whereas his hand— hot to the every last trace, lays flat over the plush side of your ass, the softness of your body forevermore melting into the soft ridges of his.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Run Rabbit✨

A/N: This idea literally came out of nowhere today, so I had to hurry and write it real quick! This idea is based off the song “Run, Rabbit Run!” by Flanagan and Allen. The song would not leave my head, and then I got this image of Joel chasing reader through an abandoned mansion. This one is a tad bit dark, but I hope you enjoy! If you liked this work, please think of reblogging and leaving me comments 🩷 Thank you to @ozarkthedog for being my beta 🥰

Summary: At the beginning of every month, you meet Joel to play a little game of hide and seek at the abandoned mansion near Jackson. It’s not just any game of hide and seek though. It’s dark and it’s twisted. If he catches you, he gets to do whatever he wants with you.

Pairing: Dom! Joel x fem! reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY MDNI)

Word Count: 4.1k

Tags: Possessive Joel, hide and seek, cat and mouse, Joel chases reader until he finds her, Jackson! Joel, outbreak! Joel, smut, fingering, oral, unprotected p in v, cream pie, dirty talk

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The air is suffocating, the black walls are covered in regret and years of cigarette stench. The dim lights seem to shine down on you like a spotlight as you run as fast as you can through the lavish house. You can hear him calling you, stalking you in the dark shadows like a starving dog hunting to devour fresh meat. 

   “Can’t run from me forever, darlin’. You keep on runnin’, but I’ll eventually find you,” he chuckles as his deep voice reverberates around the echoing halls. 

   You cover your mouth, keeping your body down as you run run run past the expensive statues and monumental paintings of the abandoned mansion. Your throat is on fire the longer you run, your body aching like that of a dying man on his last breath of life. Your legs feel like they’ll give way at any second, but you have to keep going. You can’t give up. Not yet. Not when he’s right on your tail. 

   Tired. You’re so very tired, yet you keep running. Dragging your hollow body down the vine covered corridors of the wide hallways as you gasp for fresh air in your watered down lungs. 

   You fly around a narrow corridor and nearly trip yourself on a bed of dark green vines that bite at your ankles, threatening to take you down as Joel draws closer to you. 

   You can feel his overbearing presence, can taste the whiskey that bleeds inside his thick veins, can feel his large body already crowding yours as if he’s already caught you. He hasn’t caught you yet, but you know he will. He always catches you. 

   This was all a game. A dark, twisted game that started on a cold night in December. You remember the first time he chased you, the first time he tore through all your clothes the minute he captured you and devoured your entirety on that pitch black night. Now, every first Saturday of each month you’d meet him back at this abandoned mansion to play his little game. He called it hide and seek, you called it a deadly game of cat and mouse because you were the mouse, and cats always caught their prey. 

   It’s like you two are stuck in a never ending dance, two souls completely consumed in the other as you spin in circles until one of you collapses. You shouldn’t keep coming back, shouldn’t want to play his dark little games, but yet you come. Every single time, you come, unable to face the reality of a month without his touch, his taste, his growls. You’d let the man do as he wanted because how could you resist those charming, big brown eyes? You couldn’t, you just couldn’t. You were a moth drawn to a flame, and he was the brightest, most dangerous flame of all. Something you wanted to forever be branded by.

   Joel Miller was a fucking menace of society, but he was your menace. So you’d continue the game until one of you stopped breathing. 

   “Where are you, little lamb?” he calls as your breath scorches the vine covered walls. You continue running, twisting around dark corners, running down stone steps, and hiding behind crimson curtains. 

   The next wooden door you come upon is locked tight. No amount of shaking the golden handle or hurling your body into the door will make it budge. You turn your head from side to side. The only way out is from the way you came. The hallway that he is in. Fuck. 

   You gulp down a silent breath and make a run for it, even though you know he’ll be there waiting like a prowling wolf. 

