#i had a few things i had in mind a good hour ago but they quickly escaped my mind. whatfuckingever

[xspeter]

episode one: the vanishing of will byers

˚✧˚. summary: your brother goes missing, Tommy H gets what he deserves, and Mike Wheeler drags you into something downright strange

wc: 6.1k

m.list

notes: hi!!! this is the first chapter of my own rewrite :). i’ve always loved reading stories where you actually go on the adventures with the characters, so i figured why not do it myself? as i’m sure all of you know, im not the best at keeping up with my own stories… so please bare with me!

Your job at Karma Records isn’t very hard, especially since your job just consists of stacking and organizing records and that’s pretty much it. You glance at the clock on the wall, and you sighed as you realized it was already 10:30. The store closed thirty minutes ago, but you stopped getting any customers before the sun had even fully set.

You usually made it a rule not to work late, especially on nights where Will would be home alone. Tonight though was one of the rare nights where Jonathon would be home before you, so you figured there wasn’t any harm in picking up a few extra hours. Especially since you knew your mom could use the extra help. Even though she thought she was good at hiding your financial struggles, you and Jonathon had always known.

“Hey, you ready to lock up?” Your friend, Conner, asks you, his glasses nearly falling off of his nose as he leans against the front counter to look at you. You nod, stretching your arms over your head, your eyes squeeze shut and you let out a relieved moan when your arms slap back down to your thighs. Conner gives you a thumbs up, his blonde hair falling over his eyes a bit as he stands to his full height. Conner is tall, that much is obvious, he has been ever since you were kids and you’d met at the softball field.

“I’ve just gotta finish sweeping up the backroom, but you can go ahead and go.” He says, already beginning to walk away from you.

Your eyebrows furrow as you shrug your jacket on, “Are you sure? I really don’t mind helping you.”

Conner nods, “Yeah, I know, but Will and Jonathon are waiting for you, and you want to get home before your mom right?” He says the last part teasingly, knowing it was technically against your moms rules for you to work late.

You roll your eyes, “Whatever, it’s not like Will is home alone, Jon is there! And, I mean, seriously, I feel bad leaving you here alone, Conny.”

Conner just shakes his head, walking over to you and practically pushing you out the door. “Go home!” He insists. You can’t help but giggle at his antics, finally agreeing.

You sigh as you walk out of the store. You wrap your jacket tighter around yourself as you make the short trek to your car. November in Indiana wasn’t terrible, it wasn’t snowy like it usually was in January, it was more an uncomfortable dry cold. The kind of cold that almost hurt your lungs if you breathed in too hard.

As you walked to your car, you couldn't help but feel almost uncomfortable. You were on one of the main streets in Hawkins, surrounded by stores and streetlights, but you couldn’t help the feeling that you weren’t alone. You glanced behind you, thinking maybe Conner was watching you through the store's glass doors, but he’s not there. Still, the feeling persists.

You swallow, grateful as you finally reach your red ford. The car had been a hand-me down from your dad, the first and only nice thing he’d ever given you. You assumed it was to make up for all of the bullshit he put your family through, but it was going to take more than a car to make you forgive him.

The feeling still lingered even as you pulled out of the parking lot, and you couldn’t help but wonder if something very bad was going to happen.

-

Your twin brother had always been an expert on breakfast foods. You wondered if it was because he’d had to learn considering your lack in cooking skills, or if it was because your mom always burnt pancakes and her eggs were always a bit too watery. Either way, you can’t help the way you inhale the smell of the eggs he’s making, sipping on your coffee at the dining table.

You can hear your mom frantically getting ready, more than likely looking for her keys, which you could see on the table in front of you. “Jonathon, Y/N! Have you seen my keys?” She cries as she suddenly bursts into the kitchen, her eyebrows furrowed.

Jonathon sighs as he continues making breakfast, “Check the couch!” He says, but she just groans. “I already did!” She insists.

You grab the keys off the table, placing your mug down as you walk over to where she’s searching between the cushions. “They’re right here, Mom.”You say, holding them out to her like a prize.

“Oh,” She says relieved, “Thank you, Sweet girl.”

You just hum, going back to where you were sitting at the table. “Are you almost done, Jon?” You ask impatiently, barely able to ignore the grumbling in your stomach. Jonathon just rolls his eyes, “I would be if you’d quit nagging me.” He says, though you know he’s just teasing you.

“Okay, I’m leaving for work,” Your Mom says, leaving a kiss on your head and heading for Jonathon, but she stops in her tracks when she notices the empty chair at the dining table. “Where’s Will?”

You wince, realizing you’d been so focused on your hunger you’d completely forgotten to get him up. “I haven’t gotten him up yet.”

Her head falls back in a groan, “You have to make sure he’s up!” She says, beginning to practically speed walk towards your younger brother's room. You sigh, and you can’t help but feel a bit guilty at making her day harder. “I’ve told you this a thousand times.”

You share a look with Jonathon, when you were Will’s age you were both getting yourselves up, and sometimes you thought maybe it was time Will did the same. “Sorry, mom!” You call down into the hallway, though you doubt she even processes what you said in her hurry.

You grin as you hear the toaster pop, and Jonathon silently places your plate in front of you. You go to immediately dig in, a hum leaving your lips. Your family had always called you a human garbage disposal, because you loved to eat. It was pretty much your love language.

Your mom came back into the room anxiously, a strange look on her face. You’d seen her look worried before, but this felt different. “Will came home last night, right?”

You looked to Jonathon for confirmation, who looked to you. “I- I don’t know, Y/N was home before me last night.” He says. You immediately shook your head, eyes widening a bit. “What? No, I wasn’t. I worked late last night. I thought you got off at eight?”

Jonathon swallowed, “Eric asked me to cover for him last night, and I figured we could use the extra money.”

You can’t help the way your heart drops at the realization that neither you or Jonathon had been home last night. But, surely he had just stayed the night with Mike. This was Hawkins, nothing bad ever happens in Hawkins.

Your mom rubs the bridge of her nose exasperatedly, her eyes squeezing shut. “Guys, we’ve talked about this. You can’t- can’t take shifts when I’m working!”

You swallow, “I’m sorry Mom, I just- it was just a misunderstanding.” Jonathon nods in agreement, leaning against the chair next to you. “He was at the Wheelers all day. I'm sure he just stayed the night.” You feel a bit relieved that Jonathon points this out, because where else would he be?

“I can’t believe you guys,” She mutters, walking towards the phone. “Unbelievable.” You sigh, knowing it was better to let her be angry then try and argue with her, especially when she was right.

You pick at your fingernails anxiously as she calls The Wheelers, that awful feeling from last night creeping back into your stomach, creating an endless pit. It wasn’t uncommon for Will to stay the night at his friends' houses on school nights, but he always made sure it was okay at least a week in advance. He was cautious like that, it was something you loved about him. How careful he was.

That’s why your heart skips a beat when she hangs up the phone, and she doesn’t look any bit relieved.

You and Jonathon spend the entire morning in silence, the both of you entirely too anxious to attempt any kind of small talk. Your mom had called and informed you that Will was not at school or at the arcade or at any of his friends or even at that diner he strangely loves so much. She’d said she was going to file a missing persons report, which still felt entirely impossible.

There was no way Will was actually missing. He was at Mikes all day yesterday! It’s only a ten minute bike from The Wheelers to your house, and Will is cautious. He is careful and he is safe and he knows better than to stray off the route you’d shown him years ago. It seemed entirely impossible that anything could’ve happened in that ten minutes.

You glance to where Jonathon sits next to you on the couch, his expression blank. You swallow, blinking a few times. “He’s fine, right?” You murmur, the first words spoken between the two of you in over an hour. “He just got lost in the woods. We- We’ll find him by tonight, right?” Your eyes begin to fill with an onset of tears, the first of the day.

Jonathon doesn’t say anything, he barely even spares you a glance, and you can’t say you don’t expect it. This is what had happened when your dad had left, he’d gone entirely mute for hours. At the time you’d been annoyed by it, you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that he wouldn’t say a word, not even when you begged him to talk to you. Will had been so young at the time, he didn’t even really understand what was going on. You’re partially grateful for that, you’d rather he grew up without ever remembering what it was like with your father than to have to experience living with him.

Before you can stop it, tears begin to roll down your cheeks, hot and heavy and all too familiar. You can feel your hands shaking from where they sit on your lap, your vision becoming blurred and lower lip wobbling uncontrollably.

This wasn’t real, there wasn’t any way. There has to be a rational explanation for this. This was Hawkins for crying out loud! What’re the chances that the one awful thing to happen in this town happens to your family? Your happy, loving family?

A warm embrace of your shaking hands pulls you from your thoughts, and that’s when you notice that Jonathon is crying too. He isn’t saying anything, and he still isn’t looking at you, but he’s holding your hand. You tighten your fingers around his, place your head on his shoulder, and weep.

For now, this was enough.

-

“Will!”

Your voice is most definitely hoarse by the third hour of you doing this, screaming for your baby brother to no avail. Will hasn’t responded once, and you’re no closer to finding him than you were three hours ago.

Your mom had returned home with… the report. You couldn’t bring yourself to say what it really was anymore, especially not after seeing it in person. It just made it feel too real, and some part of you still believed this was some awful nightmare.

Deep in the woods, you could hear your mom and brother screaming for him, their voices hoarse just like yours. This part of the woods wasn’t new or unfamiliar to you, in fact you knew it like the back of your hand. Castle Byers stood tall and proud in the tiniest clearing, made of wood and covered by a blue tarp. You remember helping Will and Jonathon build it, or, more like you and Jonathon built it and Will just watched in astonishment.

The castle had been almost like you and your twin's passion project after your Dad had left, like a saving grace amidst the chaos that your lives had become. You both acted like it was to help Will, to distract him, but really it was to distract you.

It had worked too, because by the time it was finished the dad-shaped hole in your chest had healed into a dad-shaped scar.

Now, as you flung the makeshift door open, the Castle felt cold and empty. A reminder of what was gone, and a lingering question of if and when it was coming back.

You sighed, some part of you’d been expecting Will to be in there, hiding from the rest of the world to finish some amazing drawing that he’d gotten the idea for.

“Not there, huh?”

Jonathon’s voice behind you nearly sends you flying out of your skin, and you have to place a hand over your chest to calm your rapidly beating heart. “Jesus, Jon!”

He gives what seems to be the making of a smile, though it doesn’t quite extend past his cheeks. “Sorry.”

You shake your head, “It’s fine. I’m just… a little on edge, I guess.”

He nods, shoving his hands into his pockets. The both of you stare at the structure, neither of you quite knowing what to say as memories flow through the both of you.

“Do you- do you remember the first day we worked on this? When Will insisted on helping me cut the wood?” Jonathon asks you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

A small grimace forms on your face as you wrap your arms around yourself, “How could I forget?”

Six years ago, when you’d built this, Will had insisted on helping Jonathon cut the wood. He was only five years old at the time, but Jonathon had thought as long as he was there to help him it’d be okay. Which, by the way, you would’ve told him was a horrible idea if you’d known he was doing it. You’d been helping your mom make sandwiches for the four of you, when an awful, blood-curdling scream punctured through the four walls of your house.

You and your mom had gone running to find Jonathon bent over and Will sobbing over him, axe in hand. “I’m sorry, Jonny! I’m sorry!”

Will had accidently sent the axe right onto Jonathon’s leg, leaving a massive cut right below his knee. It was gaping and oozing blood so red it was nearly black. The whole ordeal had been terrifying at the time, and ten-year-old you had thought for sure Jonathon would die.

He didn’t obviously, he just needed tons of stitches and ended up with a badass scar. Will never did forgive himself for it though. To this day, he still apologizes to Jonathan for it, though he can barely even remember it happening. You think that’s what makes Will so different from all of you, he is so… so compassionate. So empathetic and more in-tune to his emotions then any other eleven year old on the planet. Jonathon had always told him to stop apologizing, that it was more his fault than anything, but Will never stopped.

Jonathon sniffles from beside you, though you can’t tell if it’s because of the cold wind or the tears in his eyes. “God, I’d kill to hear him apologize one more time.”

You sigh shakily, “I would too.” You insist, eyes filling with tears for the upteenth time today. You wonder to yourself if there would be a point where the tears just stop coming, if Will is going to be gone long enough for that to happen.

You silently pray to God that that doesn’t happen.

By the time 3 o’clock rolls around there’s only one person that you desperately need to talk to, that you know can make you feel better, and that’s Conner.

You’d returned home from your search half an hour ago, the whole thing leading you nowhere closer to finding your brother. You knew it wasn’t… pointless. That it would help you find him, but still, you couldn’t help but worry that you were searching for nothing. That he would never show up.

You needed to talk to Conner.

You dialed his number easily, the digits practically muscle memory at this point. Really, he was the only person outside of your family that you called. You weren’t particularly popular at school, and it’s not like you wanted to be! You were happy with it just being you and Conner. You swallowed as the phone rang, letting yourself lean against the wall as you twisted the phone cord around your free hand.

You frowned when you got his answering machine, though you assumed he must’ve gone straight to work from school. You’d already called off for the day, just like Jonathon and your Mom had. Though, your Mom had called off for the next two weeks.

When Conner doesn’t answer, you sigh, placing the phone back on the wall. Jonathon had shut himself in his room as soon as you got home, and your Mom had driven herself straight back to the police station to hound Hopper again. Leaving you, alone.

You never quite took loneliness well. Jonathon thrived when he was by himself, he found comfort in the silence, whereas you did not. You supposed that was the main difference between the two of you. Yes, you were twins, but really you didn’t think you and Jonathon had many traits in common. Or maybe you did, and you just couldn’t see it.

Either way, you needed to get out. You couldn’t sit here by yourself or you were positive you’d go crazy. Without really thinking, you threw on your shoes and your jacket, letting yourself out through the front door. You practically beelined for your car, the rusty red ford already bringing the slightest bit of comforting warmth to your chest.

You’d always been a bit attached to your car. Driving was comforting for you, and helped you clear your head. You’d always preferred road trips to traveling by plane, though your family could hardly ever afford a plane ticket. You’d always been secretly grateful for that fact.

The car shudders a bit as you force it on, the start of “Gypsy” by Fleetwood Mac blasting into the air. You quickly shut it off, the cassette popping out of the dash. You don’t even bother putting it back in its rightful case, instead choosing to throw it onto the passenger seat as you search through your cassettes for the song.

You had a routine when you were upset. Get in your car, play the song, and just drive. You never had a destination, just an agenda.

You let out a relieved sigh when you find it, quickly pushing it into the car and listening as the beginning notes of David Bowie's “Heroes” blast through your speakers. The speakers crackle and pop as you force it louder, but you don’t care. You just put the car in drive and go.

-

An hour later, you’re parked at a gas station, filling up your car before you head back home. You’d driven around the entire city of Hawkins twice, which wasn’t very hard to do considering its size, and you listened to the song the entire time.

Your eyes are puffy from crying all day, and a cigarette that you’d stolen from your mom months ago hangs lit between your lips. When you’d taken it, you figured you’d save it for the right time. No better time than the present, right?

It burns your throat and chest as you suck in its toxic chemicals, your free arm is wrapped around your middle while the other takes the cigarette out of your mouth and holds it between your pointer and middle finger.

You were sure there was some kind of danger in filling up your car while you smoke, but you’d seen countless people do it before and nothing happened to them. You tap your foot impatiently against the pavement, watching as the fuel gauge fills ever so slowly.

After what feels like forever, you hear the gas finally pop, signaling to you that it’s done its job and you can finally leave. As you stick it back into the gas pump, the sound of awfully loud music and screeching tires distracts you.

You look up to see Steve Harrington’s fancy BMW zoom into the parking lot, driving into the parking spot behind you and blowing so much wind past you that your hair practically flies all over the place. Your eyes instantly narrow as you turn around to glare at him. To no one’s surprise, he’s not by himself. His idiotic, minion friends Tommy H and Carol are in the car, the both of them laughing their asses off at whatever it is Steve has said.

Steve Harrington was… a prick, to put it lightly. You weren’t the guy's biggest fan, and you never had been. Now that he was dating Nancy Wheeler though? You most definitely can’t stand him.

You and Nancy had never really been friends, but there’d been a time where you were acquaintances, back when you both dressed up for your brother's DnD games and played along. Though now she’d grown out of it and you still played a long if they asked you nice enough.

You understood it, obviously. You were getting older, and she’d crossed the threshold from playing with her brother to being a normal teenage girl. You, it would seem, still had not, and Steve Harrington’s friends went out of their way to make sure you knew it.

Carol is the first to spot you glaring at them, and the sickening smirk that grows on her face is enough to make your movements quicken. You really weren’t in the mood to deal with them today.

You drop your cigarette, squashing it with your foot. The damn thing hadn’t done anything for you anyway, if anything you were just more stressed.

You quickly hop back into your car, turning the key and sighing as it revs back on. You reach for the door handle to slam it shut, but you’re stopped as a hand grabs the door, preventing you from leaving.

You swallow uncomfortably, sighing as you force yourself to look up. You're met with Tommy H’s smiling face, and you can’t help but feel sick at the smell of alcohol already in his breath. Schools been out for.. what? An hour and a half? How was the bastard already drunk?

“We missed you at school today.” He drawls. You can see Carol smiling through the rear view mirror, a freshly lit cigarette between her fingers. Steve is nowhere to be found, and you assume he’s gonna inside to buy whatever it is they came here for,

“Get off of my car, Tommy.” You say neutrally. If there was one thing you’d learned from being relentlessly bullied by these two, it was to not show any sort of distress.

Tommy leans closer to you, though his hand never leaves your car, instead trailing from the door to the hood, his fingers hanging carelessly over the opening from where your door closes. “Why would I do that when I’m just trying to have a decent conversation with you?”

You can’t help the way your face contorts in disgust. “Look, I’ve had a shit day, Tommy-”

“I know, I heard about your brother.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at that. It would seem there really were no secrets in a small town. Though, you’re shocked he found out about it so quickly. You don’t say anything. What can you say anyway? Oh, yeah, that really sucks! See you at school tomorrow? No.

“Yeah, me and Carol or real sorry about that, by the way.” Naively, you wonder if he’s being legit. Tommy H and Carol were awful, obviously, but sometimes you wondered if he wasn’t really that awful. You peek up at him at your own volition, a curious glint in your eye. “Really?”

Tommy snickers, “Of course! I mean, I'd be real depressed if my twin killed my younger brother too!”

You can hear Carol laughing, that awful, snotty laugh that she does when she wants Tommy to feel validated in whatever crap he’s pulling. “Hey, isn’t that called having an evil twin?” Tommy continues his attempts at getting under your skin, but you’re not focused on him anymore. You see Steve walk out of the gas station with a six pack, a confused look in his eye. You think that’s what pisses you off the most. It’s not Tommy’s comment or Carol's laugh, it’s Steve. It’s the fact that he knows what kind of awful people they are, and yet still chooses to be their friend. It makes you see red.

Before you even realize what you're doing, you quickly snatch the car door handle, and slam it shut on Tommy’s fingers. He howls in pain, his eyes going wide as his other hand reaches for the outside handle. You let him open the door, though he doesn’t even care for anything other than his bright red fingers anymore.

You smirk as he cradles them with his other hand, pained grunts still falling from his mouth. You can hear Carol calling for him, and Steve just stands in the middle of the parking lot stupidly, staring back at you through the rearview mirror. You can tell that he has no clue of what just happened, but he’s curious.

You don’t say anything as you slam the door back shut, not even bothering to put on your seatbelt as you speed out of the parking lot.

-

“Where the hell were you?”

It’s not the greeting you’re expecting when you finally get home, though you guess you should’ve considering you just left without even leaving a note.

You swallow, shutting the door behind you slowly. “I just needed to clear my head.” You defend softly.

Your mom scoffs, shaking her head wildly. The bags under her eyes are already much more prominent, and her hair is fraying in places it usually doesn’t. “So- So you just left? With everything going on, you just left without even telling anyone you were leaving?”

You played with your fingers uncomfortably, you knew she was right, but you hadn’t really been thinking properly at the time. It’s the whole reason you left in the first place! “I’m sorry, Mom.”

She just sighs, falling into the couch next to Jonathon. “You- You can’t do that, okay? Especially not right now. I- I can’t. Will’s already gone, if I lost one of you…” She trails off, eyes welling up with tears. It breaks your heart to see your Mother so vulnerable and open. When your dad left, she put on a strong face for the three of you. Never let you see her cry, never let you see her break, so that she could take care of you. Now, it was your turn to take care of her.

You sit into the couch next to her, so that now you and Jonathon are practically sandwiching her between the cushions. “You’re not going to lose us, Mom.” Jonathon murmurs. You agree with him, wrapping your arms around the brown haired woman. Jonathon does the same, and the three of you sit there for who knows how long, just embracing.

That is until Jonathon interrupts it. “Cops.”

You follow the both of them outside, where Chief Jim Hopper and two of his officer buddies are waiting with Will’s bike.

You’d gotten him that Bike for Christmas, it’d taken you months to save up for it. When you gave it to Will, he was so ecstatic he said he’d protect it with his life, and now a voice in the back of your head told you that he had.

“We found it lying over by Shirley.” He says as places the bike onto the porch and allows himself and the other officers inside your home. “It was just lying there?” You mom says in disbelief, sharing a glance with you.

“Yeah. Cal?” Hopper says, signaling to the other officer to do something that you’re not too sure of.

“Will wouldn’t do that.” You defend, “He- He loved that bike.”

Hopper glances at you, continuing his march through the halls “I’m sure he did, Kid.”

“Did it have any blood on it, or-”

“No, no, no, no…Phil?” Hopper murmurs. You can’t stand the way he’s looking through your house like it’s some sort of crime scene, even though you know deep down that it is.

Your childhood home was a crime scene now.

You can tell that Jonathon is growing restless at the amount of one word answers Hopper is giving, because you are too. “If you found the bike out there, then what are you doing here?” He asks, only slightly impatient.

“Well, he had a key to the house, right?” Hopper asks, not even sparing any of you a glance. To be honest, it was pissing you off.

“Yeah.” Jonathon answers.

“So…” He mutters, looking through your kitchen like a fruit fly looking for a rotten apple, “Maybe he came home.”

Your mom immediately scoffs, the idea impossible to her. “What- You think I didn’t check my own house?”

Hopper shakes his head, walking over to the wall next to the door. “I’m not saying that. This always been there?” His fingers glaze over a hole in the wall, right where the door handle would smash into it if opened hard enough.

Your mom sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose impatiently. “I don’t know! I’ve got three kids, two of which are boys. Look at this place.”

Hopper doesn’t say anything, instead swinging the door back and forth as if testing his theory. “You’re not sure?”

The attention is dragged away when Chester starts barking outside, and Hopper goes out there without a word. Your mom follows, though you and Jonathon choose to stay inside.

“I hate that they’re treating this place like a crime scene.” You say softly.

Jonathon swallows, “Well, it is now, isn’t it?”

You're silent for a moment, picking at the skin around your finger nails uncomfortably. “Yeah.” You murmur, “I guess it is.”

-

By the time the sun sets you’ve tried to call Conner a million different times to no avail. His parents aren’t answering either, which worries you even more. With everything that’s going on with Will, you could really use your best friend.

There was going to be a search party for Will tonight, the first of what you desperately hoped wasn’t many. Your family wasn’t going, mostly because Hopper told you not to. He’d said it was best for you to stay home the first few nights, they had enough volunteers and they’d call you as soon as they found anything.

You were practically itching to go though. You wanted to be out there looking for him. What if Hopper scared him and he got even more lost? He wasn’t ever any good around new people.

Your thoughts are interrupted by your mom knocking on your bedroom door, and you let her know it’s okay to come in with a hum. She creaks the door open just wide enough for her to fit through it. “Hey.” She says softly.

You give her a small smile, “Hi.”

She sniffles, leaning against the doorframe. “Me and Jonathon are getting some pictures for the-” She sucks in a breath, the words getting stuck in her throat. “The poster?” You finish for her.

She nods, “The poster.”

Wordlessly, you follow her into the living room where a shoebox full of pictures sits opened on the coffee table, some photos already splayed around the wood. You sit down next to Jonathon on the couch, your eyes scanning over each and every family photo. Lots of them are taken by Jonathon, his love for photography never changing throughout the years.

You snort when you spot a picture of you and Jonathon from before Will was even born. You’re both barely over the age of three, the only thing either of you were wearing being a pampers diaper. You were still practically bald, your hair so thin it looked more like wires than anything else. Jonathon on the other hand, had the thickest head of hair you’d ever seen on a baby!

“You look like the girl in this photo!” You point out with a small laugh, and Jonathon just lets out a puff of air, the closest thing you think you’ll get to a laugh from him.

Your mom sniffles from where she sits beside Jonathon, silently looking through the photos, her eyes subconsciously lingering on the ones of Will.

“I- I know I haven’t been there for the two of you lately.” She says suddenly. Your breath catches in your throat and you shake your head. “No, Mom, c’mon..” You insist.

“I’ve just been working so hard and…” A soft sob escapes her throat, “I just feel bad I don’t even know what’s going on with you guys.” She does her best attempt at a laugh after, though it comes out weak and uncomfortable.

Jonathon seems to be going mute again, and you can’t help the way your eyes build up with tears. She rubs Jonathon’s thigh comfortingly, “What is it, Honey?” She says softly, doing her best to coax a few words out of him.

“Nothing.” He manages, though it comes out coarse, as if he’s holding back tears.

“Come on, tell me.” She insists. Finally, Jonathon breaks. “It’s just… I should’ve been there for him.” He admits, and you feel your heart break in two.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t been having thoughts like that. Thoughts of what if. What if you hadn’t taken that later shift? What if you had double checked with Jonathon? Would Will be home safe, like he was supposed to?

“Jonathon, don’t do that to yourself.” You say softly, tears falling from your own eyes.

“This was not your fault,” Your mom reassures, her other hand coming to rest on your cheek. “Either of you, okay? It wasn't your faults.”

She sucks in a shaky breath, “Will is… is close, I can feel it, in my heart.” She says, her voice wavering slightly though you know she means what she says. It comforts you slightly, knowing that your mom believed so wholly.

She smiles, picking one of the pictures of Will scattered on the coffee place. It’s his sixth grade school photo. He’s smiling, and he’s wearing the outfit you and Jonathon helped him pick out because he insisted on looking just perfect.

“This is the one, right?” She says, and you and Jonathon both nod. “Yeah, it’s his favorite picture.” You say, your voice cracking slightly,

Your mom laughs, staring fondly at the photo, until the phone rings. She drops it back in the coffee table and runs over to it. Your heart practically stops beating, hoping, but also slightly dreading, to hear some news about Will.

“H-Hello?” She says into the phone, her eyebrows creasing in confusion. “Hello? L-Lonnie?” You and Jonathan both share a glance, “Dad?”

You get up from your spot on the couch, walking over to your mom in the hopes if being able to hear whoever’s on the phone. “Hopper? Who is this?”

Suddenly, her breath catches in her throat as she looks at you. “Will?”

Jonathon practically shoots up from the couch, standing next to you. “It’s- It’s will?” You said, a weight coming off of your shoulders. He was alive.

Suddenly, her eyes go wide, no longer with relief, but instead fear. “Who- Who is this? What have you done to my boy?”

“Mom, what’s going on? Who’s on the phone?” You question, the weight suddenly crashing back down, making it nearly impossible for you to breathe. “Give me back my son- oh!” The phone drops from her hand, it clearly having gotten overheated or- or something.

Jonathon dives for it, “Hello? Who is this?”

You immediately go for your Mom, “What did he say?” You insist, but she’s already begun to sob. “He just breathed. He just breathed!” Your breath catches in your throat. So, he hadn’t said anything? Not a clue about where he was? Nothing?

You didn’t have time to dwell on it now as you pulled your mom into an embrace, the both of you crying together.

By the time everyone calms down and your mom finally gets herself to bed it’s pouring and you’re exhausted. You flop onto your bed, though it feels wrong to try and sleep knowing Will isn't right across the hall like he usually is.

You toss and turn for at least half an hour, so you’re beyond grateful at the sound of the landline in your room ringing. You assume it’s Conner finally replying to the hundreds of messages you left him, but you’re shocked when you hear the other voice on the line.

“Y/N? Are you there?”

“Mike?”

You assume he’s calling because he’s scared, just like all of you are. “Mike, is everything all right?”

The phone is silent, though you think you can hear Dustin and Lucas arguing in the background. You can hear Mike take a shaky breath, before he simply says, “We need your help.”

[heazueken]

Letting Go

*ೃ༄ summary: Jayce and Viktor have their part 2

warning(s): MDNI, explicit sexual content, oral sex, vaginal sex, ftm!viktor, knotting

pairing(s): Viktor/Jayce

w/c; 12.2k

a/n: i went a littleee overboard with this part 2 request of cured... did not mean to make it this long but! here we are! enjoy anon and everyone else! part 1 for those who didnt read :3

Translation list for Viktor:

Přesně tam - right there

Kurva - fuck

“Jayce, would you mind joining me later tonight in my chambers for uh…part two, if you will?”

The sentence played over and over in Jayce’s head like a broken record and he’s coming up on hour six of his work day. Viktor is still next to him, goggles on, focused and taking every few seconds to scribble down some runes and speak to himself quietly. He’s engrossed in his work and hasn’t spoken a single word to his vastayan partner in Gods know how long. Jayce is storming with more thoughts of nefarious things he could do to him, meanwhile Viktor sits there, earnestly working without so much as a glance towards the man next to him. Clearly he hadn’t been as affected by the events that transpired that morning.

Jayce had him on this very table just hours ago, fucking into him deeply, falling into the temptation of having Viktor all to himself and claiming him. When he glances over to Viktor he can’t help but be aware of the knowledge that under the clothing, there’s marks he left on his partner. It sends a shiver down his spine and he has to pull on the collar of his dress shirt to relieve the tightness of his tie around his neck. They’d been silent for so long that Jayce was too afraid to break it.

“Right, so, Viktor? When you said go to your place for part two did you really mean that? We have three more hours left and I just thought maybe we should go relieve some stress…” 

Well, that would just sound stupid and needy if he said that out loud. Plus, Viktor was never the type to leave his work ever. It’s Jayce who literally had to force him sometimes to go back to his apartment because he was not going to walk back into their lab to see the man slumped over a table and drooling on their research papers again (yes, Viktor has done that so many times now it was starting to be a daily thing). Jayce was hoping for once he could convince Viktor to sleep in his own bed tonight, he was only worried about his well-being after all.

Who is he kidding?

He wants Viktor on his back, wants to see him spread his legs and expose himself for Jayce. He wants to hold him down and fuck him like he’s never been before and hear his name fall from his partners voice in that soft, melodic tone. He wants to make him his, bite him and leave a scar that tells people he’s the property of Jayce Talis. He needs Viktor to know just how badly he wants him, his body calls to him like a moth to a flame and he doesn’t give a damn for getting burned because for Viktor it was worth it. Anything was worth fighting for when it came to his lab partner.

Jayce’s ears perk when he hears the grating sound of Viktor’s chair pushing away from the desk. He glances over to sneak a peek at him. He’s taken off his goggles, his jaw opening to release a yawn as he raises his arms above his head to stretch. Jayce can see just the edge of a hickey he left earlier on Viktor’s neck and it’s like something within him crawls its way forehead to the forefront of his mind.

Mine. All mine. 

Jayce has always been good at holding back the more undomesticated part of himself. It helped that there weren't many other vastayans in Piltover, or the fact that he didn’t really take any notice to anyone romantically. There was Mel Medarda, but that had faded so quickly he could barely remember the scent of her or why he had been so infatuated in the first place.

But Viktor…there was something about Viktor that made it so fucking difficult for Jayce to hold back. He’s almost scared of himself when he thinks back to that morning and the things he did to him. It wasn’t good for him to let himself be the beast that stirred inside him— that’s what he’s always thought. He had never truly let himself freely explore the animal side to him before, and Viktor had the makings to completely rewire his brain and bring forth the very monster he’d thought he conquered.

“You’re stiff as a board, Jayce. What’s with you?” Viktor’s creaky voice breaks his train of thought, and he looks to his partner who’s looking up at him with slight concern. Had he been standing here behind Viktor for that long for it to be weird? Oh, yes he had. He takes a step back and laughs awkwardly, his tail tucking between his legs slightly, the other taking notice with a glance downward before flickering back up to his face.

“Sorry, I— uh— lost in thought, I think.” 

He’d gotten a taste— no, not a taste— a mouthful of Viktor and he’s just supposed to act like that wasn’t a life altering experience? How could he go about the rest of his day normally when the man he had buried himself inside of sits in front of him like that didn’t happen and be completely normal about it?! Maybe Viktor just had more experience, maybe he just didn’t reciprocate the same intensity of feelings as Jayce did.

“You think…” Viktor trails, still looking at him like he’s hiding something from the older one. He points his chin in his direction. “What are you doing just lurking behind me?” 

“Nothing! Really! I was just…thinking…” He can’t stop himself from glancing back over to the table again and seeing Viktor’s naked figure laying there like he had been. Basking in the sunlight that drew its way into the room and highlighting the wonderful curves and moles riddled across his skin. Jayce practically begins to drool at the thought of it again. He doesn’t notice Viktor setting his goggles down and scooting out of his chair to get up. 

“I’m tired,” He announces, Jayce once again broken out of his trance just in time to see Viktor brush past him. He rubs a hand on the back of his neck and limps towards his cane. “Perhaps we should call it a day, hm?”

Jayce stares at the back of Viktor’s hunched over figure as he begins organizing a few stacks of paper and scraps of metal and gears that have yet to be sorted by size and usage. Something kicks within his brain, seeing him tired, drained, and messy with his wavy hair poking this way and that after hours of his delicate fingers running through it, setting Jayce in that classic “helper” mode no one ever needed from him.

“Viktor,” he gently says, and it sounds like warm honey on the other's ears, Viktor immediately turning to look at him. There’s a sparkle in his eyes like finally, finally Jayce is noticing him. 

“Uh,” Jayce falters, stopping himself from taking a further step towards his partner, but holding his hand out like he’s reaching for him. “I just—I wanted to—“ How is he supposed to even begin what he’s been ruminating all day? Walking Viktor back home, inviting himself into his apartment, helping him get undressed, bathing him, feeding him, laying with him, kissing him, feeling him up and spreading his legs and burying his—

“Sorry. Forget it.” He lowers his arm and his ears lay back into his hair completely hiding them from view. He ducks his chin into his chest and screws his eyes shut.

He doesn’t want to assume anything, doesn’t want to pressure or push too much. He knows they had just been close in the most intimate way possible and yet he couldn’t get himself to ask Viktor if he truly meant what he had said; “Jayce, would you mind joining me later tonight in my chambers for uh…part two, if you will?”

That had to be a joke, right?

Viktor’s jaw clenches and Jayce can feel the tension rise in the room. He can barely meet the older one’s stare but catches a glimpse of the harsh pain and disappointment that flashes across his eyes before he parts his lips to say something.

“Okay, well, I’ll be seeing you…whenever, I suppose.” He grabs his coat and only the sound of his shoes and cane clicking on the floor can be heard. Jayce waits until the sound finally fades to release his breath and let his tense shoulders fall.

He looks over to the clock and sees they still had half an hour before they were going to close up shop and head out for the night. He hangs his head in shame feeling like he’d done everything wrong, slumping into the chair Viktor had just been in. It’s still warm from his body heat and he can still smell his sweet scent. Jayce stuffs his face into his hands and mourns what could have been a good night. 

Later that week Viktor completely disappeared. On the first day Jayce wasn’t too worried, he was used to this sort of thing and Viktor never stayed away long enough for him to really grow concerned. But when he spoke to Sky on the sixth day his mild anxiety turned into full blown panic. 

“Hey, uh, Sky?” He starts as he hunches over some of Viktor's lab journals and deciphers the runes. Sky turns to him with files in her arms.

“Y-yes?” He rarely ever speaks to her, especially lately and since— well…what had now happened a week ago. 

His ear twitches as he forms his questions. “You…hang out with Viktor outside the lab, right?”

He doesn’t see it but Sky is perplexed by the question, her brows furrowing as she places her thumb and forefinger on her chin. 

“I mean,” she laughs awkwardly in a way where Jayce can practically see the blush on her face without even turning towards her. “Sometimes? He’s only asked me for some drinks like twice and every time he goes way too overboard and I have to take him back home.” Her words slow as she speaks, like shame creeping up on her. They’re both quiet for a little.

“He talks about you when he’s drunk…” She admits like she hadn’t wanted to say it and he knows why. It was clear to her that Viktor had no interest in her and he was probably just asking her to come along because who else would? 

Jayce’s ears perk and that’s when he finally tears himself from decoding to look over his shoulder at her. 

“What?”

Sky stands there and hunches her shoulders inward, her feet drawing close together and ducking her head just slightly to make herself look smaller. Like if she could, she would disappear right now instead of having to admit that the man she loved did not love her back.

“He only ever talks about you when he gets really drunk. Like—like last time, he went on and on about you and how…how much he likes you.”

A beat. Jayce has to take in the information and his tail swats to the right a few times, the gears in his mind beginning to turn and creak.

“That can’t be.” 

“Well, you asked.” Sky replies with a short tone, pushing her glasses over the bridge of her nose and making her way to the door. “I better go now. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Wait—“ Jayce has more questions and reaches out to stop her, but Sky is already slamming the door shut, her footsteps fading down the hall in quick succession. He lets out a loud sigh and slams Viktor’s journal shut. He runs his claws through his hair, vigorously messing up its clean cut look and ruffling it in frustration. What the hell was happening?

It’s the next day when Viktor once again doesn't show up that he finally decides to take action. Jayce had been all alone for a full week now, barely making any progress with their new project they’ve been tweaking for the upcoming Progress Day. The biggest day of their career and Viktor has still been abandoning his duties as Jayce’s partner!

He should be furious, he should be marching to his apartment and demanding an explanation— and if he’s not home, then he would have to storm around Piltover in hopes of finding him. Turn every stone in the Undercity to find his partner. He should grab him by the collar of his shirt and force him back to the lab. But Jayce isn’t capable of that. He’s not mad at Viktor in the slightest, he blames himself for it all. He gave in and put his friend in a predicament— it’s his fault something came between the two of them. He never meant for that to happen.

He needs to see Viktor.

It’s 7:30PM and Jayce is at Viktor’s apartment door. 

The welcome sign he had made for him still hangs outside and he smiles at it warmly. Viktor had mentioned once that he never had much of anything that gave his home a comforting feeling (perhaps that’s why he rarely ever went home after work and spent his endless nights in the lab). Jayce had listened intently and began his metalworking. He spent hours on many things; first— the welcome sign and he made a butterfly out of different colored metals that sits reverently on the ‘W’ of Welcome. Second— a pair of bookends. Viktor had mentioned his endless piles of books, journals and memoirs. Jayce thought it would be a good idea to make a few pairs of book ends in order to keep his books safe and secure. Viktor had mentioned his favorite bird to be a mourning dove and Jayce took that as inspiration for his hand crafted gift. Two mourning doves now frame and protect his precious readings. And finally the third— Jayce had meltworked a figure of one of Viktor’s childhood friends that he found in the Undercity one day; An abandoned, worn down golem that he had called Blitzcrank. He went off on a whole tangent once about the way he found it as a child, how he often dreamed of piecing it back together, making it new and finding some utilization for it to help the people of the Undercity. Jayce discovered a newfound admiration for Viktor that day and he spent two whole days perfecting a mini figure of the golem and gave it to his friend on his birthday.

He knocks a couple times and no answer. He waits the appropriate amount of time that he assumes it would take for Viktor to get to the door before he knocks again. Still no answer.

Jayce isn’t the type to give up that easily but if Viktor wasn’t answering him, well, he’d just have to pack it up and try again tomorrow. Worry nags at the back of his mind and he tries not to think of all the terrible things that could have happened to his friend during their— are they fighting? Quarrel isn’t the right word…perhaps avoidantness? Whatever this thing was. He tries to reassure himself that Viktor is more than capable by himself and Jayce just needs to back off and give him room to breathe for a moment. He’ll come back when he’s ready.

He heads back to his own apartment. Now at 8:13PM he gets his keys out in anticipation to get into his home when he sees a familiar figure standing at his door.

Viktor stands there, slumped with his forehead on the door. His mouth is moving and mumbling something while he tries to jam his key into Jayce’s lock. What is he doing? Jayce begins to make his way to him quickly. His tail begins swaying back and forth with hope. 

“Viktor!” He exclaims and his friend slowly turns to look at him. He looks…Jayce doesn’t want to say terrible but he’s never seen him so disheveled in such a way where he almost didn’t even recognize the man he spends most of his waking hours with. 

“Are you okay? What are you doing here?” His hand reaches out as a slew of questions pour out of him.

His hair is the messiest he’s seen it, chunks cling together in a greasy mess like he hasn’t washed his hair in days, his eyes are barely open and they’re bloodshot, purple smears across his lower eyelids in proof of his sleepless nights. His cheeks are sunken in, he looks ghostly pale and barely even registers Jayce and has to lean in close to get a good look at who’s speaking to him before he can reply. Jayce smells it then— the alcohol imbuing his nostrils, soaking into the roof of his mouth and down his throat. He can’t stop the scrunch of his face at the smell. He’s drunker than ever before.

“Jayce? What are you doing at my apartment?” His accent gets thicker the more he’s drunk— Jayce notices but can’t dwell on it for too long because what?

“Your apartment? Vik, this is my apartment. You’re sticking your key into a lock that doesn’t even fit.” He gestures to the uncoordinated way Viktor is lazily jamming his key over and over into Jayce’s doorknob. He looks down at what he’s doing and slowly pulls his hand away. 

“I…I hadn’t realized I walked all the way over here…I’ll…I…” He stuffs his key into his pocket and stumbles backward from the door to give himself enough room to turn towards Jayce. He trips on his own cane in the process, his right foot bumping into it and he releases a small yelp as he loses his footing.

Before he can succumb to the hard pavement below, Jayce’s quick reflexes catch him just in time. The cane falls with a metallic clang and it echoes through the corridors of doors. Jayce’s strong arm hooks under Viktor’s shoulders, the other wraps around the front of his torso and his large hand wraps around the entirety of his bicep. The adrenaline coursing through him isn’t enough to sober him up but his eyes widen as he locks eyes with his Vastaya partner.

“Careful!” Jayce exclaims. “My Gods, you scared me half to death.” He wants to ask him why he’s standing at his doorstep, why he’s drunk and alone, why his clothes look like he’s been wearing them for at least three days and why he looks so sad.

“C’mon,” He helps him back to his feet and pats his back gently. “Just come inside, let me help you.”

He lets Viktor step out of the safety of his arm and he shakes his head. “No, I…I shouldn’t. I don’t need you babying me like—“

“Viktor, you almost just bashed your head in outside of my place. I’m not letting you leave without at least sobering up a little.” He reaches back out and grabs his shoulder this time and pulls him to his side. He unlocks his door and pushes it open, letting Viktor go in first.

He’s slow to enter his apartment. They didn’t frequent each other's places often, he could count on one hand how many times he’s stepped inside Jayce’s home— being drunk, though, was a first. 

Jayce’s home is warm. Incredibly warm and he wonders how he could keep his place so fucking hot. He has carpets on wooden floor boards and Jayce insists he take his shoes off before he steps over the threshold of the step that leads into his living room. His socked feet pat over soft carpet and Jayce leads him to the brown cotton couch where he sits him down. Viktor knows Jayce always has a pot of tea ready to be boiled every time he comes home. He’s expecting to be handed a cup of warm tea but when his vastaya friend comes back with two cups he’s wondering what the contents are.

“Ice water,” It’s like he’s read his mind. He lifts his left hand holding the water and he hears the clink of the ice hitting the walls of ceramic. He sets it down at the coffee table in front of Viktor and then sets the other one down. “Coffee, with extra sugar and cream.” He turns the handle towards him.

Jayce is really good at remembering what people like and him remembering something as simple as Viktor liking his coffee extra sweet tugs at his heart strings and he feels sick. His heart rises to his throat and becomes frozen solid.

“Thanks,” he chokes and gently reaches for the cup of coffee first. It’s perfect and the warmth of the drink soothes the frozen heart in his throat, it begins to thaw almost immediately and he breathes once more. His mind is still muddled and his vision isn’t all there but he feels the dip in weight on the couch beside him. He turns to see Jayce sitting next to him.

“Make sure you drink the water, too.” His voice feels millions of miles away in Viktor’s ears but he knows he’s only a foot away from him. His vision blurs and he sees three pairs of Jayce’s ears, they turn towards him, erect and alert to any sound or word that comes from him. His tail is fluffy and makes a makeshift wall between their thighs, stopping them from touching. In his inebriated state, Viktor lays his hand over it and gently pets it.

Jayce, unsure of what to do, lets him continue his petting. It feels good, if he’s being honest and he’s embarrassed with himself over it. 

“Soft,” Viktor mumbles. It feels like the softest material known to man, he could sit here and pet it for hours. The other smiles gently and places his large fingers around his wrist, he lifts his arm to stop him.

“Drink, Viktor. You need to shower.”

Reluctantly, he takes large gulps of water and takes a few more shy sips of his caramel colored coffee.

Jayce is too timorous to begin asking why Viktor had been so avoidant for the past week and he decides to kick it into helper mode because taking care of his friend is more important than figuring out the reason for some quarrel of theirs. It’s easy for him to set aside any ill feelings and focus on the wellbeing of his drunk lab partner. He reaches over to pat Viktor’s leg.

“You well enough to shower by yourself?”

It finally registers in Viktor’s brain.

“Shower? Where? Here?” He points downwards, eyebrows hitched up on his forehead and eyes wide. Jayce gives him a firm nod and places a firm grip on his shoulder.

“You’re going to shower, drink more water and stay here for the night.” His cheeks immediately blush and Viktor’s shoulders shrug his hand off and he shakes his head. He begins to get up.

“Jayce, no, no, I’m not. I-I can’t do that— you…I know you’re just— oh, nevermind.” 

“Viktor,” He grips Viktor’s shoulder again and uses his animalistic strength to keep his ass snug on the couch. He feels bad using it but this is for his own good. “You’re drunk. You can’t go home like this and you clearly haven’t been caring for yourself this week!”

Viktor smacks his hand away instead and his brows furrow, his face contorting into one of anger.

“Quit pretending, will you?!”

Pretending?

“What?” Jayce is clueless.

“You barely even looked at me after we had sex! Barely spoke a word! You’re ashamed to be with me, admit it!”

Still clueless. “What?!” He says with more gusto. 

“Barely spoke a wo— ashamed? Me? Ashamed of you? I…I thought— how could you think that?”

Viktor can’t even look at him.

“After we…you barely spoke a word.”

“I was shy,” Jayce exclaims. “It had been awhile for me and…and you were… everything and when you invited me over I was waiting for you to mention it again and you never did!”

“Didn’t think I had to again!” Viktor spits out. 

Jayce, defeated, lets his head drop. “I’m sorry, Viktor. I just got overwhelmed and…and I guess I didn’t realize I had hurt you.”

There’s a long silence and Viktor sighs.

“No. It was me. I left you and avoided you for a week.” He rubs his thumb over his brow bone and contemplates his next few words.

“I’m sorry, Jayce. I guess I was scared you felt indifferent after our coming together.”

“I’d never. I…I had been thinking about it all week, actually.” He chuckles awkwardly, running a hand through his hair and daring to look back at his friend. They look to one another, cheeks blushing red and nervous clammy hands in their own laps. Viktor gives him a knowing smirk.

“Really?” His ears are flushed red from the alcohol and they only increase in intensity at the implication of Jayce’s words.

“Really.” He confirms. He thinks for a moment, Viktor is in his house right now. He’s sitting a foot from him, he might even spend the night and they could…No! He’s in no state!

“You need to shower!”

Viktor’s still inebriated mind jumbles and he was almost too caught up in the thoughts of Jayce taking him right on this couch to realize how badly he stinks after wallowing in his own misery for 7 days. He has to agree.

“Right. Sorry. Show me where?”

Jayce leads him to the bathroom and he even grabs a pair of his sweats and a shirt for Viktor to change into when he’s done.

He showers quickly, using Jayce’s shampoo in the process and it smells like cedar and mint and like Jayce. He thinks back to that morning in the lab and how deeply he was inside him that night. He could touch himself right in this very bathroom, rid himself of his arousal— but that was wrong wasn’t it? In Jayce’s home? It almost excites him further but he knows nothing could suffice except for his Jayce.

While Viktor is tormenting himself with ideas, Jayce is pacing his living room. His partner's scent is everywhere. It’s on the couch, on his clothes he wears, his hands, by the front door, it’s in his senses and it suffocates him. His sweet vanilla scent has taken over the glands inside him and something about it has his composure crumbling, his mouth waters and he’s ashamed to know he can feel himself grow hard in his pants. 

Being a vastaya has its perks, he can hear better, smell better, his reflexes are more refined than the average person, he has great balance due to his tail and his ancient senses can warn him of any nearby danger. 

But, there was one small problem and that was his libido.

Having animal-like attributes didn’t just mean his superior senses— it meant he had the sexual tendencies of an animal too. For a long time it was easy for Jayce to resist those urges, he had never found someone he felt compatible with to the point where he felt like…well, mating with them. But Viktor had changed all of that.

Having him in the man’s home, showering in his bathroom, wearing his clothes, sitting on his couch and drinking from his cups. It’s like a switch went off in Jayce’s brain and suddenly he was in full heat. He can’t say he’s ever felt this way about anyone and holding back these feelings are proving to be too difficult.

It only gets worse when Viktor steps out of the bathroom in Jayce’s clothes.

They practically swallow him whole. His shirt which has his high school crest on it is wrinkly and drapes over Viktor’s small shoulders like a sheet. His sweatpants are much too large and he has to grab a fistful of the fabric and hold it up so as to not expose himself right here in Jayce’s living room. His hair drips water and soaks into the shirt, discoloring it and he actually looks much fresher, like the life in his eyes finally came back and the heat of the water encouraged the blood flow through his cheeks. Or maybe he’s just blushing profusely— either way Jayce felt a sort of pride for being the one to help Viktor.