   You take careful steps down the marble hallway and sneak around the cold corner until you see his dark silhouette shining against the reflective flooring. You gasp as your eyes go wide, but before you can run he reaches out a long arm and clasps tightly to your wrist. 

   “There ya are, little lamb. Thought you’d get away from me this time?” he smirks as he wraps his calloused fingers tightly around you and tries to pull you in. 

   “Haven’t caught me just yet,” you laugh as you somehow manage to slip out of his grip and make a run for it. 

   You run down some slippery stone steps and end up at the back of the mansion with vine covered long corridors and twisting mazes of green bushes. You run as fast as you can as the wind sweeps through your long hair, letting the brisk wind set your adrenaline on fire. 

   You manage one glance back and see just how fast he’s creeping up on you. He’s like a lion running after a gazelle, the hunter about to attack the prey with its bare claws. And he will destroy his prey. 

   You take a few more steps, but then you feel a hand claw at your shoulder. He takes you down on the hard floor as you come crashing down to the pit of your doom. Pain radiates through your body, but you brush it off as you crawl forward, trying to escape the man that will take you as his own. 

   “Where do ya think you’re goin’, pretty thing?” he asks darkly as he wraps a hand around your ankle and tugs you in his direction. You hear a squeak escape your mouth like a trapped mouse that just got caught by a giant cat. 

   “I’m running away from you,” you answer back as you kick and try to squirm out of his reach. 

   He obviously has other plans because he drags you back underneath him and turns you flat on your back as he pins your hands above your head, his hips and large thighs caging you in so you can’t break free. He won this round, like he always did. 

   “Didn’t think I’d catch you so soon, little lamb,” he chuckles deeply as the weight of his body hangs over yours entirely. 

   “You just caught me off guard,” you sigh as you see his dark chocolate eyes honing in on yours. They’re so captivating, so damn pretty that you can’t look away. He’s so gorgeous even when you should find him intimidating. 

   “Now you’re mine,” he smirks as his chocolate eyes become darker, more blown out as he hovers his plush lips over yours. “Just what am I gonna do to you tonight, hmm?” he asks as lust fills the void of his dark eyes, making you squirm with anticipation already. You know what you want. You want him. 

   “Maybe I should be a little rough with you, hmm? That what you want?” he asks with the tick of his sculpted jaw, his thick eyebrow raising as he looks at you like he just won the most valuable prize in town. 

   You shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t be feeding his sick mind as he plays his dark games, but you can’t help it. You want it just as bad as he does. You want him to be rough with you. 

   You look at him with wide eyes and smirk right back at him, challenging his dominant side to give in. “So be rough with me,” you whisper back. 

   You see his dark eyes grow large with need as he huffs out through his nostrils. “Open,” he demands as he grabs a hold of your jaw and squeezes, just enough for your lips to part open slightly. He bends his head down and inhales deeply as he spits into your mouth as you feel the warm spit cover your tongue. 

   “Swallow,” he growls as you fully oblige. You close your mouth and swallow as you taste his spit slide down your throat. All hot and moist as you taste him in the back of your throat. And somehow you think it’s so goddamn hot. 

   “Good girl,” he praises as he shifts his weight down and starts unbuttoning your faded denim jeans. 

   “Now, you’re gonna be a good girl for me, right?” he asks as he starts to drag the denim down your legs, feeling a wave of slick slide down your lace panties as your adrenaline kicks in. 

   “Mhm,” you nod as you watch him strip your legs bare, next going to tear off your sticky pink t-shirt while he hovers over the fine lace of your bra, his calloused fingers circling your back as he slowly undoes the clasps. 

   “Gonna let me taste every inch of you, little lamb? Gonna let me fuck you till you can’t take anymore?” he asks as he undoes the last clap and slowly starts to slide the bra free, leaving your full breasts exposed to the chilly night air. The only thing left is your slick covered panties, and then you'll be completely bare. 

   “Yes,” you breathe as he cups your breasts and slides his tongue along the crook of your neck, all teeth and tongue as he nips and bites at your flesh. 