“Thank you,” is the first thing the older says. He pats his way closer to Jayce and can’t seem to make eye contact. Neither can the other. 

“I…I feel bad.” He admits and Jayce goes to ask why but Viktor continues. “I shouldn’t stay the night, Jayce.” He’s sobered up somewhat since his words aren’t slurring together anymore. 

“You can’t go home alone. I won’t let you.” He’s stern and it surprises both of them. Jayce’s back straightened and his hands curl into fists at his sides. He realizes his harsh tone almost immediately— he’s becoming too possessive again. He relaxes.

“I’m sorry. It’s just—“

“I get it.”

It’s quiet again. Both of them stand there awkwardly and Viktor shivers slightly at the water cooling in his hair. Not even the heat of Jayce’s home could diminish the inevitable shock of cold after stepping out of the shower soaking wet. Jayce notices this.

“Oh—! You must be cold!”

“Jayce, wait—“ He’s already gone into his bedroom and comes back with a large hoodie in his hand— another thing Viktor will be swallowed into. He can’t decline the offer now (not that he would be able to anyway.) “I really can’t stay.”

This crushes Jayce and it’s hard for him to not show it with the way his entire demeanor seems to shift. His body looks too heavy to carry all of a sudden, his tail curls between his legs and his ears turn downward with defeat. 

“I understand.” His ears perk up a little bit with an idea like a lightbulb shining over a cartoon character’s head. “I’m walking you home.”

Viktor takes a step backward and lets out a breathy laugh as he speaks, “That’s not necessary.” 

“No. It is.” It’s final. No arguing, no pushing back. Jayce knows what’s best and Viktor will not be able to have a choice in the matter. Something about his tone is enticing and excites the eldest in a way.

It’s a silent walk, much like most of their night and the palpable tension can be felt by the both of them like the fog that surrounds them as they round the next block to Viktor’s apartment. Viktor leans heavily on his cane, limping as his other hand clutches the waistband/fabric of Jayce’s borrowed sweatpants to keep them up. Jayce wonders how he managed to walk so far so drunk without tripping. Little does he know the amount of times Viktor had to pick himself back up because of  how often he stumbled over his own two feet in his drunken state. He’s much more sober now and there’s still a wobble in his step and his eyesight still isn’t all there but at least he’s not traveling the streets alone drunk anymore. He’s sober enough to be embarrassed that he walked all the way to Jayce’s apartment to be then escorted back to his own like some lost puppy.

It’s when they get to the door that Viktor suddenly feels his body start to give out. The events of the night have caught up with him and he leans his full weight into the door as he unlocks it. Jayce is preparing himself to catch him again if need be when he turns the doorknob but his partner’s got a good grip on the handle and uses it as a crutch.

He doesn’t usually flip the lights on but knowing his furry friend isn’t as familiar with the interior of his home, he does and he kicks off his shoes. Jayce, with politeness, sets his own by the door and steps further into his place.

The scent is the first thing he notices. Warmth, cider, cinnamon and that whiff you get of a new book you open for the first time. There’s hints of sweet vanilla coffee that he knows Viktor brewed just earlier that morning. It fills his chest with a rapture he can’t contain. It’s just so Viktor.

He’s pleased to notice the little figure golem he made right by the front door. It holds its fist into the air and Jayce can see Viktor has utilized it to hold his keys. He smiles towards it and his ears rotate towards the sound of his partner's voice.

“What’s got you so excited?” 

He tilts his head curiously. “Huh?” Viktor tilts his chin and his eyes drop to below Jayce’s waist.

“Your tail is wagging,” he laughs. Blush dusts both of their cheeks. He didn’t even realize it and he immediately stops the wagging then clears his throat.

“Sorry…”

“It’s okay. It’s cute.” 

He doesn’t know how to handle that comment despite knowing he was inside this man just a week ago. 

Viktor tells him to help himself to anything as he turns the corner into a hallway towards what he can only assume is his bedroom. Jayce does not follow but he stands at the entrance and notices that Viktor kept his bedroom door open.

Help himself to anything. He can’t assume that meant waltzing into his room, laying him down and burying his mouth into his cunt was considered anything even though that’s pretty much all he wants at the moment.

He turns towards Viktor’s living room to browse the bookshelves he has on display against his walls. They’re tucked into a corner and a dark red velvet chair sits with a small side table beside it. He notices the mug atop it with coffee staining the inner walls. His eyes trail over the wall of books and that’s where he notices the handmade bookends framing what he recognizes as the elders favorite books. He lets his tail wag freely knowing no one can see.

His eyes dart down to an open book on the seat and he barely takes in the contents before he’s letting them wander somewhere else— but wait— he does a double take and looks back down at the book.

A drawing is shown on the open page. A sketched drawing and color coded diagram of a species of a male vastaya lies on one of the pages. It’s Jayce’s species. Lines connect to body parts and point to a scientific word and Jayce’s eyes linger over a paragraph describing the workings of the body and how it’s different from the human body.

Then he glances to the next page.

Sex Anatomy of the Vastaya

A diagram of a penis is shown and Jayce’s cheeks burn hot like the fires of Ornn. It’s not like he isn’t familiar with what’s being shown! But this book is in Viktor’s apartment, open and on a seat which means he’s been reading it! Which means—

Jayce looks at the diagram. It shows the way a normal human penis becomes erect with a vastaya’s next to it. There’s one big difference between the two.

Vastaya’s penis’ become enlarged at around the middle point of the shaft. It looks sort of like a ball, like a hump and it becomes extremely sensitive. Jayce is curious to see what the segment says about it.

The knot becomes sensitive to the touch and is primarily used in cases of mating. This is when the male vastaya becomes aroused to the point where the goal of the knot is to ensure the likelihood of conception. The knot acts as a plug inside a vaginal canal to increase the chances of pregnancy. 

Now, Jayce has never experienced such a thing himself. He knew he was capable of it, but like the textbook says, it is only during mating or in intense instances of high emotions. Basically, if he’s horny enough he could produce a knot.

But one thing nags at the back of his mind as he reads; Why is this book in Viktor’s collection? Is this sort of thing like his morning paper? Surely not. He can’t even picture him sitting there with this book in his hand. What does he even gain from having the knowledge of the way vastayans mate? There’s no gain for him, is there? 

He shuts the book, unable to read any more (he already knows most of this anyway) and he looks back over his shoulder towards the hallway that leads to Viktor’s room. Worry suddenly bubbles up in his stomach and it churns into anxiety. He needs to check on him.

He makes his way into the room. The lights are off and the room pitch black, but Jayce can see enough. Viktor lays on his bed, eyes fluttering shut and hugging a stray pillow on his messy bed. It’s unmade and his sheets hang off the bed and pool to the ground- he didn’t even bother tucking himself in. The vastaya takes a quiet step forward, reaching his bedside and grabbing for the sheets. He straightens it and looks down at the lying figure.

He looks so cozy in his clothing. He’s let the sweatpants fall so now he’s just in his boxers and Jayce’s t-shirt that’s already ridden up his waist to expose the expanse of his back. He notices the metal following the path of his spine and wonders for a moment where his back brace went. He doesn’t wonder too long though because Viktor for once looks peaceful and he could never disturb that.

He lays the sheets delicately over Viktor and makes sure he’s well tucked before taking a step away.

“See yah.” He whispers affectionately and turns around to leave.

There’s a shuffle, limbs rubbing along fabric and all of a sudden Jayce is being tugged by the end of his tail. 

“Hey—!” His ass falls against the bed and he looks over to Viktor who’s got one eye open and looks up at him with a slight pout.

He parts his lips like he’s going to say something but when Jayce slowly pries his hand off his fur he shuts his mouth for a moment. 

“What’s wrong?” He whispers to his partner.

“Can…” Viktor looks uncertain and he hides under the covers. “Will you stay…?”

Gods, it’s cliché and Jayce shouldn’t spend the night. He can’t think straight with Viktor’s scent suffocating his senses and seeing him in just his shirt has already got him breaking into a sweat. He really shouldn't spend the night…

“Of course I will.”

Fuck, how can I say no to him?

Despite asking him to stay and clearly inviting him onto the bed, Viktor doesn’t cling to him. He’s never been a very physical person nor has he been very intimate. Even during their escapade in their lab he didn’t linger for any kisses, soft touches or any of that pillow talk. It’s just the way Viktor is. But Jayce knows he at least can be touchy with him. So, he wraps an arm around Viktor’s torso and tugs him close until they’re spooning and the smaller one can feel Jayce’s thumping heart.

It’s soothing and he’s already falling into a deep sleep.

Jayce is the first to wake up. He’s not very shocked to see Viktor still slumbering beside him, but their limbs tangling together has him pleasantly stunned. In the middle of the night Viktor turned over and wrapped his arm around Jayce’s waist and shoved his thigh in between his to perfectly shape his body against the other. 

He peels himself away from him even if it does emotionally hurt him to do so. But he needs to piss and he can’t linger here for long. Drunk on his scent and the view of Viktor’s torso half exposed to him to the point where he can see the beginnings of the scars on his chest has him already worked up.

It doesn’t help that he fell asleep half hard and it doesn’t help any further waking up with his lab partner curled into him and sleeping soundly. Something about seeing him so peaceful and knowing he’s the cause for it has Jayce feeling that possessiveness over Viktor once more. 

He finds Viktor’s bathroom and it’s unpleasant to piss when hard but he has no other choice.

Jayce quietly steps back into the room, Viktor’s back is to him and he assumes he’s asleep. He bends down to grab his sock that fell onto the floor— he’s always losing those in his sleep. He turns to leave then.

“Leaving without saying goodbye?” Viktor’s accent is thick and it's riddled with exhaustion but there’s that hint of amusement. Jayce gasps and his eyes widen, his tail sits perfectly still and stands to attention in shock. The man who he had assumed was asleep, turns over and rests on his elbow, he looks at Jayce with stern brows.

“You were just gonna leave me?” 

“I…” Yes he was but he can’t admit that now. They both know the answer to the question but Jayce still lies. “No, no, of course not. Sorry…” He takes a seat on the bed. His tail lays comfortably across the bed and it rests over Viktor’s legs atop the blanket covering him. His delicate fingers instinctively card through the soft fur and Jayce struggles to stop the love sick grin on his face. It’s intimate, the way his fingers feather the brown fur and how soft his eyes become when they look at each other for a moment.

There’s something unspoken between them, it doesn’t need to be said especially since Viktor made his feelings for Jayce very clear their first time together. But Jayce needs the confirmation again. He rests a hand on the bed and leans in a little to talk softly to the man beneath him.

“Did you really mean what you said back then in the lab?”

Puzzled, Viktor looks at him with a cocked brow.

“What did I say?”

He blushes and looks off to the side. “Well, you…invited me for…part two of our…part two of when we—“

“Yes, I did mean it.” Viktor’s tone is very matter of fact and holds no tomfoolery. He’s firm with his answer. There’s a nod from Jayce who still can’t meet his eye.

“Were you…wanting that?”

Jayce is a little too eager with his answer and his tail escapes from Viktor’s fingers to thrash back and forth. 

“Yes! I do want it!”

Viktor struggles to hold in a laugh, clasping his hand over his mouth. 

“Okay, well, we can do that—“ Suddenly the covers are being ripped off of him and Jayce is inserting himself between his thighs, both huge hands on either knee and separating them from each other to fit his large frame. Viktor looks at him with wide eyes and in the crack of light seeping in from between curtains he sees Jayce as the animal he is in this moment.

Ears flicker atop his head, angling downwards with a predatory look to them, his eyes gleaming with determination. He shifts so he’s closer to Viktor.

“We do this now.” He can’t wait. Not when his partner is still in his clothes, not when he’s inside his home, on his bed and taking in Viktor’s entire scent and consuming as much as he can as he loses control of his coherent self. 

“Yeah…alright…we do this now…” Viktor is too stunned to speak more. Curiosity gets the better of him and he inspects Jayce as he gives him the okay.

“Do whatever you need…” He says with a small voice, his words slurring together much like the night before only this time arousal is the cause. He has a slight headache and he knows if it weren’t for Jayce making him hydrate and relax he wouldn’t even be able to get out of bed, let alone engage in sex.

It’s criminal to be up this early, but anything is worth it when Jayce is this needy. 

Viktor watches Jayce’s moves with a calculation, he’s read up on some of these animalistic tendencies the vastaya have and he’s curious to see Jayce finally relent and let this side of him control him.

He does just that.

Jayce presses his hips against Viktor’s and they groan in unison of the feeling of his hard-on pressing into the other's core. He’s still just as large and Viktor’s still amazed for even being able to fit him inside. He doesn’t worry too much about that when Jayce begins grinding into him, his hips thrusting like a dog in heat.

A whimper drips from between Jayce’s lips and his eyes shut tightly, his hips move with expertise and he runs his length up and down Viktor’s clothed slit. The man beneath him lets his body go slack and he breathes heavy, his entire body submitting to the animal above him. His thigh is being grabbed and Jayce digs his claws into his skin so roughly that he almost draws blood. 

Viktor dares to look up at Jayce, his eyes adjusting to the darkness and barely seeing the red blushing his cheeks, down his neck and what chest is exposed. His arms are thick and veins travel up them, large and straining against skin as he gives it his all to thrust. Viktor can feel himself becoming wetter with each press into him and feeling Jayce’s girth. A growl comes from deeply within his chest and Viktor moans at the sound coupling with the sensation of his claws on his pale, soft skin. 

“Jayce—“ Viktor gasps, “Jayce…ahh…” Jayce drops to his elbows, his back arched and hips never relenting. He leans down and presses his mouth into the crook of his partner's neck, his scruff is rough against the other’s jaw and his eyes roll back at the sensation. Jayce’s lips part and his sharp canines press into the skin where his jaw meets his ear and he runs his teeth flush against the skin. Viktor begins gasping and he wraps his arms under his armpits and grabs fistfuls of his shirt on his back.

The room— despite always being freezing— begins to heat up much like Jayce’s apartment, only it wasn’t the heater. Their very bodies pushing together and hot breaths mixing and combining together cause their space to warm and Viktor was already beginning to feel his skin dampen with desire and sweat. He lets out a drawn out moan, high pitched and winey when Jayce clamps his teeth on skin and wraps his lips around to suckle on his delicate skin. It hurts but it hurts good, he can ignore the aching of his back and his leg cramping when he feels that thickness drag across his damp boxers. Gods, Jayce is as girthy as his thigh, perhaps even more.

Jayce’s chest rumbles with a growl of need, his mind becomes muddled with arousal and he can’t seem to stop himself the moment he’s gotten a taste of Viktor pliant skin. He soothes the harsh wound he’s left on his neck with his warm tongue, lapping at it like a dog drinking from a water bowl. His nose grazes over to a new spot where his neck meets his shoulder and in Jayce’s eagerness to have another taste, his canines bite down and this time he draws blood. There’s a yelp, tightening of limbs around him and Viktor’s sound of pain dissolves into another moan and he curses in his mother tongue.

Jayce pulls away enough to take a look at the damage to see two little holes that slowly ooze blood, he places his lips back over it and takes in the metallic taste with his tongue. He holds Viktor down with a strength he didn’t recognize and he pulls his hips away just to snap them back into place like he’s already fucking his partner into the mattress. He lets out another low moan from his chest and finally pulls away, his lips glistening with spit.

“I need to taste you, I can’t help myself.” He’s suddenly grasping at the elastic band of Viktor’s boxers and tugging them with fervor. The other watches this, leaning up on his elbows and lifting his hips as well as he can. Wetness sticks to the boxers in a bridge of clear and white to his forest of hair. His dick poking between the bushes, enlarged and red.

Jayce shimmies himself down further on the bed, he plants kisses down Viktor’s body, biting gently at his nipples and grabbing as much flesh as he could during his descent. His lips trail over scars and moles, kissing the constellations traveling across his body and fingers dancing on his skin like a pianist playing a slow ballad. Careful, calculated and passionate. He kisses down the trail of hair from his bellybutton to where he’s aching and his clit twitches when it feels Jayce’s breath.

He pushes Viktor’s thighs up from the back of his knees and raises them over his own head, his heels find purchase on the vastayans shoulders. He begins to dive in.

His tongue lays flat against the expanse of his dick, swiping side to side and letting his lashes flutter shut as the taste of Viktor spreads across the wet muscle. Satisfied when Viktor releases a sigh and moans, he takes his large clit into his mouth and suckles it. He flicks the tip of his tongue over his clit since he can’t get enough of the way Viktor’s hips buck upward with each suck. Jayce lazily laps at it, spit already collecting in his mouth and spilling out from the corners as he takes in a deep breath after holding it for too long.

“So good…you taste so good…V…” He huffs between lapping. He feels Viktor ooze more arousal fluid to the point where his face is practically drenched in it. He pulls away to take another breath in but Viktor is grabbing his messy hair by the roots and shoving his face back into the bush of coarse hair and his dick gets shoved back into his mouth.

“Don’t stop!” He says breathlessly, hands clammy and heels digging roughly into his shoulders to pin him down. “Please, don’t…keep going…” Jayce thrusts his face forward and backward, tightening his lips around his clit to jerk off the length of it. Viktor begins whimpering, his words turning incoherent and more words in his mother tongue gasp between his lips. Jayce doesn’t understand a word but he can read the tone. Don’t stop. He doesn’t intend to.

Jayce lets go of the man’s clit with a pop of his lips and he slips his tongue between his slit to dive the tip of it into his soaked entrance. His hands now slide to cup his ass cheeks and his thumbs rest on each either side of his dick to spread him apart. Sticky lines of arousal are stuck to hair and he watches Viktor’s hole clamp shut and open, fluttering around nothing and practically aching to be filled. 

His own hips begin to lazily buck into the sheets, his hard-on straining against his clothes and he feels it. He feels part of himself start to expand and pulse, blood pumping through it to increase the size between his legs. Jayce moans loudly, he wants to stuff Viktor full. He briefly thinks back to their morning together, how well Viktor took him and the bulge protruding from his lower stomach with each thrust. The thought alone would be enough for him to cum right there but he’s too determined to mate. An animalistic sound comes deep from his throat and it startles Viktor— a frustrated, rib cage shattering groan that vibrates the entire bed. His tail snaps side to side like a predator ready to pounce on its prey.

“I saw the book you were reading last night.” He says in a low tone, his mouth running along his slit teasingly, up and down, up and down. Viktor’s entire body shivers and he twitches with overstimulation. He takes a breath.

“What book?” He can’t even think right now. What the hell is Jayce doing by engaging in pillow talk in the middle of sex?

He smiles and runs his tongue up and down the shaft of his large clit. He expertly draws a moan from Viktor once more.

“About vastaya’s…” That’s all that needs to be said for Viktor to realize what he means. He goes bright red, ears burning hot and his eyes widen. He was not meant to see that and he’s a fool for keeping it out like that! But how was he supposed to know this would happen?! 

“I…well…”

“About knotting? You’re that curious?”

His confidence comes back to him, he can’t have Jayce have the upper hand like this, can he? He struggles to bite back a whimper when Jayce’s fingers circle around his entrance and barely inserts one finger before he finally dares to speak.

“Mmfh…Don’t you have something to show me, then?” 

Jayce shifts, lapping him up a few more times before he’s finally releasing himself and Viktor lets go of his hair. His fingers delicately rubs across his ears, something so soft and intimate that it makes Jayce’s chest ache with a fullness he can’t quite describe.

He gets up on his knees, Viktor’s legs still spread and he scoots to sit up against the headboard of his bed. He’s not going to miss a show like this— watching Jayce take off his pants and finally reveal his dick once more. Only this time he had much more to show.

His fingers drag the hem of his pants down, unzipping them first and sliding them down along with his briefs to the halfway point past his thighs. There’s an immediate relief as his cock springs forth from the confines of fabric and it bobs a few times, precum drips from the tip as he releases a drawn out sigh. 

Viktor had seen the diagrams, had seen vastaya porn (he could never admit that especially not to Jayce) but he wasn’t expecting such length and girth to come from this man. It truly is thicker than his own thigh. He knows for a fact that if he were to try and wrap a hand around it, his fingers would not meet each other. But still his curiosity gets the better of him and his hand slowly reaches out. When Jayce’s cock lays against his palm, he runs it down the shaft, then to where the knot begins, bulging outward, veins running along it. He can practically feel his heartbeat on the shaft and Viktor follows down and down the underside of his cock until his fingertips drags across Jayce’s balls. Heavy, warm and needing to be emptied. 

He looks up at Jayce then who’s eyes are shut and chest is heaving with deep breaths.

“Take your shirt off,” Viktor says, already stripping his own off, tossing Jayce’s shirt to the side. Jayce takes his off, hairy torso being fully exposed once more. Oh, how Viktor missed it, how often he would lay in this very bed and fantasize about it, touching himself until he was cumming on his fingers to the image of Jayce thrusting into him. Now he’ll once again get the real thing.

“Come here,” he says gently, laying back down and leaning against a pillow so he can have a good view. Jayce takes this moment to awkwardly kick off his pants, now both fully exposed.

He sits between Viktor’s legs, grabbing his dick in his hand and positioning it so his tip kisses Viktor’s. They both release a startled sound of arousal, Viktor already moving his hips to encourage more friction between them but the other falters for a moment.

He stops, looks at Viktor and there’s a hint of worry in his hazel eyes. “I might lose control on you…”

Bewildered for a moment, the older looks at him.

“Okay…and?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t think I really care if you do.”

His dick twitches in his hand and he has to physically bite his tongue to halt the moan.

“Don’t…don’t say that…”

“Jayce—“ Viktor reaches out to place a comforting palm on Jayce’s chest, he pets the hair soothingly and they meet eyes. “Let yourself go…give it to me. I know what I’m getting into.”

He really doesn’t. But it’s too late to back out.

Jayce doesn’t even acknowledge what he says, his ears pivot into a phase of concentration and he drags his large length up and down Viktor’s wetness. One hand grabs his waist, the other holding the base of his cock to steady it. His knot seems to grow in size and even he can’t believe his eyes to the sheer size of it. It’s so thick and he can barely get enough coating of Viktor’s arousal to even begin to think about entering him.

He looks up, desperate. “You have any lube?” 

Viktor is quick to grab some from his bedside table and Jayce puts a generous amount in his hand and warms it in his palm before he’s slowly jerking himself off.

That textbook wasn’t joking, his knot is indeed extremely sensitive but he makes sure to lube the base of it as much as he can before he’s aligning his tip to Viktor’s entrance. 

“Shit…stay still,” He warns with a softer tone, but that rumble in his chest still lingers. Viktor holds his breath, trying to relax his muscles as Jayce begins to insert himself.

He’s been fucking himself for a week now, he’s used to a girth but this one…this girth that’s pushing inside him hurts. He scrunches his face in pain and throws his head back.

“Agh….Mmmfhh…Jayce…m-more lube!” He chokes, the head of his dick splitting him so far apart he can feel the burn of it. He’s quick to slather more lube, pull away slightly to watch it dribble down his head and into Viktor before he attempts to enter him again.

It goes smoothly this time, he slides right in and there’s still the burn of the stretch but it’s pleasant enough for Viktor to release an aching whine. He swears under his breath, he cups his hands under his knees to hold his legs up and he lets his chin drop to watch Jayce force his way inside him.

His knot comes up fast, his stomach is already bulging in size and Viktor’s jaw locks open in an aroused shock. He slides his hand to his lower stomach and palms the length poking through. Jayce falters, his thighs tremble and his cock twitches at the sensation. His knot lays flush against Viktor’s fluttering hole and he can’t stop himself.

Jayce pulls back, witnessing his glistening length slowly pull out, and in the same pace he pushes back in. Viktor’s hand now grasps his pillow beneath his head and he gasps his partner's name. His knot slides in just barely, and he repeats the same slow thrust.

The bed begins to creak under their weight, Jayce is moving slowly and calculated so as to not hurt Viktor or stretch him too harshly. He’s patient despite the struggle already hold back filling him up with his seed and fucking it into him until his knot get stuck inside him. He’s a good boy and he’ll let it happen naturally.

That is until one simple word slips out of Viktor’s beautiful mouth.

“Faster.”

Jayce’s hips snap, skin on skin starts to rise in volume and he obeys, his thrust going a little bit faster. Just enough to cause Viktor’s body to lurch with each press into him. He’s fitting his knot half way now, just a few more thrusts and—

“Harder.” 

Jayce has to grab Viktor’s waist with both hands now, his thumbs dig into his hip bones, his gaze drops down to watch his stomach protrude and indent back to its normal state over and over again until finally he lets out a groan, a strained sound and he snaps his hips so harshly that Viktor cries out as he’s forced to take the entire knot.

He squeezes around it and Jayce barely feels it, he’s already so tight around him, any spasm around him barely flutters the nerves on his cock. He pulls out, both of them gasping before he’s plunging forward with such fierce strength that his thighs smack against the back of Viktor’s with a harsh sound that echoes in the room.

“Vik…fuck…!” His knot goes deep inside his partner and this time he feels his hole tighten around him. When he tries to pull out he finds he can’t. His knot is stuck and all he can do now is desperately rut into Viktor like a dog in a ferocious heat. 