   You can’t help the burn, can’t help the absolute need that courses through your body as his weight encompasses your chest. His hot breath bleeds into your lungs and it’s as if you can breathe fresh air for the first time. His woodsy, whiskey scent makes you dizzy as he slides his wet tongue along your bottom lip as he hovers his weight above you. He’s like a wolf that comes to feed on you in the night, and you’ll gladly let him devour you whole. 

   He snakes his hand down your abdomen and slides his hand underneath your ruined panties as he presses his thumb in between your folds, collecting slick as you groan at the feel of him spreading you wide. 

   “Open up, darlin’. Wanna give you a taste,” he whispers. He slides his thumb in your mouth, and you press your tongue around it, tasting the sweet saltiness of your own arousal as you let it slide down your throat. 

   He opens his mouth and sucks the rest of the slick off as he moans at the taste of you in his system. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet, darlin’. Wanna just eat you up,” he groans as he hovers his lips back over yours, inching closer and closer until you’re practically begging him to drop down on your lips. 

   “Please,” you whine as your hands fist at his green flannel shirt, desperate for him to get closer to you. 

   “Please what?” he smirks as his dark eyes weigh into yours, pools of lust overflowing the edges as his pupils now expand into complete darkness. A predator about to eat his prey up entirely. 

   You have to use all your strength to get any words out, desperate for his touch. “Take me, all of me,” you plead as your eyes search his black pits that burn you alive. 

   “Oh, sweetheart. I’m gonna take it all,” he smirks. 

   Before you have time to respond, he drops his lips on yours and fists your hair as he tugs hard and pries your lips apart as he slots in his wet tongue. He glides his tongue against yours and circles your mouth as you moan against him and drink his whiskey breath down. 

   He breaks apart from your mouth and nips playfully down your neck as he kneads your breasts together. His tongue comes down to circle each nipple, bringing them to life as they harden and pebble for him as you writhe underneath him in pleasure. 

   His experienced hands are everywhere, burning your skin alive as he skates his calloused fingers up and down your glistening body that’s now caked in sweat. He shoves your legs apart and slides the lace down your legs as he sits back and examines your entire naked body that’s on full display just for him. Glistening skin and slick coated folds splay out in front of him, and he looks like a mad man the way he’s looking at you. 

   His nostrils flare as his eyes grow wide, the big black pits scavenging your body as he drags a hand through his thick salt-and-pepper scruff as he groans out a heated response. “Goddamn, little lamb. You’re so fuckin’ wet and ready for me. I can hardly stand it,” he moans as he slides between your legs and pushes your thighs apart, his calloused fingers spreading your folds apart as he spits down in between them and starts running meticulously up and down your open folds as he starts circling your clit slowly. 

   You moan and writhe underneath his fingers, but he just presses a big hand to your stomach and holds you still as he works his fingers up and down your soaked pussy. And it feels so good that you want to crawl out of your own skin as the flames alight in your lower regions. 

   “Fuck,” you moan as he licks a thick strip from your dripping hole all the way to the top of your clit as his nose brushes against the coarse hair that sits above your clit. He inhales a large whiff of you as he groans and wraps his arms around your thighs as he holds you down against the cool ground. 

   “That’s right, little lamb. Gonna have you screamin’ my name by the time I get done with you,” he chuckles darkly as he dives back in. 

   His tongue devours you as he slides it up and down, drawing tight circles around your throbbing bundle of nerves as he sucks you deep into his mouth. He glides his middle and ring finger into your dripping hole and works them in and out as he curls up and hits your spongy walls again and again as his tongue feasts on your clit and his fingers go knuckle deep into your pussy. 

   Your eyes start to roll back as your head hits the hard floor, your body feeling like it’s floating on a cloud as hot heat starts to slide down the base of your spine. Close, you’re so close. Almost there. 

   He growls up at you as he demands your attention right now. “LOOK AT ME,” his voice echoes off the vine covered walls as his dominance sheds through the dim light of the hallway. 