Jayce lifts Viktor’s hips off the bed and the sound of their moans mix together in a filthy harmony of their carnal desire for one another.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” He swears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Jayce whimpers, unrelenting with his thrusting, guilt trickling into his muddled mind as he uses Viktor’s body for his own pleasure.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I need this…I need you…please…” His lower abdomen begins to tighten, his balls smack hard and heavy into Viktor’s ass and Jayce’s tail wags frantically. He’s already getting close.

Viktor reaches downward, hand lingering on his stomach once more to feel the protruding cock in his stomach before he slides it further down to wildly jerk himself off with three fingers.

“Jayce…Aghh…cum in me…”

“I will— shit, V. I’ll cum in you again and again…I’m sorry but I need to—“ He chokes on a groan. “I need you to breed you…fill you up full and— haaah— fuck my cum into you…”

“Do it…I’m close…Jayce, just— přesně tam— make me cum…”

Jayce presses Viktor back into the bed and presses his chest against the other’s. He replaces Viktor’s fingers with his own and they lock eyes as Jayce gets him closer to his orgasm.

“I’m right there with you,” His voice trembles with each thrust, “C’mon, V…cum for me and I’ll cum for you…”

And that was enough. Jayce’s fingers quicken on his clit as Viktor cries out, his body begins convulsing as the tsunami of pleasure invades his entire being. Jayce feels him flutter around his cock, tightening and pulsing, his clit jolting as his body rides out his orgasm. He grabs for his partner's shoulders, digging his nails into him now and he lifts his legs, wrapping them around Jayce’s waist.

“Jayce…ngh…cum in me!” 

He gives one final thrust, his cock spurts out white ropes inside him, sweat gathers at his forehead and he rides out his own orgasm now. Viktor moans at the sensation, wetness increasing between them, feeling the head of Jayce’s cock press into his cervix, his knot stretching him so well and plugging him up so no cum can escape. 

Jayce ruts his hips harshly into Viktor’s, the ropes of his cum never ceasing. His balls tighten, thighs ache when the muscles contract and he can’t seem to stop filling him up. He knows it’s only Viktor who can make him feel this way, no other partner has ever been able to make him feel this strongly. He lowers his head into his neck when his dick begins to feel too sensitive and he lets out a strained groan when his climax finally begins to subside.

He makes sure not to let his entire dead weight lay atop of Viktor, he holds his upper torso above him and lets his head hang. His chest heaves with each heavy breath, the both of them attempting to catch it together. Viktor’s legs unwind around him and he flops them back down onto the bed. Jayce wishes he could he could rest, lay down next to him and relax in Viktor’s arms but—

“I think I’m stuck inside you…” He admits weakly, letting out a defeated chuckle and Viktor laughs hoarsely. He feels delicate fingers on his scruff, scratching under his chin much like he did a week ago and lifts the vastaya’s chin so they can look at each other.

“You haven’t kissed me,” Viktor says almost in a disappointing tone. Jayce does not hesitate to lean in and hook his lips in between the other’s. Viktor’s fingers instantly find themselves in his tousles of hair, thumbs finding the base of his ears instantly and rubbing them soothingly— massaging them and it draws out a broken moan from Jayce.

Their lips slot between each other’s, Jayce taking the lead for the most part and struggling to not devour Viktor right here. He cups a hand over his cheek, his hand so large that three of his fingers rest on his neck under his jaw and he slips his tongue out to taste the inside of Viktor’s mouth.

He still tastes the alcohol, the hint of coffee from the night previous. As for Viktor, he tastes that faint saltiness of his own excitement on Jayce’s tongue from when he went down on him. He can feel the desire, passion and need in the way his tongue invades his mouth and invites itself to run along his teeth and press into his own tongue. They both part their lips and let the wet muscles swirl together is a messy evidence of their dedication for one another. 

Jayce suddenly pulls away.

“I won’t be able to get out of you if we keep kissing like this…” He lets out a breathy laugh, kissing Viktor once more but on the cheek this time. The man underneath him shifts and tightens around him to feel that his knot has not subsided at all in the slightest.

“Hm,” He hums and wiggles his hips side to side. “Guess we’ll have to do a part three, won’t we?”

Jayce, in shock, lifts himself up on his elbows and meets Viktor’s gaze. 

“You’re insane. I could hurt you!”

There’s a pointed look. “Do you really think I care? Haven’t we gone over this?”

He’s stupid for still being concerned, clearly.

“Right. Sorry.” 

They catch each other's breath for a beat long before Jayce begins to try and pull out of Viktor. It’s no use, he’s bulging, still hard and being squeezed around so tightly he’s afraid he might tear something inside him. He can only move a few centimeters backward but it’s enough for him to rock his body into Viktor’s.

Instantly there are limbs wrapping around him.

“Yes,” Viktor breathes, “Right there…” His tip grazes his cervix, kissing it with each thrust and there’s a filthy wet sound between them. His partner is becoming wet again, lubing him up even further and his hole loosens with arousal and it gives Jayce enough room to pull out of him halfway over his knot and push back inside him with a great force. 

“Fuck,” Jayce releases with a bestial grumble, his cock already aching and sensitive, ready to fill Viktor even more with him. “So tight—“ He gasps, tucking his face into his neck and biting down hard once more and drawing blood. Iron spills into his mouth and nails dig into his back surely leaving marks in their wake. A whimper and cry out in pain comes from below him and he fucks into Viktor harder, voice shaking and headboard slamming into the wall. If the neighbors somehow didn’t hear them earlier then now they would. 

“Jayce…use me!” He cries. “You’re so deep— kurva— I can feel you—“ He lays his hand back over his stomach, the dick imprint protruding over and over. They both look at it in wonder, Jayce’s lips now tinged with blood.

“Look how deep you are…” Viktor says softly. Slack jawed and moaning, he lolls his head backward into his pillow as the pleasure and overstimulation haunts his nervous system. Viktor’s body trembles again, barely five minutes into round two and he’s already drawing closer to his second orgasm.

The larger man above him pins him down with his hand, grabbing his wrists and slamming his pelvis into Viktor, skin slapping together in a vicious sound and he feels his own cum begin to slip past his knot and dribble down the underside of his cock and down into Viktor’s ass. 

“Gonna cum for me again?” He asks with a harshness he doesn’t even recognize. His fingers are tightly wound around Viktor’s wrists and he knows he’s going to leave purple marks, possibly bruising. He knows he’ll feel bad about it later.

His partner can only nod, sucking in his bottom lip to chew on it, neck growing red in color and chest heaving as he struggles to hold back his wave of pleasure. He nods his head frantically and releases a gasp.

“Yes! Yes! I’m going to cum again!”

“Not yet— don’t…not until I do,” Jayce demands. He releases one of his wrists to push down Viktor’s leg against the bed and witness the way his cock slides in and out, it’s creamy and soaking, he see’s Viktor’s dick twitch and muscles tighten when he struggles further to hold back his orgasm.

“I’m almost there…let…ugh…let me bury my cum in you and then you can too, okay?” 

“Use my cunt,” Viktor cries out his plea. “Use me…Jayce…give it to me…”

He’s already cumming again, getting to the finishing line much quicker, his dick almost hurting with how overstimulating it all is but that doesn’t lessen the pleasure he feels when he shoots more hot ropes into Viktor’s pliant cunt.

It increases when he doesn’t stop abusive plunging and Viktor finally cums around him.

Once more Viktor cries out and his leg breaks free from Jayce’s grasp and they rise above his head as liquid pours out of him a violent spray, soaking Jayce’s lower torso and dripping down him and his partners thighs.

“Fuck, V—“ Jayce pulls out immediately and grabs himself at the base to grind his knot against his dick. More liquid sprays around them and Jayce does his best to help Viktor ride his orgasm out. 

Cum seeps out of his hole and into a puddle into the sheets, staining them and soaking them all the way to the mattress. His entire body goes limp all except for the final jolts of the residual climax causing his whole body to jostle as each wave dies down.

Immediately, Jayce begins after care, leaning down to kiss Viktor on his sweaty forehead. He brushes sticky hair off his forehead and kisses the skin exposed, salt tints his lips and he can taste it when he runs his tongue along them. He stops himself from calling Viktor beautiful, being too shy but knowing he has to later.

He’s handsome, laid out on the bed, eyes half lidded and flowers of bruises and marks beginning to bloom across his pale, beautiful skin. Moles frame the artwork left by Jayce’s fingers that he reaches out to pet and leans down to kiss each one.

“You okay?” He asks with a soft tone, his voice hoarse but fingers delicate and tentative to sensitive skin. Viktor nods, cracking his eyes open to look up at Jayce with a crooked smile, teeth shown.

“Yeah…I’m great,” He groans, his stiff legs moving to squeeze together and more cum oozes out of him like honey. “Achy…but okay…” He struggles to sit up on his elbows and Jayce scoots himself to help, wrapping an arm around him and their faces are inches from each other. They pause for a second, taking in the silence between them all except their huffs of breath that escape their lips. Viktor’s eyes glance down to Jayce’s lips, then back up to his eyes.

A beat. Viktor cups a hand over the side of his neck and follows his jawline with his thumb.

“Kiss me?” He asks with a knowing smile.

Jayce leans in gently, ghosting his lips over Viktor’s and pressing them together with a patience they lacked just minutes ago.

They’re like this for a while, in each other's arms, kissing and running their hands through their hair. Viktor massages Jayce’s ears at their base, rubbing his thumb into the cartilage and Jayce lets out a purr, rumbling into his chest and fluttering his eyes shut, rolling back into his head at the pleasure. Then nails scratch around the base of them and Jayce lets out another sound of pleasure.

“You really are like a dog, hm?” Viktor teases.

“I could bite like one too.”

“Oh, I know very well.” They chuckle and Jayce dips his face into Viktor’s palm that pulls away from his ear. His tail twitches, wanting to wag but not being able to have the energy to. 

More silence and Jayce slowly gets off the bed to begin the cleanup.

“Let me help you change the sheets. You got a bathtub?” Viktor hums a yes and points Jayce to the door where he walks in and already starts a bath.

“You take a bath while I clean, yeah?” He’s not going to give Viktor a choice in the matter but he’s still polite. Viktor blushes over the kindness of his partner and he nods.

“You’re too sweet, Jayce.”

He shrugs. “I just like you…a lot.”

He picks Viktor up like a princess and carries him to the bathroom. His arms are around Jayce’s neck and he smiles up at him.

“I like you a lot too…Can we do this again?”

Jayce gives him a side eye.

“Let’s take a break for a bit before we do this again.” 

[crowsofdarkness]

Vaz Prizrak: Chapter Ten

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Agent! Reader.

Content Warnings: language, 18 + implied smut, angst, fluff, violence, mentions of losing a pregnancy, thoughts of taking one's life, an attempt to take one's life. I will give another warning when that chapter is posted.

Summary: Bucky and Reader have been in their own solace while in Wakanda for years. They were finally happy to create the life they wanted and deserved. That was until a new foe came along to dust it all away.

Authors Note: This takes place during Infinity War and Endgame! If you haven't yet, please read Soldat and Dorogaya beforehand.

Tags: @globetrotter28 @sakuracyberhex @chinggay85-blog @bookofriverr @misatxox @that-blonde-girl @cats-chaotic-mind @wintrsoldrluvr @sebastians-love @pumpkin-babydoll @ordelixx @starfly-nicole @j23r23 @baw1066 @capswife

Soldat Masterlist | Dorogaya Masterlist | Vaz Prizrak Masterlist

With a quick snap, I lit the old fireplace and felt the warmth spread across my legs. The orange glow lit up the old home as I walked through. It was now empty, being left abandoned the last 80 years. It looked completely different when I was here a few hours ago but I couldn’t stop thinking of ways that I could fix up the holes in the walls and the missing floor boards. 

The master bedroom and bathroom were what needed the most work and a slight fear of what I had gotten myself into creeped into my bones; a giant hole was directly in the middle of the floor. 

“So this is what you wired the money for?” 

Looking to the front doorway, I sighed when I saw Steve leaning against the doorframe. 

“You followed me?”

He pushed himself off the frame, his large feet walking inside the old house. “It’s exactly like I remembered.” 

“What are the odds you know your way with a hammer?” I somewhat joked. 

Steve laughed. “Not at all. That’s Bucky’s forte.”

I stuffed my hands deep into the pockets of my coat while Steve stood next to me as we both watched the fire dance. 

“I can’t believe you bought Bucky’s childhood home,” Steve spoke after moments of silence. 

“He deserves something good when he comes back,” I stated. 

Steve looked over to me with a confused stare. “He has you.” 

I shrugged. “I’ve done a lot of bad things the last five years and I don’t think Bucky could accept it.” 

“You’re talking about The Winter Soldier,” Steve reminded me, bumping my shoulder with his own. 

I looked around the run down house with a large sigh, knowing that there was going to be no way that I could get it fixed up in time. I wanted to surprise Bucky when the fight was over with his old home being fixed back to its former glory. He deserved a home to grow old in. 

“Yikes, what are you two doing hanging out in this dump?” 

Turning on my heels, I smiled at Natasha as she slowly maneuvered her way inside over the holes. 

“Hey, this is my dump you’re shitting on,” I defended. “What are you doing here?” 

She held up a bag of food. “Figured you two were hungry.” 

We all sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, eating and laughing about old memories of us working together; before everything changed. I missed the way our banter bounced off each other, Nat and I giving Steve a hard time for how old he was.

“I missed this,” Natasha admitted. 

“Me too,” I smiled. “I hope that after everything, we all can retire and enjoy the life we have left.”

“Soon this house will be filled with Bucky Jr’s running around,” Natasha winked at me. 

I tensed up at the mention of kids and noticing the uncomfortable look on my face, he motioned towards the door. 

“We should head back.” Steve helped me to my feet, giving my hand a squeeze. 

He knew that I had reverted back to the dark hole with the mention of kids. I hadn’t coped with the loss of our kid, not wanting to come to terms that I could actually have a little Bucky Jr here with me right now. 

Steve wrapped an arm around my shoulders leading me back to the Avengers Compound. 

With a soft sigh, I turned over in bed, staring out the large windows. I could see the sun beginning to rise over the treeline, indicating that I hadn’t slept at all after returning back. Thoughts of the life I could have in this moment kept me awake.

How could I tell Bucky that we should have had a kid by now? 

For a fast moment, I thought of not telling him, to spare him the pain of knowing that we lost a child in the snap. I hated, however, keeping secrets from him. He deserved to know the truth, about everything that happened the last five years. 

Right?

With a loud groan, I tossed off the covers and forced myself to take a shower knowing that today was the day; the day that we would all go back in time to retrieve the infinity stones. I knew that it would work but there was a lingering fear that we wouldn’t get what we wanted without a price. It had always been like that for us, the Avengers. One of us always paid the price for our actions, one way or another. 

Once dressed, I made my way down the elevator to the common area of the tower, where everyone else was waiting for my presence. 

Nat, Clint, Rhodey, and Nebula were sitting at the large table watching as Bruce and Scott went over every detail about going back in time to them. 

Tony and Thor were standing in front of the monitors with Carol, figuring out exactly where we needed to go to get the infinity stones. 

And finally, Steve was sitting by himself in a chair on the other side of the room with a low scowl on his face. I had seen that same scowl many times in the past and it only ever meant one thing. Something heavy was on his mind. 

“Someone’s in a cranky mood for it being so early in the day.” I joked as I sat in the other chair across from him. 

The sight of me brought a smile to his face. 

“Just thinking.” He stated. 

“About what?” 

I could see the hesitation on his face, knowing that he wasn’t sure if he should actually tell me what he was thinking. 

“If this doesn't work, I don’t think I could take the feeling of failure from everyone; especially you. I don’t know what I would do if you hate me because I couldn’t bring Buck back for you,” Steve admitted with a sigh.

“Hey,” I spoke while lacing our fingers together, “I could never hate you, Steve. And this is going to work because it has to. We need to bring them all back, not only for me, but for all of us.” 

I could see in his sad eyes that he still didn’t believe what I was saying so I gently leaned close to him, letting a soft kiss linger on his cheek for a brief second. Turning to look into my own eyes, we were meters apart and I felt his warm breath fan across my lips. 

“I love you too much to ever hate you, Steve.” I muttered my admittance. 

It was brief but I saw the way his eyes darted from my own down towards my lips, slowly licking his own. I couldn’t stop myself from slowly leaning closer to him. 

Dorogaya.

“Hey lovebirds, if you’re done staring lovingly into each other's eyes we can start the meeting now.” 

We both sat back from one another, my glance now on Tony. 

“What’s the plan?” I coughed, hoping that would hide the arousal and redness of my cheeks for what almost happened. 

As Tony went over the teams and who was going where, I felt Steve’s eyes on me the entire time. Daring a glance over to him, my heart hammered in my chest when I saw the look of desire in his face. 

I shifted in my seat once I heard my name being called. 

“Jesus Tony, you’re making me feel like I’m in school again,” I said while crossing my arms. 

“Well if you weren’t giving googly eyes to Rogers, you would have heard what I was saying and I wouldn't have to yell at you,” Tony stated. 

All these years had passed since we fought together in New York and I still hated how much of an ass he was. 

“You, Banner, Lang, and Steve are going back to New York in 2012 to retrieve the time, mind, and space stone. Thor and the badger are going back to 2013 Asgard to get the reality stone.”

“I’m a racoon,” Rocket interjected. 

“Same thing,” I waved him off. “Rhodey and Nebula are going to hitch a ride with Natasha and I to Morag to get the Power Stone while Nat and I go to Vomir for the soul stone.” 

Once finished, I smiled smugly at Tony, knowing that I in fact was listening to him go over the plan while staring at Steve. 

Steve said back in his chair, mirroring his own smug smile, before looking at Tony. 

“Anything else, Mr. Stark?” He joked. 

Tony let out a deep breath while pinching his eyes. “Let’s get suited up then.” 

Before we all left the room, I gave Steve a quick wink and followed Natasha to her living quarters so we could get suited up together. 

[inkedinfusions]

𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝 | geto suguru chapter 2

⊱𖤓⊰ | In which you, a thief, meet the lost prince of the kingdom.

── ★ ˙ ̟ . ⚜️ .ᐟ.ᐟ masterlist

⊰–prev next–⊱

𝟎𝟐 | 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

chapter word count: 3.1k

content warnings: normal warnings for the tangled movie lol

a/n: Thank you all of the birthday wishes! I had a lot of fun on my bday, and I'm hoping your day is a little better with this update. Here is to Suguru, who charms thugs and ruffians with his dreams, while Y/n just wishes she had more money and more alone time. Her partner makes a special appearance too, so props to Gojo for just appearing there while I was writing the scene. 

Thanks for reading!

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐔𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 arrows again after Suguru releases you from the chair, and you head for the window again when a quick survey of the room does not reveal any other way to exit the tower. You wonder if there's a hidden mechanism or a secret door you don’t know about, but like a good thief, you aren’t about to ask someone armed with a pan about their secret entrances. 

“I’ll go first,” you offer, perched on the windowsill. “You know, to watch for threats and whatnot.”

There's an undertone of jest in your voice, like you can’t believe someone is afraid of going to what basically is their backyard. But you aren’t here to judge—even though you do, a little bit—so you just leap out the window after Suguru answers with his own scoff. 

Oddly, the way down is harder than the way up, but you chalk it up to the adrenaline that pumped through your veins when you first arrived. So you carefully descend with your arrows, driving them into the points where the stones meet, pulling them out when the other one is anchored at a lower point. 

You notice Suguru has not come down yet, so you erase all possibilities of a hidden door, given he would already be out if there was one. Or he could be a coward and waiting for you to reach the ground, but something tells you that is not the type of person he is. Which is a wild assumption, given you met like thirty minutes ago and you had already suffered two concussions at his hands. 

But that's water under the bridge or something. Your head wasn’t as precious to you as was the possibility of a new, richer life elsewhere. Wild. Well, no time to unpack that.

You crane your head upwards, debating on whether to shout for him, maybe offer him assistance. It's not long before you decide against it, however, because next thing you know, his hair is plummeting down. You turn your head again and just as quickly press yourself against the wall, missing Suguru, who is sliding down his hair, by just a few centimetres. 

“Geez! Warn a woman first!” you call out after him. 

Suguru pays you no mind, frozen right above the grass, staring at it with childlike wonder. You sigh and resume your way down, when the crunch of the grass alerts you of his movements. 

You watch as he runs from grass to wildflower, chucking off the boots that took you (metaphorical) hours to convince him to wear. You sigh as he dips his feet into the water of the stream, although you can’t deny there is something endearing in his joy at seeing the world. It's sad, yeah, but also you don’t think about it too deeply. You're strangers anyway, and you’ll be strangers tomorrow too, after the lanterns. There’s no need to care more than you need to. 

So you follow after him, picking up the discarded boots he left in the middle of the field. Suguru runs to the exit of the valley, the cave guarded by the vines. There it is that you find him, with his hair running wild after him, a flock of birds flying just so through the rays of sunshine that hit his dark locks, turning them gold.

“How’d you do that?” you ask.

“Do what?” Suguru responds, clueless. 

“...Forget it.”

He looks at you like you’re the weird one, like a flock of birds didn’t just frame him perfectly, like his triumphant entry to the outside world didn’t look like something out of a fairy tale book. He raises his eyebrows at you when you continue to look at him disbelievingly, but his attention is quickly taken away by a small pond. 

“Sooo…” you start, walking towards Suguru, who is now crouching by the pond to pick up a lotus flower. “Is your curiosity satiated, princess? Perhaps it’s best for us to go back now—”

“Are you kidding me?” he says, head whirling to meet your eyes. “I’ll never have this opportunity again. Besides, what mother doesn’t know won't kill her.”

“Mother?” you ask. “She seems… protective.” 

And a total nutjob, is what you don’t add. 

“She just wants what’s best for me,” he says. “You don’t think… you don’t think I’m a terrible son for going against her, right?” He pauses. “Oh my god, this will totally kill her.”

You shrug, not really in the mood to play therapist. 

“Oh this is terrible!” he exclaims, straightening up. “She thinks I’m up there, where it's safe and I’m here just… watching flowers!”

“Sure,” you say. 

“But also,” he continues, “she can’t keep me locked away all my life, can she? I’m going back”—he turns to you—“just not now.”

“Well, you know,” you say, approaching him. “This is fine. You’re what, my age? Yeah, I’d say rebellion is pretty standard behavior.”

“Really?” he asks, skeptical. 

“Mhm,” you nod, an idea suddenly forming in your mind. “It will tear your mother apart, mind you, but it’s part of life. But it will tear her apart,” you repeat, just in case the first time didn’t convince him.

“Tear her apart?”

“Oh yes,” you say, reveling in the hesitation in his voice. “It will probably take months—no, years for her to heal from this betrayal. Normal mother–son relationship, nothing to bat an eye about.”

“Betrayal? Wait, I never said anything about betrayal—”

“But there’s no need to thank me,” you interrupt, amping up the theatrics to a hundred. “I mean—oh wow, I can’t believe I’m saying this—but I would be willing to let you off the deal.”

“Now, I know how this sounds,” you continue with fake modesty, “but you won’t owe me anything for this wonderful advice. Just my satchel,” you quickly add. “Here are your boots, and we can just head back—”

“Head back? No, we aren’t heading back,” Suguru says. “I’m seeing those lanterns.”

“Ugh!” you complain. “What’s it going to take for you to see reason?”

“Only thing I'm interested in seeing is those lights, Starlight,” he says with a hint of condescension that makes you itch.

“You are terrible! I can’t believe I even agreed to this—”

You are cut off by Suguru, who goes tense at the sound of a moving bush. It's too animated for it to be the wind, but you look at it with more curiosity than fright, while Suguru looks at it with a mix of nervousness and fear. 

A small, white bunny leaps out of the bush, and you can't contain your laughter when Suguru flinches at the sudden motion. You wheeze when the tension practically melts from his shoulders, when his anxiety-riddled expression turns into something more irritated. 

“Oh my!” you gasp dramatically. “It's the most dangerous creature in this forest! Whoever could save a helpless maiden like me from this ferocious bunny?”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Suguru retorts sarcastically. “Bet you won’t be laughing when a thug jumps out of some bushes and strikes you down.”

“You don’t like thugs? Noted,” you say, another idea popping into existence. “Now, on a completely unrelated note—are you hungry?”

“Why is there a restaurant in the middle of nowhere?” Suguru asks as you walk through a fenced path. 

“Why is your tower in the middle of nowhere?” you shoot back. 

Suguru opens his mouth to snap back, but closes it again. “Fair,” he grumbles. 

“Anyway, it should be close. I don't mean to brag, but,” you brag, “I’m pretty well versed on these woods.”

“Uh huh,” he says, skeptical. 

“It's true!” you defend. “And it's the perfect place for a princess like you!” you carry on, ignoring his protests. “It's even got a duckling, see?”

You point to the emerging wooden sign, the natural lines of the wood running through the words The Snuggly Duckling. It is, of course, no place for a sheltered guy, but like any other thief worth their lockpicks, you are decidedly picking at places you’re sure would make Suguru tense like with the bunny earlier. 

“...Chameleons are better,” he says.

“Is that what your lizard is?” you say, prompting the reptile to emerge on his shoulder. It glares at you again, like it somehow knows you are trash talking it, and you back off, putting up your hands to show your surrender. 

Suguru huffs something akin to laughter, but you’re pretty sure he is just laughing at you—not with you. Well, who’s laughing now, mister? you internally ask when you swing open the door.

“Waiter! Your finest table please!”

Like magic, the whole tavern goes silent at your explosive entrance. You know you can command a room, but this was just ridiculous. Works in your favor though, so no complaints will be heard from you.

There is a weird ass guy covered in rats in the corner smiling creepily, another with a very pointy hook just to the left of you, and—well, let's just say the whole tavern is crawling with all the thugs one could possibly imagine. It was dirty, smelly, unsettling, and perfect. 

You start walking with Suguru, who, to his credit, is doing his best to not let the tension in his shoulders show. But he can’t fool you. His eye twitches, his muscles contract. You’d enjoy the scene if you didn’t have your eyes on something better. A chance to scare him and get your satchel back without actually entering the kingdom again. 

“Very nice place, right?” you chirp as you guide Suguru deeper and deeper into the crowd. This leaves him with no choice but to follow you as you make various remarks about the place. 

“Look at all these nice, hardworking gentlemen,” you continue. “This is just the beginning princess, the bottom of the barrel. Hey, you okay there? You’re looking paler than usual. You know, there are much worse—”

“Holy shit!” a voice interrupts from the sea of thugs. “It's you!”

You snap your head towards the origin of the voice, narrowing your eyes when nobody you recognize emerges from it. Just a lanky looking guy, with dusty black hair and a pair of big round shades, the kind you would see on blind people. 

“I think you have the wrong person,” you start. “Never in my life have I seen—”

“Oh, cut the crap, it's me,” he says, lowering his glasses. The brightest blue hits your pupils, making you immediately recognize your partner in crime. 

Your eyes widen. “What are you doing here?” you ask, scrunching your nose when you notice the state of his hair. “And why is your hair like that?”

“Like what? I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about,” he says, like his hair didn’t just turn a hundred shades darker in the span of a few hours. “And who’s this?” he asks, turning his eyes to Suguru, who is tenser than ever. “Oh ho ho, I didn’t take you for—”

He is thankfully interrupted when the thug with the hook uses it to pull him away, which is great, because now you don't need to strangle him with your own hands. On the other hand, what is not so great, is the way the hook is now being pointed at both you and Suguru. 

“Woah, hey, I think there's been a misunderstanding,” you say, when a poster is shoved into your field of vision. It's your own, but now your hair is frizzier than ever, not even with the right length. Honestly, who was making these posters?

“Is this you?” a guy with a fur cape and large viking helmet. 

Before you can deny it, the guy with the hook and all the others start circling you. “Oh it's her alright,” he says, throwing Satoru into the mix. “And that’s the other one.”

“Wow, I’m so flattered—but I could never be that beautiful,” he tearfully says. “I'm just another poor guy from the outskirts—”

“No one believes you, Six,” you say, tired of his charades. 

“His name is Six?” Suguru whispers to you. 

You shrug, then flinch when the hook is once again pointed at you three. “Don’t try to run, missy,” he says gesturing for another ruffian to go get the guards. “That double reward is about to buy me a new hook.”

You are pulled away by the back of your shirt by another ruffian with Satoru, and then once again by a different one. “I can use the money,” one of them says. 

“Not fair!” another one complains. “I’m the brokest one here!”

“Hey!” you exclaim. “Let me go!”

Satoru is struggling at your side too, easily overpowered by the number of ruffians. You can’t see Suguru anymore, only hear as he says something, but now is not really the time to worry about him, not with the ticking time bomb that is the guards. You needed to get out of here and fast. 

The big guy starts preparing to throw a punch at you, probably to knock you out to make the process of delivering you to the guards easier, when out of nowhere a branch directly above him snaps, striking him dead center on the head. 

“Put them down!” you hear Suguru yell, everyone's attention on him. 

“You chose a feisty one,” Satoru whispers to you. 

“Shut up,” you whisper back as Suguru goes on a tangent. 

“—and it's been my dream since forever to see those lanterns,” you notice him sneering, “so release them or so help me god, a concussion won’t be the only thing you’ll walk away with.”

Silence. 

All of the ruffians are both shocked at what just transpired and at Suguru’s words, standing still in their places with wide eyes. You notice Satoru moving as discreetly as possible, and you prepare yourself to bolt, when the thug holding you both picks you up and hands you on the wall. You look helplessly at Satoru, who is trying not to laugh. You swear, you could both be in the gallows and he'd still crack jokes. 

Suguru steps back as the guy with the hook approaches him, now handling an axe. You should've never brought him here—your goal was to scare him, not have some ruffians skin him alive. Hell, the guards are on their way too, so now you’ll get caught without ever stepping foot into the kingdom. 

The thug hovers over Suguru, when he speaks up, surprising you. “I had a dream… once,” he says, throwing the axe at a startled musician in the corner. The poor guy starts playing background music, oddly changing the atmosphere at the tavern. What the fuck? 

“I look malicious, yes,” he starts. “And violence wise, my hands”—hand, you correct in your head—“are not the cleanest. But despite my temper and my hook, I've only ever wanted to be a renowned pianist.”

He starts absolutely shredding  the piano he had led Suguru to, forming a nice harmony with the corner musician. And hey, he might not have the best look ever, but this guy could play some pretty nice tunes. 

“I could be up on the stage playing Mozart,” he says, and you are awestruck at the way he flawlessly plays with his hook. The piano keys come off and towards Suguru, who blocks the way with his pan, now with a relaxed grin.

After a few unsuccessful attempts at getting off the wall, you instead decide to get lost in your own mind, hearing bits and pieces of the ruffians’ dreams. One wants love, another one to be a florist. The big guy that had hooked you to the wall apparently collects ceramic unicorns, which, hey, to each his own.  

“This place wasn’t this loony the last time we came here,” you tell Satoru. 

“It's been years, the place is bound to change,” he answers. “But now that we are here, who really is that guy?”

“He has the circlet,” you grumble. “Wouldn’t give it back unless I agreed to take him to the lantern thing the kingdom does.” 

An idea pops into your head, and you turn to Satoru with an innocent smile. “Hey, you love festivals! Wouldn’t you like to—”

“Nope,” he cuts you off. “This is a you problem, Starlight.”

“I hate you,” you lie. 

You may not hate him, but you hate the way he smiles like he knows it's a lie. Which it is, but that doesn’t make it better. You are then startled by the blade that points your way. 

“And what about you?” hook-guy asks you. 

“Sorry?”

 “Your dream,” another one clarifies. 

“I’m a heavy sleeper,” you say, not missing Satoru’s snort. Then you immediately regret it when multiple blades stand dangerously close to your neck.You huff, gesturing for the bug guy to unhook you from the wall. To your surprise he does, and you begin to spin your tale. 

“Though crowd,” you mumble. “It’s not that deep, I just want to be alone and with money.”

It's enough for the ruffians, who cheer, following Suguru’s example. You lean against the wall where Satoru still hangs, helping him down after a while. 

“But really, what did you do to your hair?”

“You like it?”

“No.”

He grins. “It's just ash so I don’t get recognized. Glasses too.”

Amidst the chaos and glee, the door slams open by the guy who had gone to find the guards. Your eyes widen and you quickly pull Suguru to the side, leaving Satoru to his own devices. You’re pretty sure his disguise will hold, and now you’re more worried about the other guy than him. 

You put your finger to your lips as you hide behind the bar, signaling Suguru to be quiet. You’re grateful when he doesn’t question you, falling as silent as a valley with no trees. 

“You!” you hear the captain question. “Where is Starlight?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t see her,” you hear Satoru chirp back, and you’re sure he’s about to play the blindness card. “As a matter of fact, I can’t see at all!” 

Yeah, there it is.

“Find her!” the captain orders, slamming his arm just where you are hiding. “Turn the place upside down if you have to.”

You contain a flinch when a hook appears right in front of your face, your eyes following the arm back to the thug it belongs to. He signals you with his eyes to the floor in front of you, pulling a lever and revealing a secret passageway. 

“Go,” he mumbles when you crawl to it. “Live your dreams.”

“Thanks,” you say, touched.

“Not you,” he says. “I'm talking about him. Your dream stinks.”

Suguru chuckles at the offended expression you pull when you grumble and grab a lantern, following you into the dark of the tunnel, pan in hand, after thanking your savior.

[onebadassunicorn]

Love Lies

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pining, angst

word count: 2.8k

Taglist: @motheroffae @tele86

Chapter 1

********

Chapter 2

The Sidra Inn was quiet at this hour, the soft murmur of distant voices and the occasional clink of glass the only sounds cutting through the thick fog of your thoughts. The innkeeper barely looked at you as you handed over a few coins, your hands trembling, your face likely still stained with dried tears. You must have looked like a ghost—a hollowed-out version of the person you had once been.

“Room 3C,” the innkeeper muttered, sliding the key across the counter.

You took it without a word, clutching it tightly in your palm as you climbed the narrow staircase. Each step felt heavier than the last, your limbs sluggish, your heart dragging behind you like dead weight.

When you finally reached your room, you stepped inside and locked the door behind you, sealing yourself away from the world. The room was small but clean, a single bed against the far wall, a modest fireplace in the corner.

But none of it mattered.

Nothing mattered.

You dropped your bag on the floor and walked to the bed, barely kicking off your boots before curling into yourself, pressing your face into the pillow. The sheets smelled unfamiliar, but that was good.

You didn’t want anything to remind you of him.

You fortified your shields, throwing them up so high, so thick, that not even his shadows could slip through.

Not that they would.

Not that he would even try.

Because he didn’t care.

He hadn’t stopped you.

He hadn’t followed you.

He had gone to bed while you packed your things, had dismissed your pain like it was nothing.

Had called you selfish, ridiculous, childish—as if you hadn’t spent years by his side, as if you hadn’t loved him with every aching, fragile piece of yourself.

A broken sob wracked your body, curling your fingers into the sheets, trying to ground yourself against the memories clawing at your mind.

Solstice.

It had been Solstice when you first realized you were mates.

Years ago, in front of the roaring fire at the House of Wind, when everything had been good, when Azriel had still looked at you like you were the most precious thing in his world.

You could still hear his voice, the rasp of it thick with wonder, with something deep, something that made your whole body tremble.

“You’re my mate.”

His hands had cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming rightness of it all.

“You’re my mate.”

His forehead had pressed against yours, his wings curling around you as if he could shield you from everything. And then he had smiled—really smiled, in that rare, breathtaking way that made his hazel eyes shine.

“This is the best Solstice gift I could have ever asked for.”

The memory felt like knives piercing through your ribs.

Because now?

Now, you were nothing more than a burden to him.

Something he could brush aside for her.

Your body shook as more memories clawed their way through—memories of him before, when he had loved you openly, fiercely.

The cabin.

You had bought it together, high in the mountains where the world felt untouched, where the only sounds were the rustling of trees and the distant rush of a waterfall. Azriel had loved it there—you had loved it there. You had spent your mornings hiking the trails, your hands clasped as he pointed out rare birds, his shadows dancing between the branches.

And that first night in the cabin…

The fire had crackled in the hearth, bathing the room in flickering golden light. Snow had fallen in thick drifts outside, but inside, you had been warm, wrapped in his arms, in his love.

He had made love to you by the fire, his hands reverent, his voice a whisper of devotion against your skin. “I love you,” he had murmured between every kiss, every touch. “I will never let you go.”

And you had believed him.

Gods, you had believed him.

Now, it all felt like a cruel dream, a distant illusion that would haunt you for the rest of your life.

You curled in tighter on yourself, pressing a hand to your mouth to smother the sobs threatening to break free.

Days passed, but time felt meaningless.

You didn’t leave your room.

Didn’t eat.

Didn’t sleep for more than a few restless hours at a time.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, your body heavy with grief, your mind spiraling with questions that had no answers.

How had it gone so wrong?

How had you lost him?

How had he let you go so easily?

Every night, you cried yourself to sleep, only to wake up to the same aching emptiness.

And Azriel never came.

Never knocked on your door.

Never tried to find you.

Because he didn’t care.

And that realization hurt more than anything else ever could.

*****

The absence of your presence did not go unnoticed.

It started subtly at first—the empty seat at family dinners, the lack of your laughter filling the River House, the way your usual presence beside Azriel had disappeared like a shadow dissolving into the wind.

But then, it became more than just an absence.

It became a question.

And no one had answers.

Rhys was the first to bring it up, during a quiet moment as they gathered in the sitting room, nursing drinks and the embers of conversation. He leaned back in his chair, his violet eyes scanning Azriel, who was standing near the window, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable.

“You’re alone again,” Rhys noted, sipping his wine. “Where’s your mate?”

Azriel barely flicked a glance his way. “She’s at home.”

The answer was clipped, dismissive, as if it required no further elaboration.

But Rhys wasn’t the only one who had noticed. Cassian, lounging with his boots propped on the table, furrowed his brows. “She hasn’t come to dinner in weeks, Az. What’s going on?”

Azriel exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “We’re going through a rough patch. But we’re working things out.”

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a look, one that Azriel either ignored or refused to acknowledge.

“Well,” Mor said, swirling the amber liquid in her glass, “we should have her here more often. You both should come. We have dinners almost every night now, and we haven’t seen her in awhile.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, but he nodded once. “I’ll try.”

Mor frowned. “You’ll try?”

“She doesn’t like getting out of the house much these days.”

Cassian let out a sharp breath, setting his drink down with a thud. “That doesn’t sound like her at all.” His hazel eyes locked onto Azriel, sharp with concern. “She loves being around us. Something’s not right.”

Azriel’s face remained unreadable, but his shadows curled tighter around his frame. “She just needs time.”

Silence stretched through the room, thick and uneasy. Rhys studied his brother, something calculating in his gaze. “Az, is everything actually okay between you two?”

Azriel’s fingers curled into his arms where they were crossed. “We’re fine.”

None of them believed him. It was written all over their faces.

Azriel shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “She is fine,” he insisted. “I know her.”

“Are you sure?” Amren challenged, her voice quieter now, but cutting all the same.

A shadow of doubt flickered across Azriel’s face. But then he exhaled sharply and pushed off the window, grabbing his jacket. “I have to go. Elain needs me.”

The moment it shut behind him, Amren let out a slow breath and turned to Cassian. “I don’t believe a single word that came out of his mouth.”

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, tension rolling off him. “Neither do I.”

Rhys drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, his expression unreadable. But when he spoke, his voice was low.

“Azriel has never been dishonest before. Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt before we jump to any conclusions. Perhaps he just needs some space and so does she.”

But Amren wasn’t buying it.

*****

The morning air was crisp as Amren made her way through the streets of Velaris, the Sidra glistening under the sunlight. She wasn’t one for meddling in affairs she deemed trivial—but something about the way Azriel had spoken last night, the way he had dismissed you so easily, didn’t sit right with her. And she trusted her instincts.

So she went to your house.

The moment she arrived, something in her sharpened.

The place felt empty.

Not just empty, but abandoned.

The usual warmth that clung to a home lived in was absent, replaced by a hollow stillness that made her mouth press into a thin line.

And yet, despite your absence, she found Elain there.

Amren didn’t bother knocking as she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Azriel was there too, standing near the fireplace while Elain sat comfortably on the couch, a cup of tea cradled in her hands. They both turned as Amren entered, surprise flashing across their faces.

Amren’s sharp silver eyes narrowed as she took them in—the way Elain sat so easily in your home, the way Azriel stood beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She cut straight to the point. “Why is Elain here?”

Azriel’s expression hardened, but before he could speak, Elain answered softly, “We were out shopping in Velaris, and I got tired. Azriel brought me back here to rest.”

Amren’s eyes snapped to her, the steel in her gaze unwavering. “And you thought his mate’s home was the appropriate place to do that?”

Elain’s hands tightened slightly around her cup, and she cast a glance at Azriel.

He said nothing.

Amren’s voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the sharp edge in it. “You are in another female’s home, in her space, while she is gone.” She tilted her head, eyes glinting like polished silver. “That is highly inappropriate.”

Elain’s cheeks flushed, and for a moment, she hesitated. But then, she gave a small nod and set her cup down. “I should go,” she murmured, rising from the couch.

Azriel shifted beside her, as if to say something, but Elain gave him a small smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she assured him before quietly making her way to the door and slipping out.

Amren turned to Azriel then, arms crossed, her piercing gaze locking onto him like a predator sizing up its prey.

Azriel exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “That was unnecessary, Amren.”

“What’s unnecessary is her being in your home when your mate is not here,” Amren countered coldly. “Where is she, Azriel?”

Azriel stiffened. “She’s… taking some time for herself.”

Amren’s lips curled in displeasure. “So, you don’t actually know.”

Silence.

A slow, dangerous realization settled over her as she studied him, as she pieced together the puzzle.

“You don’t even know where she is,” she said, her voice almost quiet with disbelief.

Azriel’s jaw tightened. “She left. I assume she needed space.”

Amren let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. “And you let her?” She huffed a bitter laugh.

“No, of course you did.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice to something cold, cutting. “Tell me, Shadowsinger. While you were so busy helping Elain, did you ever once ask your mate what she needed?”

Azriel said nothing.

His expression was blank, but Amren saw it—the flicker of something dark in his eyes.

Guilt.

Good.

Without another word, Amren turned on her heel and stormed out of the house.

She had no patience for Azriel’s ignorance.

If he wasn’t going to find you, she would.

So she set off, making her way through the streets of Velaris, her sharp gaze scanning every face, every shadowed corner. She stopped at shops, at taverns, speaking in low tones to those who might have seen you.

Every answer was the same.

No one had seen you in days.

Her irritation deepened into something colder.

Where the hell were you?

*****

Later that evening, Azriel sat on the couch, staring at the front door, waiting.

He had been waiting for hours.

The house was too quiet.

At first, he hadn’t thought much of it.

Maybe you’d gone for a walk, or maybe you were at the market, or visiting a friend.

But as the sun dipped below the horizon, as the stars began to emerge in the night sky, a gnawing sense of unease settled in his chest.

Where were you?

He furrowed his brows, trying to recall if you had mentioned anything about going somewhere. But the more he searched his memory, the more it frustrated him, because there was… nothing.

No recollection of you saying you’d be gone for so long.

No note left behind.

Had he missed something?

The shadows whispered around him, but they carried no answers.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his hands over his face.

Maybe he was overthinking this.

Maybe he was letting exhaustion get the better of him.

He had been stretched thin lately, dealing with… what, exactly?

He frowned, trying to piece together the last few days.

He and you hadn’t fought—had you?

There was a vague memory of tension, of conversations that had felt heavy.

He remembered you looking sad, but why?

What had he done?

Gods, why couldn’t he remember?

His body felt heavy as he sank back into the cushions, his exhaustion finally catching up to him. He kept his eyes trained on the door, willing it to open, for you to walk through and put an end to this wrongness clawing at his chest.

But you never came.

Eventually, he drifted into restless sleep.

The dream started softly.

You were smiling, laughing, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you stood in the sunlight, your hand reaching for his. Warmth spread through him as he stepped toward you, as his fingers brushed yours—

Then the light dimmed.

The sky darkened.

And suddenly, you were falling.

Azriel lunged forward, but his hands met nothing. You were slipping away, disappearing into the abyss, your voice calling out for him—

Azriel.

He couldn’t reach you.

Azriel, please—

A scream.

Your scream.

And then—silence.

Azriel woke with a gasp, his entire body jerking upright, sweat clinging to his skin. His heart slammed against his ribs, his breath ragged.

His eyes darted to the room, searching—where were you?

But the house was empty.

You weren’t there.

His hands trembled as he pressed them to his face.

It was just a nightmare.

Just a dream.

But it didn’t feel like just a dream.

The panic settled deep in his chest, a wrongness spreading through him like rot. He didn’t think—he just acted, winnowing straight to the House of Wind.

He needed to find you.

*****

“Where is she?”

Cassian groaned, barely awake as he propped himself on one elbow, his hair a mess.

Azriel stood at Cassian’s door, his breathing uneven, shadows curling around him in frenzied, erratic movements. Startled by the sudden noise, Mor appeared moments later from her bedroom.

Cassian blinked at him. “Who?”

Azriel clenched his jaw. “My mate. Where is she?”

Mor furrowed her brows. “Az, it’s the middle of the night. What the hell—”

“Where is she?” he demanded again, his voice sharp, strained.

Cassian sat up fully now, alert. “She’s not here. She hasn’t been for days.”

The answer sent a fresh wave of panic coursing through him.

“Days?” His voice was hoarse.

Mor nodded slowly, watching him carefully. “Yes. You told us you two were having a rough patch.”

Azriel stilled.

“I told you what?”

Cassian narrowed his eyes. “That you were working through things. That she wasn’t feeling up to coming to dinner.”

Azriel shook his head. “I never said that.”

Mor’s expression twisted in confusion. “Az—”

“I never said that,” he repeated, voice tight, his chest constricting.

Because why would he say that?

Why wouldn’t you be here?

Why couldn’t he remember what had happened?

The weight in his chest grew heavier, a crushing, suffocating thing.

The door creaked open then, and Elain stepped out, her soft brown eyes widening slightly at the sight of him. “Azriel?”

He turned toward her, still disoriented, still trying to understand.

“You should sit down,” she said gently, stepping closer. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I can’t sleep,” he admitted, voice raw.

She gave him a small, knowing smile. “I’ll make you some tea.”

He nodded absently, running a hand through his hair.

As she turned, leading him toward her room, Mor and Cassian exchanged a look.

Something unsettled.

Something bordering on concerned.

Because Azriel—the Shadowsinger, the male who never lost control—looked lost.

And instead of searching for you, instead of demanding to know what had happened—

He was okay with you missing.

And neither of them could make sense of why.

Chapter 3

[lwieserce]

2024 GOALS

dye hair purple probably

quit tumblr lol

go back to the psychology of religion meetings & woo the redhead who sold me madoka manga

go to conventions and have FUN. finish kafka cosplay!!!!

& then quit hoyoverse for good

make some progress on my to watch/read list. make an actual one

get a job

create a vague little cookbook and list of ingredients i like

keep track of my emotions in a journal

do an internship... i just realized.😭😭😭fuuuck

be a good student for once

[quilleth]

the extreme level of 0 fucks to give i feel about work lately is kind of problematic. but also...i give 0 fucks about it. just absolutely 0 motivation beyond the most bare minimum i can get away with doing and that's not even really motivation. that's just "i need to not be a complete bump on a log or i will get fired and we literally cannot afford to live if i do not have a job and also i would lose my admittedly very good healthcare that is covering therapy and medications and testing for my adhd, insomnia, and chronic fatigue." but like i don't care about it. i'm back in the office full time (i work remote during breaks) and i'm dreading it

[widevibratobitch]

omw to play emotional support for my mom disguised as ✨fun family bonding time✨ for the rest of the week <3333 there's something so deeply wrong with me uwu teehee

[daynascullys]

[what-even-is-thiss]

The reason people don’t want to work is that it’s just normal for them to be in bad work environments.

My issue with working at Walmart wasn’t the work itself I was doing. It was the circumstances around it. The concrete floor, lack of places to sit, having to put up with asshole customers, not getting time off for injuries, and bad pay.

If I had been given shock pads to stand on or a few chairs to rest on sometimes, if they paid me a livable amount of money and I was allowed to yell back at asshole customers, if they had given me any amount of training, I would happily work part time folding clothes all day and telling people where the swimsuit section is.

I’m a creative type. I’m a writer. I’m pretty smart, even. But if I could make a living folding shirts and listening to podcasts in one ear and helping people find the scented candles for 30 hours a week? I would. Leaves some mental space free for me to brainstorm. Lets me catch up on my reading with audiobooks.

But instead I was treated so badly by upper management and customers that I’m like legitimately a little frightened whenever I step into a Walmart now. And I only worked there for three months a few years ago.

I’m a good lower level worker. When I’m treated well. I like finishing tasks. I like being helpful. I like having some time to talk to coworkers and some time alone with my thoughts. I’m a frickin team player. And that’s how I was at my first job. I was treated well by my supervisor. I was trained. They were patient with me. I was so good at being low on the totem pole at that job because I was valued and felt like I was being listened to. I was able to sit still when there was nothing left to do which made it feel less bad when we were on a time crunch. I didn’t mind working hard at that job because it was fun even though I was doing all the low level stuff that the supervisors didn’t want do.

But at Walmart I was like that for all of two days. Then I figured out that nobody appreciated my work and if I worked in my normal people pleasing manner I’d kill myself because their standards were high and the rewards for meeting them were low.

So I slowed down. I started avoiding customers. I started taking a lot longer to get to my breaks and to come back from them. I became worse at my job because no matter how good I was at it there would be no reward, no appreciation, and I’d just be pushed further beyond my limits.

My only level of happiness from that job came from the people who were working with me. The old ladies and my department manager who made sure I wasn’t overextending myself. The one other young man working in the clothing department who always got sent with me to unload the heavy stuff and commiserated with me about the shoulder injuries, the hurting feet we were too young to have.