   Your eyes snap up to find blown out dark pupils looking up at you as he sucks you in his mouth expertly. His nail beds dig into your thighs as one of his fists sit knuckle deep in your pussy. You’ve never seen him so wild, so much like a starving wolf that it makes more slick slide down his fingers as he pumps in and out of your drenched walls. 

   He pops your bundle of nerves out of his mouth as he gives you one more long lick as he growls up at you with pure dominance in his words. “Come for me, little lamb. Want ya to scream my name, tell me just who’s makin’ you feel good. Come on, darlin’. Show me how you break,” he smirks as he quickens the pace of his fingers and drops back on your clit as he circles circles circles until you’re seeing stars in your vision. 

   “Joel, I’m gonna… gonna,” you whine as you feel your orgasm start to break apart. 

   “Go on. Come for me. Be a good girl now and obey,” he growls as he pulls you back into his mouth while his fingers press up into the spongy walls as you feel yourself coming hard for him. 

   You clench up around his fingers and feel slick start to rain down his fingers onto your thighs as you throw your head back and scream his name as your moans echo through the long, dim lit corridor. Your body feels like white noise washing through it as your toes curl and your fingers slide through his tousled curls. 

   He groans as your fingers dig into his scalp while he licks up every inch of spilt slick in between your thighs. You feel your high start to come down as you take nice, deep breaths and focus on the buzzing in your ears. 

   Joel sits on his knees and views the mess that he made in between your legs as you splay across the floor with your legs still wide open for him. He must enjoy the view because he can’t keep his hungry eyes off you. 

   “Such a good girl, you know that? Now, gonna let me take ya all the way? Gonna let me fuck ya now, sweetheart?” he smirks as he starts unbuttoning his green flannel shirt, undoing the buttons quickly as he slides it off his thick arms and throws it in a heap next to the vine covered wall. His rock hard abs sit glistening in the night light while a happy trail of dark, coarse hair sits just above the waist of his jeans in a v shape. It makes you want to get on your hands and knees and crawl to him as you beg to have just a little taste of him.

   “Yes, please. Fuck me,” you moan as you push your breasts together as your center feels on fire for him. 

   “Oh, I’m gonna fuck ya deep, little lamb,” he smirks as he knits his eyebrows together in concentration. 

   He unbuttons his dark jeans and threads the leather belt through his belt loops while he shoves his jeans and boxers down his legs while he stands and hovers over you with his hard cock hitting the base of his hairy stomach as the tip sits weeping and swollen, just waiting to get inside you. 

   You lick your lips together and stare at the swollen tip as saliva starts to coat your mouth. You can practically taste the salt on your tongue, can almost feel the precum sliding down your throat as you beg him for just one more taste. He looks so delicious, and you want to just eat him right up.

   He smirks down at you as he sees you staring at his thick cock that screams your name. “Want a taste, little lamb?” he smirks as you nod your head mindlessly. 

   “Get over here then and do somethin’ ‘bout it,” he demands as he pulls you up by your hair and plants you on your knees in front of his large body. 

   “Go on then. Let me see how good you can choke on this cock, darlin’.” He flashes his pearly whites at you and wraps his fingers around your hair as you take your hand and start sliding it up and down as you spread the precum all over his thick length. 

   You lick the tip lightly and swirl around slowly as you tease him while your hand works up and down the base of him. “Fuck, there ya go,” he groans as you take him inside your mouth as you taste salty goodness drip down your throat. You take him deeper as you choke on him, feeling the drool coat his cock as you go back and forth on him slowly. 

   He grabs tighter to your hair and starts to fuck up into your mouth as you feel him bottom out at the base of your throat as it constricts around his thick length. You choke and gag around his length as he deep throats you over and over again. Your vision blurs as the tears lick at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t care. You love when he chokes you out, when his cock is deep in your throat as you hear his stifled moans get caught in his throat the more your mouth deep throats him. 

  “Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel growls as his thrusts become rougher and deeper, enough to where you’re gagging on your own drool as it coats your mouth as he slips deeper inside. 