But none of that was enough to make me stay. We were constantly understaffed. I was constantly abused by customers and not able to do a thing about it. I was not paid much at all. So as soon as I had enough saved up for what I was trying to do and my last semester of college was about to start I handed in my two weeks.

I would have found a way to stay if I liked that job. If I liked that job I would’ve pushed myself to my mental limits to finish college and keep that job at the same time. Heck that job could’ve been a rest from college. A place to get away from it. But I hate that job so I got out as soon as I could.

I want to work. I want enough money to live sort of comfortably. I want to have some tasks to do to give my creativity a rest. I want to be a part of something. But the way that modern corporate run work environments are set up does not give me any of the things I actually want out of a job. And I think that’s the same for millions of people right now. A lot of people would happily spend their lives as a waitress or an Uber driver or a warehouse worker or a farmhand or any other “low skill” job you can possibly think of. But with the way the world works right now those jobs are absolutely miserable. It doesn’t have to be that way. I know because I’ve had a fulfilling part time minimum wage job that I looked forward to going to every week. A job where I was listened to and allowed to sit when I needed to. I miss that job. Especially now since I’ve realized that’s not the standard. It should be. People should look forward to going to work or at the very least not get mild ptsd whenever they set foot into a Walmart.

[sucktacular]

Hey Google where the FUCK is my holo og Raichu card????

[veinpursuer]

WHERE’S MY FUKING CAPO

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

boyfriend!gojo was utterly fascinated by your tits.

it didn’t matter whether they were clothed or bare, touched or untouched—just seeing them was enough for him. he already knew he was in possession of the most beautiful things in the world.

of course, he preferred to give them his special attention. while just looking at them could excite him, he loved to take them in his large hands, knead them, run his tongue all over them (especially over the sensitive peaks), and mark every inch with his mouth. after all, your boyfriend enjoyed making it clear what belonged to him.

what he loved even more, though, were the brand-new nipple piercings you got a few hours ago. even though you told him not to touch them yet, the moment your shirt came off, his fingers were tracing over them, and he was pressing soft, wet kisses to them.

he couldn’t have asked for anything more.

the cold metal balls brushing against his tongue with every lick only made his cock harder. they were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen in his life, and he had no intention of leaving them alone for even a second.

every time he licked your still-sensitive nipples, sending waves of pain and arousal through your body, you begged him to stop. you didn’t really want him to, but he needed to stop to avoid infection. of course, your boyfriend thought that was ridiculous and declared he was doing a much better job “disinfecting” them with his tongue. at that point, you’d stopped caring about anything the piercer had said.

after all, no one knew better than gojo, right?

that day, for the first time, you came just from having your nipples sucked. of course, gojo was thrilled and proud of himself for making it happen. but the moment you said, “i guess we should thank sukuna for these, don’t you think?” the grin on his face didn’t falter, yet in his mind, he was already planning a way to beat the shit out of that bastard sukuna.

jealous boyfriend!gojo came home that evening acting completely normal—like he hadn’t just set sukuna’s shop on fire. “did you start the movie yet? oh, by the way, i ran into the guy who pierced your nipples. what was his name? sukuba? oh no, sukuna! i made sure to give him a special thanks for taking care of my sexy girlfriend’s nipples.”

as he walked over to you, he squeezed your aching tits through your shirt. when he noticed your angry expression in contrast to his wide grin, he realized something was off. his grin only grew when he turned to the television and saw the news of sukuna’s shop burning down.

“what? i thought it was a lovely thank-you gift,” he said, still grinning, even as you glared at him. but no matter how mad you were, his smile never faltered. in his mind, that bastard sukuna deserved far worse.

jealous boyfriend!gojo couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching, looking at, or even thinking about your tits—especially when they were his to worship, suck, and claim as his own.

a little note: i’m getting my nipples pierced this weekend, and it inspired me to write this. also, make sure to take good care of your nipple piercings after getting them done! even if gojo says, “i’ll take care of them for you,” don’t trust him!!!!!

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour is Upon Us

In which Max decides that maybe doing interviews isn't such a bad thing.

Warnings: jos verstappen mention ew Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 2.5k plus social media posts

Series Master List Main Master List

TheYappingHour posted:

349,219 likes liked by redbullracing, charlesleclerc, and others TheYappingHour Back at it this week with a very super top secret special guest. I simply can't wait to reveal who's on this weeks pod, you guys! You're going to DIE. (peep the clue in the second picture!) user928 her podcast set up is so aesthetic i can't user0928 RED BULL??? what does this meeeeeean??? >>>user1211 she hasn't done a ton of athletes in the past, maybe she got one of the Red Bull athletes!! user00291 DU DU DU DU MAX VERSTAPPEN. (shhh let me be delulu for a minute) >>>user221 as much as i'd love that, we all know how much Max hates interviews.

There was absolutely no reason why having Max Verstappen on your podcast should be making you this nervous. You’ve interviewed actual heads of state, a former president, and royalty for crying out loud and you’re losing your mind over Max fucking Verstappen? You supposed it came from the fact that you had spent most of your childhood traveling from track to track to watch your dad race in NASCAR, racing was in your blood and you knew how revered and idolized Max was. And how rabid his fans could get. You wanted to get this interview right. Needed to get this interview right. Motorsport were still a huge part of your life, even if you weren’t really outwardly an active fan. You never missed a NASCAR or F1 race and while you considered yourself a Ferrari girlie, Red Bull was most certainly your second team. 

“Everything ready?” Your assistant Shannon pokes her head in as you fluff the last throw pillow on the cream colored lounge chair. Scanning the room, everything looks to be in order. The two overstuffed chairs dominate the center of the small recording studio, each with a microphone set up on a small side table next to each chair. Instrumental versions of Taylor Swift songs floated out of small speakers tucked away and a few candles burned in the low light of the studio, creating the exact ambiance you were famous for. 

You’d been doing your podcast, The Yapping Hour, for nearly five years now and it was now one of the most popular podcasts being produced. You specialized in relaxed interviews of people that the general public don’t get to see relaxed very often. Your big break had come about 3 years ago when you had somehow managed to land an interview with Michelle Obama, her episode was still the most streamed episode of yours to date. Everyone had fallen in love with your interview style, how you got these normally highly media trained individuals to drop their guard down a little and be real for even just an hour. It gave people such a unique glimpse behind the curtain of fame and your fans ate up every bit of it. 

“I think so!” You nod, smoothing down the front of your boyfriend cut jeans even though the denim is perfectly ironed without a single wrinkle. 

“Good, because he just pulled in the parking lot.” Shannon smirks. She knows how nervous you are for this interview and is insisting it’s because you have a crush on the driver. Which would utterly unprofessional if it were true. But it wasn’t true. At all. “And he’s driving this matte black Aston Martin.” She closes her eyes as she bites her lip, smirk growing even wider. 

“Okay, let’s cool it on the hero worship.” You warn, following Shannon out into the lobby of the building. 

 Outside, it’s a dreary late April morning in the heart of downtown London. You had traveled from your home base in New York City just for this interview but had been surprised at how much you liked the ambiance and energy in the city. So much so that you had extended your stay a few extra weeks. The good thing about being your own boss of a podcast was that you could literally work from anywhere you had your laptop. 

Peering out into the parking lot, you’re surprised to see a lone figure in jeans and what looked to be a Red Bull windbreaker, hustling across the pavement towards the door. When he approaches the door, Shannons steps forward to open the door, a gust of wind whipping at your hair when Max comes bustling in through the doors. 

“Hello!” Max’s voice sends involuntary shivers down your spine, a feeling you fight hard to shove down. This is not the time to be a fan girl, you remind yourself. 

“Hi Max, thank you so much for joining us today! Can I get you some water or maybe some tea?” Shannons steps forward first, extending her hand. 

Max takes it and gives her a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Water is fine, thanks.” 

“Max, it’s such a pleasure to meet you.” You step forward then, the heels of your black Louboutain’s clicking on the hardwood floor as you approach him. It takes every ounce of focus you have not to react at what feels like a white hot spark flickering over your skin when his hand touches yours for the first time. 

“Pleasure is mine.” He murmurs, cat like smirk replacing the warm smile that had greeted Shannon. Your social media did you absolutely no justice and Max was finding it hard to keep his composure you were so pretty. 

“Are we waiting on anyone else or is it just you today?” You ask, eyes darting above his shoulder to see if there was anyone still in the parking lot. 

“Why? Will I be needing my body guard today?” He quips as he follows you towards the recording studio.  

You pray the dim lights in the studio hide the way you’ve gone pink. “Of course not! It’s just that normally the people I have on the show travel with an…entourage.” 

“I don’t like people.” He says, as if it’s the most obvious fact in the universe. “I prefer to travel solo. Besides, I’m no Queen of the Netherlands or Justin Trudeau, I don’t really need an entourage.” 

He casually drops two of your biggest interviews like it’s nothing and you feel the pink tinge of your cheeks heat to a crimson red. “You’ve listened to the show then?” 

He nods, taking the seat you offer him as Shannon and your AV guy Steve bustle around getting things set up. A bottle of water appears for each of you and you take out the pages of notes you’ve made even though you’ve got all the questions memorized. You like to be prepared and prefer your interviews to be more conversational, less question and answer. 

“I like to know what I’m getting myself into.” His eyes hold this glint of mischief that if you were less of a professional, would have you biting your lip and kicking your feet. Truth was, Max had spent an ungodly amount of time on your socials and wikipedia page, obsessing over you and your career. 

“And yet you still came.” You tease.

“I did.” He says simply and you can’t help but notice how his gaze briefly drops from your eyes down to your lips and quickly back up. It’s so quick that if you weren’t in the business of watching and observing people, you probably would have missed it. But those baby blue eyes of Max’s are so easy to read, all you can do is grin back at him. 

“Well, thank you for making the trek into London today. I do appreciate it.” 

You briefly explain how the interview is going to work, how Steve is going to make sure everything is set up and recording, how you’ll post audio and video versions and that he can have final say in anything that goes in or stays out of the interview. You’ve found that a lot of your guests appreciate that little clause and in the five years you’ve been doing the show only a handful of bits have been kept out. You like to think it’s because you’re good at what you do and get people to open up on a level that they feel comfortable with. 

Steve finally gives you the okay and you settle into the cozy lounge chair, Max sitting comfortably in the one opposite you. 

“Thank you again for joining me today, Max. I’ve got to admit, I was a little surprised when your manager said you’d agreed to come on the show. You don’t do a lot of lengthy interviews and I could only find a handful of podcast appearances over the years. So, why The Yapping Hour? Why now?” 

Max takes a sip of water before placing it on the table beside him. His shoulders are relaxed, his ankle sitting on his knee is a causal pose. You’ve become a veritable body language expert since starting the show and you can already tell this is going to be a good interview. 

“I like your style.” His blunt answer throws you off for a moment and your cheeks heat. Again. You make a mental note to make sure they edit your complexion in post production to take the blush out. “GP sent me the one you did with Dale Earnhardt Jr a few months ago and I was impressed at how authentic you were. Dale is a character but you got a lot of depth out of him. Your questions went beyond the typical ‘what’s your favorite race track.’” 

“Well, thank you. That is quite the compliment coming from you.” For the third time in a short time, you blush at the compliments this man is handing out left and right. 

Your eyes flicker above Max’s shoulder to where Shannon and Steve sit, their smug faces tell you that you’re not imagining him flirting with you. 

“I have to tell you, I went karting with a few friends in prep for this interview and oh my God, I’ve been sore ever since! I can't imagine how hard an F1 car is on your body. Talk to me a little bit about your training sch-…”

“You went karting as research?” He interrupts you, face a mask of disbelief. 

Now it’s your turn to smirk, “Of course, I like to know what I’m getting myself into.” You toss him a wink and enjoy the way your stomach flips when his ears go a bit pink. “My dad beat me by almost 20 seconds and I don’t think I’ll ever hear the end of it, but it was worth it. I can see why so many people get hooked, it was so fun.” 

“Karting with a NASCAR legend had to make it a little better though, yeah?” 

“You know my dad?” Your brows nearly hit your hairline, you’re so surprised at this. Your dad had been long retired before Max had come onto the racing scene and there wasn’t a huge overlap in fan bases between F1 and NASCAR. 

Max nods, “He was racing around the time Jos was in F1. I still remember that one Daytona 500 where he stole the win from Earnhardt Jr on the last lap after he’d led for the entire race.” 

You tilt your head back laughing and Max thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever heard, fully entranced by the long column of your neck that’s suddenly exposed. “Oh God, dad is going to die when he hears you know about that race.” 

“Have either of you been to an F1 race yet?” A plan begins to form in Max’s head. 

“No!" You lean forward to swat at his arm playfullt. I’ve tried a few times but it’s always fallen through. I do watch most of the races though, as long as my schedule permits. Sometimes it’s easier when you guys are in Europe because the races are so early in New York, it’s easy to watch them from bed on Sunday mornings.”

The image of you wrapped up in a fluffy duvet wearing nothing but his t-shirt as you watch him race nearly sends Max into orbit. He blinks furiously, trying to get that vision out of his mind so he can pay attention to you. 

“Tell me this then, if you could pick any garage to watch the race which one would it be and why would it be Red Bull?" 

You can’t help that laugh that explodes from you then and Max preens under your attention, smile stretching wide across his handsome face. “You know, I could have sworn it was my name on the podcast Instagram page.” You tease, giving him a wink. “You keep asking me questions, I’m going to be out of a job, Verstappen.” 

“I can’t help it when the interviewer is much more interesting than I am.” He murmurs, taking another sip of water without taking his eyes off of you.

The rest of the interview continues on for the next two hours and you get so much content you feel a little dizzy at the thought of having to cut over half of the episode. For the first time in the podcast’s history, you may have to split this into two episodes. Max doesn’t mind one bit, finding that he’s not as nervous as he thought he’d be with how easy he finds it talking to you. 

You wrap up the interview over an hour past the time you had told Max’s press officer it would last but neither of you make any movement to get up, despite both Shannon and Steve beginning to wrap things up. 

“I’m so sorry I kept you this long, Max. I know you’re not a huge fan of lengthy interviews.” 

Max just shrugs, “If all interviews were like this, I probably would say yes to a lot more of them.” 

You grin over at him as you rise, realizing the sun is setting outside and your stomach is aching for food. Max follows suit, although he feels a clench in his stomach realizing that his time with you is coming to an end. 

“Can I ask you something?” He says when Shannon and Steve walk out of the studio, leaving the two of you alone. 

You look up at him and nod earnestly, “Of course!” 

“Why didn’t you ask me about my childhood? Usually it’s one of the first things people ask me, especially in these kinds of interviews.” 

You shrug, face heating at being found out. “Like you, I do my research and I figured you might not want to talk about that part of your life. I want my guests to feel comfortable when they come on the show, not immediately put on the defensive. I guess I thought there were other more important topics…” 

Your words hang in the air, heavy between you two. Something in Max’s chest aches at the simple kindness you’ve extended him. It’s true, he doesn’t like revisiting his childhood very often, especially when it’s recorded and will be put on the internet. His dad was very much still in his life, obviously, and while he had done a lot of work to move past his childhood, it was still painful to talk about.  

“Thats…wow. Thank you.” Is all he can manage, voice thick with emotion. 

“Of course.” You murmur, reaching out to touch his elbow in what you hope comes across as a comforting gesture. 

Max’s eyes drop to where your slender fingers rest on his bare arm before a smile stretches back across his face. “I know it’s kind of last minute but you were saying earlier you’d never been to a race. We’re in Miami next weekend and I’d love it if you were my guest…” 

You can’t help the flutter in your chest at how nervous he appears standing before you. Your eyes dart over to Shannon, the official keeper of your schedule and are delighted when she nods vigorously, phone in hand with your calendar already pulled up. You made a mental note to give that girl a raise ASAP. “I would love to, Max.” 

“Yeah?” He sounds almost shocked that you had agreed so quickly. 

“Yeah.” You say, a hint of a giggle at the edge of your voice. 

“How about I take you out to dinner tonight and we can work out the details.” 

“Why Max Verstappen, I had no idea you were this smooth.” 

TheYappingHour posted

987,392 likes liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, susiewolff, and others TheYappingHour SURPRISE! Part one of my interview with none other than 3 time F1 world champion Max Verstappen is live on all socials RIGHT NOW. (yeah, I said part 1! We both yapped so much you're getting a part two next week!) user9382 the chemistry between these two was OFF THE CHARTS >>>user111 ikr? i felt like i was interrupting something the entire hour. MaxVerstappen1 it was a pleasure meeting you! can't wait to see you in Miami this weekend! >>>user2999 MAX WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T WAIT TO SEE HER IN MIAMI. >>>user999 stfu she is so coming to the Miami race?? MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN. user3210 has she ever done a two parter before??? not even the Queen of the Netherlands got a two parter!! user9928 i don't think i've ever seen Max this relaxed during an interview EVER. >>>user222 seriously! He was like a little boy with a crush then entire time.

yourpersonalinsta posted

234,100 likes liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, michelle obama, and others yourpersonalinsta we yapped some more and stuffed our faces. til next time, maxie! (tagged: maxverstappen1) user999 not michelle obama herself in the likes maxverstappen1 you're going to be trouble in miami, aren't you? >>>yourpersonalinsta what do you think? ;) >>>user9932 oh my godddddd user028 this is the couple i didn't know i needed

tag list (some of you only requested to be on a series tag list but i am not organized enough for that. lmk if you want to be removed!! also fingers crossed this tag list works this time ffs. sorry!)

@anilovessadbooks, @shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @chlmtfilms , @inarabee @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @sltwins @linnygirl09 @powerfulmess @technicallypleasanttree @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @strawberryy-kiwii @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @unknownmystery22 @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream

[joelsgoldrush]

“lovers once a year” | 9.4k

dbf!joel miller x f!reader

SUMMARY: One always craves what is out of reach. Like the forbidden fruit that lingers just beyond grasp, tempting with its sweetness. Joel became the town’s greatest sinner, and you, his best friend’s daughter, are the tantalizing temptation he knows he should never indulge in. Your very existence marks the path to his ruin. He can't help but follow it. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. joel’s POV. a lot of introspection. mentions of alcohol. miscommunication. no outbreak. dbf!joel. age gap (25 and 56). petnames. religious imagery. car sex. oral sex (f!receiving). fingering. unprotected p in v. riding. missionary. doggy style. orgasm denial. crying. hair pulling. thumb/finger sucking. cum shot. creampie. reader sits on joel’s lap and has hair. moodboard for aesthetic purposes only. A/N: the fact this idea has been sitting on my drafts for over a year is just crazy. i finally found the time to put into words, and i know i’m a little late to the whole dbf!joel trope, but i’m a real sucker for it... hope you like this one! <3

No one could’ve ever said Joel was a great best friend.

For one, he was terrible at remembering important dates. His mind just didn’t catch hold of details like that—never had, really. He wasn’t the sentimental type, either. At best, he’d manage a pat on the back or a firm handshake, maybe even a call on Christmas if he remembered. Emotional displays weren’t in his nature, far too used to keeping things at arm’s length.

Luckily for him, Stephen never seemed to care much about these things. They’d been friends for over forty years—which is, well, a hell of a long time, especially considering each had gone off to carve out his own life. They’d trudged through both primary and secondary school side by side, and Joel felt Stephen’s absence like a hollow ache the day his friend left for university in another state.

Technology eventually offered them more ways to connect, but it didn’t make keeping up any simpler. The years had tested them, and somehow, they’d held on to the quiet strength of their friendship—a bond they’d forged across decades and distance, held steady like the roots of an old tree.

Stephen was the laid-back type, always down for anything as long as a cold beer was part of the deal. It was rare for him to lose his temper, having a way of letting nuisances slide. Joel could bend every rule, yet Stephen’s patience never wavered. He was unflappable, hardly bothered by Joel’s mood swings, which was what made them a match made in heaven. Nothing could throw him off.

Though Joel doubts Stephen would stay so calm if he knew what he’d done to his daughter. As mentioned, Joel’s not exactly what you’d call a good friend—particularly considering he’s slept with his best friend’s daughter. Just once, to be fair. One ephemeral, impulsive encounter. Right here, in this very house, exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago.

His gaze drifts across the room, settling on you at a smaller table a few meters away, surrounded by your younger cousins, ages five to fifteen. He watches as you scroll absent-mindedly on your phone, your brow furrowed in concentration, only tearing your eyes away from the screen when one of the kids hurls a handful of salty peanuts at you.

You press your palms flat against the tablecloth, eyes narrowing as you scowl playfully at the child, a mischievous glint in your expression. “You’ve got ten seconds to run,” you utter in a tone meant to sound ominous, tickling his sides until he erupts in laughter, his giggles filling the dining room with raw joy.

Joel’s been here for over two hours, but he can’t recall a single detail about the night’s events. All he knows is you—he’s studied your every movement, following the shape of your silhouette through the crowd. He’s accepted a few drinks, engaged in shallow conversation with your relatives, trying his best to play the part of a man with nothing to hide. But despite his efforts, despite every attempt to appear unaffected, he feels a slow burn kindling in the pit of his stomach, an ache that curls through him in a deliciously destructive way.

It’s when you look up, locking eyes with him, that he nearly mutilates the chicken breast on his plate, the knife skittering over porcelain with a screech. He quickly mutters an apology, excusing his clumsiness and blaming it on one too many drinks. Meanwhile, you don’t quit glaring at him, a hint of a challenge dancing in your stare.

This shouldn’t feel the way it does, this hazardous, risky game you’re playing. At one time, he might’ve thought this was something only seen in movies, something imagined and unreal. But here you are, and here he is, and the indisputable hunger in your eyes is as real as anything he’s ever known.

Suddenly, his memories drift back to a year ago, to your grandmother’s 84th birthday—the night it all began.

Stephen had left Austin when he was eighteen to pursue a college degree. That’s how he’d ended up in New York, and from that point on, he never came back. It’d been amazing to see him as an equal when they were teenagers, but as they grew older, the only things they shared were the white hairs scattered all over their beards and the memories of much better days.

Whenever they got in touch—which didn’t happen often—your dad would talk about you. You were just a name without a face, an empty canvas. Close to graduating, with only a few subjects and finals left. Psychology was your major—weren’t you smart? Joel remembers typing back with a string of exclamation marks to show his contentment. His best friend’s daughter was a success; how could he not be happy?

One random day, Joel’s phone buzzed late in the afternoon, flashing with Stephen’s name. It was rare for them to talk outside the usual birthdays and holidays, so seeing his name on the screen sent a small jolt through him. A dozen scenarios raced through his mind as he picked up, each one edging between concern and curiosity.

Just like that, Stephen dropped the news without any preamble. “I’m moving back to Austin,” His voice came in clear, and there was something unusual about it, brisk but almost nostalgic. Joel gripped the phone a little tighter, processing the words. “In fact, I’m filling up the gas tank as we speak. There’s someone at home who wants to see you.”

That someone had been your grandmother. With a twinkle in her eye, she’d insisted on inviting Joel to her 84th birthday. “It’s the perfect chance for you two to reconnect,” she’d declared, her tone laced with warmth and hope. She adored Joel, practically worshipping the ground he walked on, often reminiscing about the vibrant young man he had once been.

Who could deny anything to an elderly person, especially one as cherished as her? He was strong, physically imposing, but not strong enough to resist her wishes.

The reunion was going as well as it could, given the circumstances. After all, it was a strange kind of delight, seeing his best friend for the first time in decades. Joel thought they’d do what friends do—sit back, drink, smoke, and trade stories about the good old days. 

Then you walked into the room, absolutely gorgeous and with a smile that was all teeth, and you reached out to shake Joel’s hand as you introduced yourself. The contrast hit him instantly—your skin was satin-like against his, smooth where his was rough and calloused from years of handling concrete and steel. A subtle heat bloomed where your fingers touched, the chill of the rings on your hand sending a shiver through him, as if his senses had sharpened in that brief instant.

You pulled away, taking a step back, your eyes flicking between him and your dad. Joel’s arm fell back to his side, his hand forming a tight fist, the bite of his nails embedded into his palm to keep him grounded. But he couldn’t stop himself from scrutinizing you—every detail of your face, the curve of your smile, the effortless way you carried yourself. Your beauty was at fault, not him. You were completely out of reach, yet close enough to marvel at. He was no more than a man, bound to notice the charm of a pretty girl like you.

That you happened to be the daughter of his best friend—that was just a cruel stroke of fate. 

“Oh, sweetie. I’m glad you got to meet Joel at last!” Stephen’s voice cut through his thoughts, an arm draping across Joel’s shoulders, pulling him into an affectionate embrace. “He’s that friend from school I’ve been telling you about.”

Stephen looked so at ease, so utterly pleased, that Joel could only swallow back the lump in his throat. What kind of sick joke was this? What could he have possibly done to deserve this twist of the knife?

With a soft laugh, you folded your hands behind your back, tilting your head to the right. “My father wouldn’t shut up about you,” you said, light and melodic, drawing him in like a lure. Joel found himself adrift in the sweet cadence of your voice, entranced by the delicate chain glinting at your throat, resting just above the neckline of your shirt, the v-cut hinting at a world of temptation.

He blinked owlishly, fighting the images clawing behind his eyelids. “Well, he’s a good man, your father,” Joel managed, his smile strained. Not because it wasn’t true, but because there was a blaring alarm in his head, warning him to get a fucking grip. He knew himself well enough to read the signs, the underlying meaning beneath these nerves, the quickened pulse, the quiet, undeniable urge to reach out and feel you.

He was gone already. He fancied you, and his mind raced with thoughts he knew he had no right to entertain. He imagined what you’d taste like, the way you might sound if he were between your legs, encouraging you to gasp his name. Yet, he was aware that these fantasies were as treacherous as they were forbidden, even more with you standing right in front of him. And your father, just inches away.

From the kitchen, someone called out to Stephen, and with a weary sigh, he unhooked himself from Joel’s shoulder. “Coming!” he shouted back, already angling himself toward the door. He glanced back at the two of you, half-smiling while rubbing his temples. “I forgot how exhausting it is to host a family birthday party. I’ll be right back. You two go ahead and chat without me.”

Fuck, no, Joel thought to himself. Don’t leave me here. Where the hell are you going?

Joel resorted to remaining silent, choosing instead to take a long sip of his beer to avoid the occasion of sin. He refused to look in your direction, fixing his gaze on anything that didn’t involve your bare legs—the same legs he’d just been eyeing in those damn denim shorts, which exquisitely hugged your thighs. But, then again, he shouldn’t even be noticing that.

As he peered down at the carpet, he couldn’t ignore the movement of your shoes as you stepped closer. He observed your fingers playing idly with the frayed edges of your shorts, your body inching nearer, and he braced himself in anticipation of whatever you might say next. When his eyes landed on yours, he was met with an aura of expectancy, a cocky smirk pulling at your lips.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Mr. Miller,” you murmured, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed with effort. Letting your hand linger beside your face, you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, glancing at him through your lashes. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Joel felt the flush rise to his cheeks, and there was no mistaking it—you were doing this on purpose. Were you trying to push him off balance, to see how far he’d bend before snapping? Was this just a game for you, a bit of mischief to spice up a family gathering? The idea irritated him, but he couldn’t entirely ignore the thrill woven into the discomfort. A quarter of his mind itched to play along, but the rest of him screamed to find the nearest exit.

“Y’can just call me Joel. No needa be so formal,” he mumbled, lifting the beer bottle to his lips once again, the bitterness spreading across his tongue.

“But I like Mr. Miller better.”

His mind conjured all those images of fire and damnation, of being dragged to some dark, smoldering pit. Rotting in hell, he could already see himself within the flames. Tugging at the collar of his flannel, now too tight and hot, he gave a rough, clearing cough. “M’gonna—go find your dad.”

He was glad you didn’t try to approach him in public again. For a few hours, he felt something close to tranquillity—not fully, though, as he could still hear echoes of your voice in the silences. Every so often, out of the corner of his eye, he’d catch you orbiting near him, lurking in his peripheral vision, even though you sat at a different table.

Later in the night, he wandered upstairs in search of the bathroom, instead stumbling upon your father’s childhood bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he took the liberty to enter it, a familiar scent filling the room. He ran his fingers over the walls, still papered with posters he recognized well. It was as if time had paused there—everything remained as it had the last time he’d been in this very room. The framed portraits, the worn bedspread, and Stephen’s desk, scattered with foreign bills under a layer of glass, each one a memento from the different countries he had visited.

It was only a matter of time before you found him, a light knock on the open door drawing his attention. Joel turned on his heels, catching sight of you, acknowledging your presence with a slight bow of his head. You ambled toward him, curiosity alight in your steps, twisting the chain of your necklace, a restless gesture that betrayed the energy simmering beneath your calm exterior.

He scratched the back of his head, offering a half-hearted smile. “This isn’t the bathroom, right?” he joked, attempting a casual tone. The joke was a weak one, admittedly, but you laughed anyway, a nonchalant sound that showed the gleam of your teeth.

“No, I don’t think it is,” you replied, sliding onto the edge of the desk with an effortless ease. “What brought you here?”

“Birthday parties can be a bit overwhelmin', dontcha think?” 

“Totally.”

And then you went back to watching him, your eyes tracing his features with an almost stubborn intensity. 

“You gonna stop doin' that?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he meant, though they didn't make you flinch.

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Lookin' at me all doe-eyed.” His voice didn’t waver, but he advanced in your direction. His knees nearly brushed against yours, the weathered denim grazing your bare skin, and only then did a flicker of uncertainty soften your confident stance. “Whatever it is you’re after, it’s not gonna happen. So quit tryin’.”

You drew in a slow breath, pushing yourself to your feet. “You sure about that?” Before he had the time to react, you were standing inches from him, your chest pressing against his, just close enough for him to feel the soft weight of your breasts. “Should I pretend, then, that I haven’t noticed you’ve been half-hard all night?”

Joel's jaw tightened, his teeth gritting almost painfully. His fists flexed by his sides, his entire body feeling heavier, muscles pulled taut by some invisible thread. "Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” You hooked a finger inside his belt loop, tugging him that much closer. Your breath, fresh and minty, mingled with the faint scent of your perfume, and he inhaled both, heady on the mix. “You’re gonna teach me a lesson?”

There was only so much patience a man like him could summon, and you were a thorn in his flesh, determined and unyielding. He leaned in, voice gruff as he uttered three words that made your brows knit together. “Close the door.” You stayed frozen, lips parting in surprise. “Did y’hear me? M’not into exhibitionism. Close. The. Door.”

You did as he asked, obliging, stepping back to close the door before returning to your place. Without warning, he turned you around, pressing your palms flat against the cool glass of the desk, a sharp chill that made you yelp. His hand settled firmly on your back, guiding you down until your chest was flush against the surface as well. In one swift motion, your shorts were gone, followed by your soaked panties, a damp spot where your arousal had begun to seep through.

He slipped his fingers inside you first, his hand covering your mouth to stifle the needy whimpers escaping your lips. The roughness of his beard grazed your cheek as he hovered over you, his breath hot in your ear as he spoke. “Bein’ too fuckin’ loud, doll.” Matching the rhythm of the slow drag of his fingers, his hips pressed forward, grinding against the curve of your ass, each movement making his mouth go dry. “Y’want this cock that bad?” He nipped at your throat, and you, against his sweaty palm, mumbled what could have only been a muffled Yes. “Then I need y’to keep real quiet for me, alright?”

His jeans and boxers hung around his knees, his cock leaking and throbbing at the tip. Joel realized what true desperation felt like, dangerously close to busting his load at any given moment before even getting the chance to be fully inside you. On top of the desk, your body trembled, and you reached back, pulling your top higher up to bare more of yourself to him. He unclasped your bra with one hand, while his other guided him to your entrance, his lips pressing reverently against your spine as he pushed inside, savoring the heat of your walls wrapping around him for the first time. It certainly didn’t feel like anything he’d ever experienced in his fifty-six years of life.

It had been short, and harsh, and fast. Borderline animalistic, what experts would label as a quick fuck. The moment he breached your entrance, you begged for more, fucking yourself back onto him until his thighs met your skin. You acted as if possessed by a greater entity, diabolic, though Joel didn’t mind it. He relished it, welcomed it. But he couldn’t let you take the reins. He asserted his dominance, snapping his hips forward with a force that drew moans from the depths of your lungs. He was the one in control, driving himself deeper and deeper within you. Suffice it to say you seemed to love it, if the sounds he elicited from you were anything to go by.

It was what you wanted, what you needed. One way or another, he’d caught onto what those lingering glances throughout the party had signified. Every glance you’d thrown his way had been leading to this—a silent promise that whatever was happening had been destined to be the night’s climax.

You bit down on his palm as you reached your peak, tightening around him, and perhaps it was the thrill of it all, the knowledge that he’d need far more time to become well acquainted with your body, that had him chasing after you. Holding back until you came had been a feat, pulling out seconds prior to his release, stroking his length once before painting your skin with his seed. A low, primal groan escaped him as he slid his length between your cheeks, prolonging his high, each heated pulse marking you in a way that felt undeniably his.

As he regained his composure, he watched you swirl your thumb along your lower back, collecting a trace of his release, and bringing it to your lips to have a taste of him. You softly laughed when he cursed under his breath, turning your face lazily to the side. “Damn minx y’are,” he rasped, closing the gap between your mouths, his claiming yours in an urgent kiss. Your mewls faded beneath the insistent press of his mouth as he sought to suppress the strange pull in his guts, reluctant to confront the unfamiliar sensations churning within him.

Things wrapped up quickly after that. You both returned to your places, resuming the roles you’d stepped out of briefly: Joel had been in the bathroom; you had been on the phone with a friend. When he reappeared downstairs minutes after you, no one thought twice about his slightly damp hair.

For the remainder of the party, the two of you exchanged no further words. The time for him to leave came, and he offered only a nod of his head across the packed living room. It was a farewell only Joel would give, a subtle acknowledgment that left you wondering about its meaning. There were no explanations, no parting words.

The next time he saw your father, the mere thought of seeing you again terrified him. If it’d happened once, then the temptation would still remain undiminished, strong enough to awaken the lust and the longing veiled in silence. But you weren’t there anymore—back in New York, focused on finishing your semester at college. The surprise must have been evident on Joel’s face, a bewilderment that prompted Stephen to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Remember I told you she hasn’t graduated yet?”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember now,” he said, wishing to convince both your father and himself.

You were out of the picture, no longer around. Yet, the two of you now shared a secret. You still do, to this day. He’s no stranger to the notion that some things never seem to change. After all, he’s a creature of habit—same breakfast every morning, same brand of bread he’s been buying for years. Like all his other preferences, he’s come to realize he likes his women a certain way. And though he hates to admit it, you fit the bill perfectly.

Betty, Stephen’s mother, was turning eighty-five tonight. A seat with Joel’s name was saved at the big table; they wanted him there, his best friend and his best friend’s mother. How nice it was to actually feel wanted. He liked that feeling. Still, he’d had to bite his tongue when your father mentioned you’d be there, too. You had graduated at long last, with your birthday having been just a couple of weeks ago.

“Can’t believe she’s twenty-five already,” Stephen muttered with a chuckle, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Sitting beside him, Joel gripped the arm of his chair, sinking his nails into it. “Me neither, man.”

His choices had led him to this moment. The clinking of glasses rings in his ears, blending with laughter and the rich aroma of food that fills the air. None of it manages to distract him. He can't help but track you down, eyes scanning the room, relentless in their pursuit of yours. The need to see you goes beyond any shred of restraint he might have faked to have. Joel can’t muster the decorum to feign indifference—God, not when you’re near, when the pull toward you feels like gravity itself. He’s keenly, almost painfully aware, that he’s not even pretending to be indifferent, his interest etched plainly in the way his gaze persists, refusing to pull away.

It’s his first time seeing you in a year. A lot can change in that span of time. He can’t help but be amazed, because you look just the same as you did back then. Only your hair’s a touch shorter. He wonders if it’s even noticeable, or if he’s just spent so long memorizing your features that he’s losing his sanity. He bets it’s the latter.

A light pressure on his shoulder makes Joel jump, breaking down his reverie. He turns quickly, eyes widening. "Betty," he exhales, patting his chest with a smile, eyebrows lifted. "Jeez. Y’scared me."

“Y’alright, Joely? Y’look a bit pale.” The older woman reaches up, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead with a gentle familiarity. Through her lens, he’s still young. “Doesn’t seem like you’ve got a fever, though.”

"That’s ‘cause I’m not sick." Joel takes her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "How’s everythin’ goin’ so far? Got all these people together just t’celebrate ya’."

"It’s a wonderful night, sweetheart. So happy y’found the time t’be here," she replies, pinching his cheek in that affectionate way that earns her a quiet laugh from him. Her eyes then catch sight of a familiar figure. "Oh, look who's here. If it isn’t my beautiful granddaughter."

He stops smiling. In fact, he thinks he even stops breathing for a second as you intrude yourself into the scene, settling yourself beside your grandmother, flashing him a knowing grin. “I was getting kind of bored with the little ones.” 

“Y’know Joel, right, dear?”

“Yes.” A pause, a beat you draw out between breaths. “Yes, I do.”

Betty leans his way, her warm hand still on him. “Have y’heard the latest news? This young lady just graduated.”

“Stephen told me,” he answers, looking up at you with a reserved nod. “Congrats, kid.”

“Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

There’s that damn name again. Were he alone with you, he’d laugh in your face, but he can’t. Under the scrutiny of family and friends, he knows he’s cornered. Joel’s starting to believe you think you’re untouchable, that there are no consequences to your actions. You might look the same, maybe a little older, but that teasing, provocative spark in your eye hasn’t changed a bit.

“Always so polite, my child,” Betty says, cupping your cheek with a light pinch, a grandmotherly gesture perfected over the years which she seems to repeat often. “Any boyfriends back in New York?”

This would, without a doubt, be the perfect moment for him to excuse himself and stand up—a conversation he’d rather not be privy to. But with you positioned right in front of him, escape isn’t an option. “Still single, grandma,” you respond unfazed, as if you know exactly what you’re doing. “No one to worry about. Better like this, anyway.”

“But what’s the problem? There aren’t any boys y’like?”

He doesn’t even know what makes him say it—some impulse, some hidden tension surfacing—but he jumps in, his voice carrying a slight, sardonic edge. “Boys are more foolish than ever these days, Betty. Surely y’wouldn’t want her to settle for the first idiot who crosses her path.”

Betty clutches his arm, shaking her head in feigned shock. “Oh, not at all! It’s all about waitin’ for the right person. There’s no rush, for either of you. You’re still on your own, Joely?”

Time to drink again. He drains the last drops of alcohol remaining in his glass, feeling your eyes on him, intense and searing, and then he clears his throat, swallowing down the words he’d rather say. “Affirmative.”

“Well,” she sighs contentedly, patting each of your hands as though binding you both with some invisible thread. “Just means y’two have to wait a bit longer, right? Time has its way.” She chuckles, eyes soft with memory, turning to you. “Darlin’, this man here was quite the heartbreaker in his day. He and your dad would find all kinds of trouble with the ladies!”

“How so?” You cross your arms, playfully tilting your chin up. “Joel Miller, the charmer of the town?”

“Guess I’ve been known t’make a fool of myself,” he shoots back, silently cursing the moment he missed his chance to slip away. “Stephen got more fans than I did, though.”

“I did what?” Joel feels an elbow nudging his back, and there’s his friend, grinning in his usual easy way.

Joel's luck in life had been more bruised than blessed, a string of hardships that seemed amplified compared to what most people experienced. Being drawn in by you—in which category did that fall? Good luck or bad? He couldn't decide. Every glance and delicate smile you aimed his way stirred something reckless within him. Was it pure thrill, or a warning?

He laughs every time Stephen cracks a joke, but he’s barely listening, his mind half-tethered to the present. It’s like he’s watching himself from afar, observing his reactions as if he were an outsider. He isn’t stoned or drunk, just acutely mindful of your presence. He catches himself peeking up at you from where he sits, jaw tight, his brow creased. You meet his gaze with a slight squint, a polite look that hides something far more dangerous.

Boys are more foolish than ever these days. He’s sure of that much. They’re young, untested. But what about him? He’s no model of virtue, either. He’s made his share of mistakes, left good women behind—women who were willing to love him in spite of his flaws. They’d seen through the layers he wore like armor, and yet, in the end, he couldn’t hold on to any of them. He carried the ghosts of every past life, fragments of who he’d been and what he’d left behind, and he knew those shadows weren’t for everyone.

A thought pierces through him, sharp and sobering: what would Sarah think? His lovely daughter, grown and settled into her own life, would likely be mortified to know her father’s infatuation with a twenty-something. The weight of that realization sinks into his chest, and that seems to be his last straw.

He can’t possibly take it anymore. Rising from his chair, he mutters something to Stephen about needing fresh air and makes his way to the backyard door, exhaling deeply and gripping his car keys. The cool night air hits him, stepping outside, a temporary relief as he heads toward his truck.

Just as he’s about to open the door, he hears your voice. You call his name, your tone soft but distinct. He doesn’t turn, only lets out a long, weary sigh. “What?”

“Where are you going?” You stop a few steps behind him, watching the way his shoulders visibly tense. “Are you mad at me?”

“What?” He faces you, almost snapping his neck in his rush to look at you. “Why would I be—I’m not mad at ya’.”

“Then what’s wrong? Why are you leaving so early?” 

He scrubs a hand over his nape, fingers pressing into the tension gathered there. “Would y’like me t’break it down for ya’, how messed up this is?” His gaze drops to the ground, unable to meet yours. “I’m riskin’ the only real friendship I’ve had here for… for somethin’ that I can’t even wrap my head ‘round. This isn’t okay, no matter which way I look at it.”

In that moment, it’s as if reality pulls you under. The mask of subtle, practiced arrogance falls apart, scattering in fragments around you. He watches, waiting for you to gather them up, to hide behind that composed veneer again. But you don’t move. You leave the pieces where they lie. Instead, you confront his gaze, unguarded, and ask, “Do you regret what happened between us?”

Another question. You seem to be full of them. They just keep coming, one after the other, as if you already had them prepared. I don’t, he thinks to himself, but would it do you any good if you knew it? “Don’ start with those mental games.”

“Then come back inside.”

“I know myself well enough to know what’s gonna happen if I do that, darlin’.”

Neither of you breaks the silence that’s settled between you, thick as the night air. You slip your hands into the pockets of your jacket, shoulders slightly hunched, head hanging. Once again, like all those times before, he’s struck by how young you are compared to him. The difference stretches between you like a chasm, bridged only by these stolen moments. The weight of his years presses down on him, the choices he’s made—the mistakes and the half-hearted attempts to mend them. He’s got decades on you, three of them to be precise.

Joel never thought of himself as an ever-lasting free spirit, the kind of man who clings to youth or pretends to be something he’s not. Right now, with you here, he feels reckless, like a boy again. Stupid, impulsive, like the foolish young men he used to shake his head at—the very ones he’d warned your grandmother about.

“You left without even saying goodbye last time,” you mumble, low but clear, as you scuff the toe of your shoe against the grass. “And now you’re doing it again.”

He inhales sharply, clenching his keys, feeling the edges of the brass biting into his palm. For a moment, he thinks the sharpness will give him something to hold onto, but he knows the sting is nothing more than a weak anchor. “You’re a smart girl. Don’ need me to spell this out.”

“I know exactly what you mean, trust me. I get it.”

“Then why do you keep pushing?” His pent-up exasperation slips through despite himself, and he can see the hurt flicker across your face, the way your forehead barely puckers as his words hit harder than intended.

Even as you look away, a trace of that hurt fading, you stand firm. You shake your head after a beat, seemingly trying to brush off your doubts and confusion. Joel can’t decipher if you’re feigning innocence—if you are, he thinks, you could be one hell of an actress. “I don’t know. I guess I want to see how far this can go.”

You take a small step forward, testing the waters. Your feet move cautiously, not aiming to scare him off. Each step draws you nearer until there’s only a whisper of space between you, close enough for him to catch your scent, and he has to force himself to peer down to meet your eyes. They hold a quiet intensity: pleading, wide and earnest, already trained on him. Gleaming like two lone stars cutting through a moonless, empty sky. 

It baffles him, the question forming unbidden in his mind. He goes even further, can’t help but wonder: why him? What is it that you see in him? What makes you keep coming back for more? You’ve already had a taste, a story you could tuck away, a secret to be shared with your friends someday around a campfire. So why, he would like to know, are you still here, seeking something from a man like him?

“I like you,” you blurt out, fingers drifting to skim over the worn fabric of his flannel, almost hesitantly. That tentative gesture sparks something raw in him, a low rumble of desire that feels like it’s been lying dormant for too long. Heat pulses through him, hot blood racing through his veins, awakening every nerve, each beat of his heart more insistent than the last one. “I think you like me, too.”

“You’re insufferable,” he bites out through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching so hard it nearly hurts. He closes his eyes, half hoping you’ll disappear, that he’ll find some reason, any reason, to call this off. Though when he opens them, you’re still there, waiting, unshaken. “I wish I knew how to stop this. How to walk away.”

“That’s not what you want.”

“We don’ always get what we want, kid. You’ll figure that out soon enough.” He means it as a warning, but even he hears the way his voice falters, his defenses crumbling in the face of your unflinching state.

You let out a slow sigh, your arms falling to your sides, eyes roaming over his features as if you’re memorizing every line. Your focus dips to his mouth. “Maybe,” you murmur, and he feels the warmth of your breath against his skin. “But some things are worth fighting for. And sometimes, those who don’t give up… get the best in the end.”

With a gentleness that stuns him, you lean in, bringing your lips to his in a featherlight kiss. You pull away, and he helplessly notices the way your lips part, how your breath hitches, and for a split second, the guilt becomes palpable, the significance of wanting a woman he knows he shouldn’t. You stand there, chest rising and falling, skin tingling, a faint trail of goosebumps visible where your neckline meets your chest. 

Apart from the glint in your eyes, he catches the persistent, quiet ache of want. He isn’t sure if it’s just physical attraction, if it runs deeper, or if that’s all it is for him, either. He doesn’t need to know. The simplicity of it all is a short-lived relief. It’s an easy escape, though, this bare minimum of understanding—you want him, he wants you. Let it be enough for one more moment, for tonight, just another memory he’ll have to lock away. Yet he’s aware, deep down, of his own pattern: promises broken just as easily as they’re made. He’s only fooling himself. The part of him that knows this isn’t something he’ll let go of so easily sits there, silently taunting him, daring him to make another compromise he won’t keep.

From where you remain frozen, he’s certain you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighs every possible outcome. “It’s gonna happen, isn’t it?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and before you can react, his arm slides around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and turning you toward the car door. The cool metal pressing against your back startles a gasp out of you, but the suddenness only heightens everything—the heat of his body, the toughness of his hold. 

He doesn’t waste time with words, having always been a man of action. His hand cradles your face, inspecting your features to later crush his mouth against yours. Your tongue finds his without hesitation, seeking him out, hungry and unrestrained. He savors your eagerness, the way your hands roam over him, clutching at his shirt, tugging him closer by the belt until your lower halves are pressed tightly. The taste of beer and mint clings to your lips, and a husky groan rumbles from him as your fingers find their place in the longer strands at the nape of his neck, twisting and pulling him impossibly closer. 

He could lose himself in this, the simple, electric thrill of kissing you, how you fit so perfectly against him. Hours could slip by, and he wouldn’t mind, but then reality pulls him back; it’s too exposed here, right outside his truck where anyone could stumble upon you. “Get in the car,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, fumbling to unlock the door. It takes him three tries, and he chuckles, feeling the warmth of your laughter beside him as you tease him.

Once inside, his mouth finds yours again, this time more urgently, his hand pressing against your back, tracing the line of your spine through the clothes. “Tell me y’want this,” he breathes, his kisses trailing down your throat, latching onto the tender skin there. “C’mon, baby. Tell me y’want it. Tell me y’want me.”

A soft, breathy sound escapes you as his mouth fixates on that sensitive spot just below your ear. You tilt your hips instinctively, craving contact in search of relief, and he shifts you onto his lap, guiding your thighs to settle over his. Desperately working to undo the buttons of his shirt, yearning to uncover him, you pant against his cheek. “J-Jesus Christ, I need you. Please, touch me. Anything will do. Just—”

He’s silently grateful for your choice of a dress tonight. It makes things easier for him, and he gets right to it, bunching the fabric around your waist, hands roaming over the soft skin of your hips before moving his fingers lower, tracing teasing lines over your clothed center. He can’t fully make out the murmured words you breathe into his ear, but your voice drives him like a lighthouse guides a sinking ship, and he adjusts his movements, pressing with more intention. The only sounds filling the car are his ragged breaths and your gasping moans, and he holds you close to his chest, cooing softly as you start to rock into his hand, asking for more. 

His fingers find their rhythm, circling your clit in deliberate flicks. Joel watches as you unravel, trembling in his arms, a hint of drool spreading over his shoulder from your parted lips on his skin. His grip tightens as he tugs your underwear down your legs, grinning when you kick them impatiently to the floor of the car. Now, as he strokes his digits up and down your folds, you turn to putty on his lap. In another world, he’d have you laid out in his bed, enjoying each inch of your body. But here, in the cramped, dim backseat, he keeps the lights off. He knows it’s reckless, yet that barely slows him down. His cock throbs at the very risk of getting caught, at the edge he’s walking just to have you like this.

“Goddamn, you’re soaked, aren’t ya’?” He doesn’t expect you to answer, at least not in any coherent way. He sinks his middle finger into your bare heat, searching your face in the dark, contemplating the fluttering of your lashes. His hand weaves into your hair, a firm tug guiding your gaze to his. Your head tips back, a moan spilling from your lips at the new sensation, rolling your hips into his palm with earnestness. “It’s gonna be a tight fit, huh? If this is how you’re grippin’ my fingers, I can’t imagine what that cunt’s gonna feel like wrapped ‘round me.”