   Before you think you can’t take anymore, he releases his cock from your mouth as a bead of drool connects from his tip to your lower lip as you choke for air with his fingers still firmly wrapped around your hair. 

   “Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises as he releases you and shoves you back to the ground as your back his the cold floor. “Now spread those legs, sweetheart. Gonna fuck ya nice and deep now,” he instructs as he spreads your legs and gets down on his knees.  He throws your legs over his shoulders and lines his cock up with your folds as he slowly slides the tip up and down your folds as your spit on his cock collects with the messy slick in between your legs. 

   “Jus’ relax now, darlin’. Let me help fill this pretty pussy up,” he smiles as he shoves his cock through your folds and fills you up. 

   You gasp at the stretch, he’s so fucking big that you never quite get used to the stretch. There’s a tinge of pain, but mostly you’re so full of him that all you can focus on is how good he’s making you feel. He fucks up into you deeper as he bottoms out inside you over and over again. 

   His body hovers over you as his lips nip against your neck as he slides in and out of you faster faster faster as you start to feel wildlife burn through your whole body. He folds your legs in half like a pancake as he fucks deeper inside you, making your walls squeeze his large length tight as you get close to your second orgasm. 

   You study his appearance, focusing on his knit eyebrows that are sewn together in concentration as he loses himself in you entirely. Sweat sticks to his forehead as his curls stick together in the glistening sweat. His broad back is flexing and tightening around you as your nails claw his tan skin, making him moan into the shell of your ear as he licks against the edge of your ear with thick pants leaving his mouth. 

   You kiss along the edge of his jaw, nipping at his scruff as you moan his name eagerly into the base of his ear as he speeds up his thrusts, bottoming out again and again until you can’t take it anymore. 

   “Joel, I’m gonna… fuck, I’m gonna come,” you pant out as he presses his forehead against yours. 

   “Come for me, pretty girl. Let me feel ya,” he commands as he thrusts up inside once twice three more times until you’re squeezing his cock with your walls and pouring yourself all over him. You moan his name and scratch your nails down his back as he moans back in satisfaction. 

   “Oh, that’s a good girl,” he praises as he continues rutting up inside you until he’s choking for air with his own tongue. 

   “Christ, I’m gonna come. Fuck, I’m gonna…” He doesn’t take long till he’s shooting thick ropes of come inside your walls as you feel warmth bubbling all inside you. He takes a minute to let it all out, releasing all his spend inside you as you breathe in his whiskey coated scent. 

   “Fucking hell, sweetheart. Can’t get enough of that sweet pussy,” he groans as he pulls his cock out of you and lets his spend slide down your milky thighs. 

   He collapses onto his back and pulls you into his side as you wrap a leg around his waist and inch your head up to the crook of his neck as your arm wraps around his broad chest. 

   “Some game, huh?” you pant as your exhausted body splays over the entirety of him. 

   “Some game,” he agrees as he rakes his fingers through your messy hair and kisses the top of your forehead as you relax all your weight into him. 

   “Think there’s ever gonna be a day where you won’t catch me?” you ask curiously as he smiles down and shakes his head at you. 

   “No, sweetheart. I’m always gonna catch you. Even if I have to run a couple miles to get to you. I’ll always catch you, my pretty girl.”

   You smile as he pulls you tight against his body, and you spend the rest of the night just lying on the floor in the abandoned mansion where this all started in the first place. A twisted game that ended in two lovers running back to each other again and again. 

   Maybe some games aren’t meant to be played, but this one was specifically made for you and Joel. The cat and the mouse who started off running away from each other, but it ended with both of you falling apart together. 

Tagging some mutuals who might want to read🩷 @milla-frenchy @vividispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @jasminedragoon @morallyinept @mountainsandmayhem @dugiioh @pedrostories @syd-djarin @laurrrra @joelmillersblog @joelmillerisapunk @amyispxnk @msjarvis @lotusbxtch @untamedheart81 @littlemisspascal