Studies suggest that in those final, fleeting moments of life, memories flood the human mind—a last journey through a person’s years before crossing over. If he were to die after tonight, he knows your face would be there, etched into his last breath. He can almost picture it: struggling for air, teetering on the edge, with that reddish, towering figure of mortality looming over him. But even then, he’d find solace in the thought of you, thrown into oblivion. You’d grant him a last-minute reprieve, easing the ache. You’d be the one who’d hold back the shadows. This constitutes the apex of his life, and he knows he should be worried, yet intellectual dominance doesn’t stand much of a chance when confronting the heart of a man. Not when that heart, so long starved of its pulse, has finally found someone worth remembering.

He makes space for himself, thrusting his long fingers into you until he’s got your slick coating his palm. One hand settles firmly at the small of your back, guiding your movements, while he feels his collected composure faltering. You mouth at the rough stubble along his jawline when you start to get close, breathless whimpers clouding his thoughts. “Joel,” you call out to him, as if that alone would make wonders. “Oh, fuck. Please, I waited a whole year. I need to come.”

A whole year. You were his once a year, and he was yours, a bittersweet ritual bound by time. He never would’ve thought this party could bring him such pleasure, though he can’t pretend he’s against it. Last time, he hadn’t taken the chance to pull you under and make you fall apart as many times as he’d wanted. He’s intent on making up for that missed opportunity, determined to make you enjoy every moment.

He withdraws his fingers abruptly, and a sharp laugh nearly escapes him at your reaction. You reach instinctively, grabbing for his hand, trying to guide him back to where he belongs between your legs. But he’s already moving, maneuvering you down until you’re lying on your back, fully under his command. He lowers himself, replacing his fingers with the warm insistence of his mouth. The sound that escapes your lips as his mouth presses against your center is nothing short of a scream—a wild cry that fills the space around you. He’s grateful he parked far from the other guests, because that sound would turn more than a few heads. 

Joel laps at your arousal as if it's the fountain of youth, the very essence of everything pure and precious in the world. He presses down on your thighs until they rest on either side of him, unclamping your legs from around his head. The suppleness of your skin feels divine under his fingertips, and he brushes his thumbs over your trembling form, coaxing you into calmness, to let him have his way with you at his own pace. It's an absurd paradox—aiming to soothe you while his mouth continues its fervent worship, tracing intricate patterns against your most sensitive flesh. His beard, streaked with gray and freshly trimmed, glistens with your slick, and Joel smolders with all-consuming passion.

When his friends had told him to go out more, maybe find someone to date, he's certain they didn't mean this. The smart choice (scratch that: the correct one) would have been to pursue a woman his own age. But fuck it—he's spent a lifetime doing what's right. Every road he might've taken would've led him here, to this moment, with you. Part of him believes he must still have something left, some spark of appeal. To have a pretty little thing like you, so eager, so willing, offering yourself to him? He has to have something. His knees ache from where he kneels on the unforgiving surface, but the burn is inconsequential, and he’ll endure anything to be what you need.

Joel trails his hand up your body, over the curve of your breast, before gently groping it, his palm covering yours in a shared grip. He runs the tip of his tongue along your folds, his saliva mingling with your wetness, aquiline nose grazing your sensitive bud. “You’re tellin’ me you’re this tight ‘cause you’ve been savin’ yourself for me? You do know what t’say t’make a man happy.” He spreads you open slowly, his gaze lingering on the way your cunt glistens, a sense of satisfaction rippling through him. You remain silent, your breath shallow. “Still with me, sugar?”

“It’s just that—I’m so close.” You bite back a moan, nails digging into the soft leather of the seat. Joel hums in response, his lips closing around your clit. Agitation flickers across your face as you try to grind your hips against his mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

The pressure is gone as he notices your thighs quivering again, his movements halting immediately.

“No, Joel. Please—”

“You’ll come when I tell ya’.”

He’s having the time of his life. Damn right he is.

He suddenly realizes he's still dressed from head to toes, the heat building in his body becoming too much to ignore. With a frustrated grunt, he undoes his belt, yanking the metal zipper down, longing to rid himself of the constricting denim. A strangled noise escapes him as you suck on his neck, fisting his base, giving him a few purposeful tugs.

“Now, you’re gonna ride me,” he murmurs, making a pause to shrug his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor of the car, “and you’re gonna like it. Don’ want you t’hold back this time, understood?”

His back ends up against one of the fogged-up windows. The air is thick with the apparent scent of sex—a phrase he’d only ever heard in movies, but now, it’s undeniably real. Joel holds his cock, aligning the tip with your entrance as his lips crash against yours in a hungry kiss. A deep groan escapes him, vibrating over your mouth, nipping at your lower lip. The sensation intensifies when your wet interior welcomes him, velvet walls molding to his size. Your brows scrunch together at the stretch, a choked whimper catching in your throat. As your hips sink fully, your ass flush against his thighs, your body clenches around him, that abrupt tightness drawing a stuttering gasp from him.

“For God’s sake,” he exhales, the words rough as his forehead bumps into yours. His hand splays over your ribcage, fingers curling slightly. “Sweetheart, you’re—killin’ me here.”

“I can feel you everywhere,” you huff, your arms looping around his neck to pull him closer, holding your breath. He takes the moment to capture your nipple between his swollen lips, leaving a shiny trail of spit in his wake. You lift yourself, the motion teasing, before sinking back down onto his lap, taking him in fully. “Can feel you in my stomach.”

When you begin to move, Joel loses track of everything else. Time seems to stretch, bending and reshaping itself each time his tip finds some hidden place inside you. He’s fifty-six years old, yet in this moment, his soul feels infinite. Invincible. He brings his hand to your lips, thumb grazing over them before slipping inside. Your warm tongue envelopes it, and when you start to suck dutifully, muffling your moans, his body jerks in response. His eyes drift to your glistening chest, where a sheen of sweat makes your skin glow in the dim light. You’re the most captivating woman he’s ever seen, and he knows he’ll never look at anyone the same again. He can’t tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the way your body merges with his, the way you undulate your hips on top of him.

You move back and forth, and he drives into you, filling you to the brim with every calculated thrust. He thrusts upward, stealing the air from your lungs, the sharp motion making you sputter as your body struggles to keep up with his.

“That’s it.” His voice is a husky growl as he wraps his arms tightly around your back, your chests sticking together with sweat. His pace quickens, the rhythm becoming more insistent. “Takin’ it like a good girl. You feel exquisite, baby. Makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind.”

“So big inside me,” you pant, your own pace faltering as you surrender to Joel’s unforgiving tempo. His hooded eyes flicker to yours, catching the way your pupils have swallowed up your irises, dark and blown wide with desire. A shiver runs through him as your fingers dig into his shoulders, your grip leaving faint crescents in his skin. “Missed your cock so much, Mr. Miller.”

Fuck, not that shit. If it’s possible, he grows impossibly harder. He pounds into you with renewed intensity this time, his singular goal to leave you speechless, boneless, completely undone. He wants you limp and shuddering, with nothing left to give. “Enough of that.” His hands find their place on the soft globes of your ass, molding and squeezing until the pressure has you mewling, the sweet sound shooting straight through him. His lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “Responsive everywhere, honey. Have any idea how much fun I’m gonna have with ya’?”

Who would’ve believed him back then? It proves this isn’t some once-in-a-lifetime fluke. It happened before, and now it’s happening again. He might as well surrender to it—accept his fate and move through the motions like a man resigned to what’s already written.

There’s a moment when your moans sharpen, turning high-pitched and dazed, and the way you constrict him sends his eyes rolling to the back of his skull, a guttural noise tearing from his chest. His movements still, clutching your waist to pin you in place, denying you the chance to move, to bounce on him.

Then you break. A sob wracks your body, tears spilling over and tracing hot paths down your cheeks. They gather, fusing together as they slide along your throat and pool in the hollow of your jaw before disappearing lower. “Asshole,” you hiss, the word fragile as you push your face into the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in his embrace.

“Sorry? Couldn’t catch that.” He makes sure to keep you securely tucked under his chin, tilting his lower half upward. “If you want me t’stop, just say the world and I will.”

He’s messing with you, plain and simple. He doesn’t actually expect you to take his words at face value. But you do, grinding down harder, impaling yourself further on the length of his cock, and your arousal trickles down, slicking the coarse hair of his thighs.  “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.” Slotting your mouth over his, you attempt to move, chasing any sort of friction against your clit. Sadly, pleasure doesn’t come on its own—it’s Joel who can make you feel good, and he’s not obliging. His hand seizes your hair in a rough grasp, tugging sharply. Eyes fluttering shut, you hunch forward, submitting to the sharp edge of his control.

“What an impatient little thing y’are.” Joel grabs your thighs and turns you over, your back pressed against the leather seat. The brusque shift pulls him out of you, the cool air a cruel tease before he taps his head against your swollen folds, then fills you again in one powerful thrust, kissing your cervix in the process. A deep moan rips from your lungs, deep and guttural, as your legs tremble uncontrollably on either side of him. Your ankles dig into his back, fervent to keep him close. His balls rest heavy against your skin, full and aching for release. “Gonna give ya’ what y’want, okay? You’ve been on your best behavior,” he mumbles with his lips stuck to your forehead. “That’s a good girl. Think she deserves to come after all.”

Only then does he find his rhythm again, ramming into your drooling hole. For the third time tonight, he’s captivated by how you teeter on the edge of overwhelming pleasure. He has you eating out of his hand, taking all that he offers, and you do so willingly. He knows he could ask you for anything, and in exchange for an orgasm coaxed by him, you'd comply without thinking twice. In many ways, he’s not so different. He gathers some of your saliva, using it to moisten his fingers before slipping them between your bodies, rubbing your clit as he continues to hit your bundle of nerves. Where his stamina comes from, he has no clue, though he’s determined to keep pushing.

Your face becomes a living poem, each cry of yours adding to its verse. Your head nearly reaches the door, but he cradles it with his arm, ensuring you don’t hurt yourself. “Close,” you whine, struggling to keep your eyes from falling shut. “Joel, please. Let me—”

“Give it to me, darlin’.” Another thrust, another moan. “Drench me, c’mon. That’s what y’want, isn’t it? To come all over this cock?”

The way he’s worked you up has its rewards, leading to a release that feels like an eruption. You bite down on his shoulder, your cries growing louder, chanting his name without pause. It loses all meaning after being chanted so many times, but the way you say it still has an undeniable weight. He doesn’t mind it one bit, not when he’s finishing right after you plead him to fill you. His jaw hangs open as ropes of his seed spill inside you, and he sags against your frame, giving short thrusts to push his cum deeper into your warmth, your pussy milking him dry.

“Oh, God…” he groans, fumbling with one of your breasts, holding onto something for dear life. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Don’t pull out yet,” you say, grinning when you feel him twitch. “Stay a little longer.”

Too personal. Too intimate—dangerous in his books. Normally, he'd tuck himself back into his briefs, drive the woman he’s slept with home, and that would be the end of it. No happy endings in his story. So he’s surprised when he supports his weight on his forearms, claiming your lips in a voracious encounter of tongues and teeth. He caresses your cheek, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, and you sigh contentedly.

The two of you lapse into a heavy silence after that. He clears his throat, and says: “I should’ve asked you for your number that one time.” In the heat of the act, he’s being too honest. Regret will come knocking on his door once his excitement fades. His eyes bore into yours, dubious. “M’sorry for that.”

“Well, you could ask me for it now,” you admit from beneath him, and Joel pulls away for a moment, trying to gauge if you’re serious. He doesn’t think you’re joking. “To make up for lost time.”

This must be the onset of something else. He can't quite put it into words, but he feels it in his chest, in every place where your skin merges with his. He's no fortune teller, and there's no way for him to know where this path will take him, whether it leads to ruin or salvation. Though in this moment, he doesn't care—not now, at least.

At last, Joel blindly reaches for the pocket of his jeans with one arm. “How long are you stayin’ in Austin?”

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[pucksandpower]

Baby Steps

Charles Leclerc x single mother!Reader

Summary: you are barely staying afloat, desperately trying to wrap your mind around your impending motherhood while juggling being a press officer for Scuderia Ferrari … Charles shows you that you don’t have to do it alone

Warnings: pregnancy, family abandonment, and harassment

You grip the edges of the trash can tightly as your stomach lurches again. The half-digested remains of your breakfast spill into the plastic liner with a sickening splatter. Straightening up slowly, you take a few deep breaths and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. The smell rising from the can makes your stomach roll threateningly once more.

Turning away quickly, you lean against the side of the Ferrari motorhome, eyes closed. The sun beats down relentlessly, and you can feel sweat beading at your hairline.

This “morning” sickness is no joke — it seems to strike at all hours of the day. You thought you had gotten away with a quick breakfast break an hour ago when Carlos was in a team briefing, but apparently not.

Footsteps on the gravel make you open your eyes. You pray it’s not a member of the press, or, god forbid, Carlos. The last thing you need is a photo of the Ferrari press officer tossing her cookies behind the paddock. But no, it’s Charles Leclerc striding towards you, his brow furrowed.

You straighten up and attempt nonchalance. “Good morning, Charles.”

He slows, glancing between you and the extremely obvious trash can of vomit. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yeah, fine,” you say breezily. “Just a bit of food poisoning, I think. Had a questionable chicken salad for dinner yesterday.”

You notice Charles is wearing a soft grey t-shirt and track pants, his hair damp from the shower. He must have just finished with physiotherapy. He looks so effortlessly handsome, it’s frankly unfair. You suddenly feel acutely aware of the sheen of sweat on your face and your limbs heavy with fatigue.

Charles’ face remains creased in concern. “Food poisoning? Have you been to the medical center?”

You wave a hand. “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably just 24 hours of hell before I’m back to normal.” You attempt a smile, but have to grab the trash can again as the smell from it hits you like a wave.

Charles springs forward and grabs your arm as you retch miserably. “Whoa, take it easy,” he says, supporting you until the heaving subsides.

You stay hunched over, breathing hard. The world is spinning a little. You hear Charles say firmly, “Okay, come with me. Let’s get you sat down.”

He keeps a hand under your arm and leads you into the blessedly cool motorhome. The rich scent of coffee fills the interior, reminding you that you haven’t managed to keep any food down today. You sink gratefully onto a padded bench at one of the tables.

Charles sits opposite you, his green eyes studying you intently. “When did the sickness start?”

You sigh, shoulders slumping. The jig is up. “About four weeks ago,” you mutter.

Understanding dawns on Charles’ face. “Oh. Oh!” His eyes flick down to your still-flat stomach. “So you’re ...”

“Pregnant. Yes.” You drop your head into your hands.

“Well, hey, congratulations,” says Charles gently. “That’s really exciting.”

You huff out something between a sob and a laugh. “Exciting? More like a nightmare!” You run your fingers back through your hair and look desperately at Charles. “You can’t tell anyone, okay? Not even Carlos. I can’t risk anyone finding out about this. If I lose this job ...”

Charles’ brows draw together again. “Why would you lose your job? You’re Carlos’ press officer. I’m sure he’d be thrilled for you.”

You shake your head rapidly. “No, no way. I can’t take time off. The season just started! Carlos needs me, I organize everything for him. The travel, the events, the media, everything!” You bite your lip anxiously. “Maybe … maybe after the baby comes, I can figure something out. But I have to keep this quiet until then. Please.”

Charles reaches over and lays a hand on your arm. His touch is gentle but firm. “Y/N. Working yourself into the ground won’t be good for you or the baby. Have you thought about taking a sabbatical? Just a few months to rest, focus on yourself.”

Panic flares in your chest. “No! No, I can’t.” Your breathing quickens. “You don’t understand — I have no one else. No partner. No family. This job is everything. If I lose it ...” You trail off, trying to blink back the sting of tears.

Charles is silent for a long moment. Then he says, “Okay. I understand this is your decision. And I promise I won’t tell Carlos or anyone else.” He hesitates. “But Y/N, please take care of yourself. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.”

You nod jerkily and avoid his earnest gaze. With a shaky breath, you push yourself to your feet. The motorhome tilts sickeningly for a second.

Charles rises too, watching you with concern. “Will you be alright?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. You start to head deeper into the motorhome, desperate to lie down before the nausea returns.

“Y/N,” Charles calls after you softly. You pause, glancing back. “Congratulations again. You’re going to be a wonderful mother.” He gives you a small, warm smile.

You swallow hard. “Thank you, Charles,” you whisper. Then you turn and continue on unsteadily, one hand braced against the wall.

You make it to the small office that passes for your private quarters on race weekends. Collapsing onto the ergonomic desk chair, you stare up at the ceiling and place a hand over your still-flat belly.

A baby.

Your baby.

Fear and wonder tangle inside you.

You must have dozed off, because the next thing you know a hand is gently shaking your shoulder. You jerk awake to find Carlos standing over you, his eyebrows drawn with concern.

“Y/N? Are you ill?”

You stand up too quickly and immediately regret it as the room spins. Carlos grabs your shoulder to steady you.

“I’m fine,” you say hoarsely. “Just needed a quick nap.”

Carlos frowns, clearly unconvinced. “Charles said you were throwing up outside. That you have food poisoning?”

You make a mental note to kill Charles later. “Uh, yeah. Bad chicken salad, I think. But I’ll be okay.” You attempt a reassuring smile.

Carlos sits down on the edge of your desk, watching you closely. “Why didn’t you tell me you were unwell? You know you don’t have to worry about me, I can look after myself for one day.” His dark brown eyes are filled with worry.

Guilt twists your gut. Carlos has always been extraordinarily kind and thoughtful, a rarity in the high stakes world of Formula 1. You hate lying to him.

“I know,” you say quietly. “I just didn’t want to let you down. But you’re right, I should have said something. I’m sorry.”

Carlos shakes his head immediately. “No, don’t be sorry. Just focus on feeling better, yes? Take tomorrow off too. I order you to rest,” he adds with a small grin.

You smile weakly back. “Okay, boss.”

Carlos stands and gestures to the tiny table bolted to the wall. “I brought you some tea and crackers. Hopefully you can keep it down.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate you checking on me.”

He smiles. “Of course. Feel better, Y/N.” With a last lingering look of concern, he turns and leaves you in peace.

You look at the steaming tea and crackers and feel tears prick your eyes again. Carlos is a good man. Too good, probably, for the pragmatic demands of Formula 1. You know you should tell him about the pregnancy. But the thought of losing your place here, on this team, fills you with dread.

This high stakes world of racing is all you’ve known for the past three years. You can’t imagine life outside the bubble of the paddock, away from the adrenaline and pressure. Away from the team. Away from Carlos. Away from Charles.

With a deep breath, you sit up straight and tear open the crackers. You need to think about this rationally. Maybe Charles is right and you do need to slow down eventually. But for now, for the next few months at least, you have to keep going like nothing has changed.

You place a hand on your stomach as you nibble a cracker. “It’s gonna be okay, little one,” you whisper. “We’ll figure this out.”

***

The smell of coffee turns your stomach these days, but you still make your way blearily to the breakfast buffet each morning. Carlos is an early riser, and you need to be available whenever he is ready to start the day. You scan the offerings, deciding toast is the safest option, and reach for a couple of dry slices.

“Oh, Y/N!”

You turn to see Charles holding out a pre-packaged parfait cup. “I grabbed an extra yogurt by mistake. Do you want it?”

You hesitate. Your first instinct is suspicion — this is the third time this week Charles has “accidentally” had an extra snack to offer you. But the yogurt does look appealing ...

“Sure, thanks,” you say, taking the cup from him. Charles shoots you a smile before grabbing a plate and continuing down the buffet.

You sit down next to Carlos with your toast and yogurt. He glances up from his phone. “Morning. Feeling better today?”

You nod, mouth full. In truth, the nausea has continued, but you’ve gotten better at hiding it from Carlos and powered through.

Charles joins you both a few minutes later, greeted by Carlos with a fist bump. You peel open your yogurt while half-listening to the two men discuss the upcoming practices.

The sweet, fruity parfait is cool and soothing on your sensitive stomach. You find yourself polishing it off in record time. As you scrape the last bit of yogurt from the bottom, you realize Charles is watching you.

“Good?” He asks.

You lick the plastic spoon clean before answering. “Yeah, really hit the spot, thanks.”

Charles’ eyes crinkle with a smile. “No problem. I’ll try to grab two tomorrow.”

You feel your smile grow fixed. This is getting ridiculous. Charles Leclerc does not care this much about your yogurt preferences. He’s up to something.

Over the next week, Charles’ thoughtfulness continues. A cold bottle of water when you’re looking hot and tired. A sandwich from a local bakery when you missed lunch. Your favorite chocolate bar when you mention a craving in passing. Always with an innocent smile, as if he’s not playing Superman to your pretend Lois Lane.

It all comes to a head on race day. You’re in the scorching sun on the grid, already feeling the fatigue of the hectic weekend. Carlos is doing his pre-race routine, so your attention has lapsed. Suddenly a blessedly cold bottle of water appears in front of your face. You look up to see Charles grinning down at you.

“Stay hydrated,” he says with a wink.

That does it. “Okay, enough!” You snap, smacking the water bottle away. It falls to the ground with a thud, water glugging out.

Charles’ eyes go wide with shock. “Y/N?”

Grabbing his arm, you pull Charles several steps away from eavesdropping mechanics. “Why are you doing this?” You hiss. “I don’t need you to baby me!”

“What?” Charles looks completely bewildered. “I’m just trying to help-”

“Well, stop,” you interrupt sharply. The hurt on Charles’ face makes you falter, but you press on. “I don’t need your pity. I’m fine.”

“Pity?” Charles frowns. “It’s not pity, Y/N. I care about you.” He places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’re always taking care of everyone around you. Now you need someone to take care of you too.”

His kind words hit you like a gut punch. Oh God, the stupid hormones! You feel hot tears spring to your eyes.

Charles’ alarmed expression softens. “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you ...” He pulls you into a hug. One hand smoothes your hair while the other rubs comforting circles on your back.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmurs. You cling to him, embarrassed by your raw emotional response but unable to stop the tears.

After a minute the wave passes. You pull back, wiping your eyes. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Charles smiles kindly. “Nothing is wrong with you. But I understand this is a difficult time.” His expression turns serious. “If you ever need anything, please ask me. I’m here for you.”

Looking up into Charles’ earnest green eyes, you feel a rush of gratitude. Whatever awkwardness lingers between you has evaporated. Charles is a true friend.

You squeeze his hand. “Thank you. That means a lot.” Glancing around, you notice some odd looks from passing crew members. “We should probably get back to work before people think there’s a full-blown soap opera going on over here.”

Charles grins. “Agreed. But this conversation isn’t over. Dinner tonight in my room?” He raises an eyebrow.

You laugh, blinking away the last dampness from your eyes. “It’s a date.”

***

You smooth your hands down your dress as you approach Charles’ hotel suite, suddenly feeling nervous. You’ve been in drivers’ rooms countless times for work, but this feels different. More intimate.

You take a steadying breath and knock. Charles opens the door, looking unfairly handsome in a crisp button down shirt.

“Y/N! Come in.” He steps back to allow you inside.

The suite is spacious and modern, with floor to ceiling windows along one wall looking out over the glittering city. Charles leads you through the living area to a set of glass doors. “I thought we could eat out on the balcony,” he explains, opening the doors with a flourish. “The fresh air will be good for you and baby.”

You step outside and have to stifle a gasp. A small table is elegantly set for two, a vase of flowers in the center. String lights twinkle overhead. “Charles, this is beautiful!”

He looks pleased. “I’m glad you like it.” Pulling out a chair, he gestures for you to sit.

As he takes the seat opposite you, you notice several covered dishes on the table. Charles sees you looking and smiles a bit sheepishly. “I, uh, called my mother earlier.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. Charles rubs the back of his neck. “I asked her what foods she craved when she was pregnant with me and my brother. So I ordered a bunch of that from room service, in hopes there might be something you’d like.”

A lump forms in your throat. You reach over and squeeze his hand. “Charles, that is so incredibly thoughtful.”

Pink tinges his tanned cheeks. “Of course. I want to take care of you.”

You chat comfortably over food and Charles’ excellent choice of wine for you — sparkling grape juice. He relaxes as you praise the chicken and melon he ordered.

When you sit back contentedly, Charles fixes you with a thoughtful look. “So, do you know how far along you are?”

You hesitate. “About three months now.”

He nods. “And have you been to a doctor yet?”

Your fingers find a groove in the wooden table to trace. “Not yet.” At his surprised look, you add defensively, “I’ve just been so busy with work. But I’m sure everything is fine.”

“Still, you should make an appointment soon. Just to be safe.” Charles’ tone is gentle.

You nod without meeting his eye. An uncomfortable beat passes.

“Do you ...” Charles pauses delicately. “Forgive me, but … do you know who the father is?”

Your cheeks flame. You stand abruptly, walking over to the balcony railing. After a moment Charles joins you, leaning on the rail at your side.

“I’m sorry, that was too personal,” he says quietly.

You shake your head. “It’s okay. I just ...” You glance up at him. “He’s no longer in my life.” You look away, a lump in your throat.

Charles doesn’t ask anything more, just moves closer in a gesture of silent support. You stand together breathing in the night air. The twinkling city sprawls before you. For a moment, the future doesn’t feel quite so frightening.

Eventually you stifle a yawn behind your hand. Charles glances over. “You must be exhausted. I should let you get to bed.”

You smile gratefully. He walks you to the door of the suite. Pausing, you stand on tiptoes and kiss Charles lightly on the cheek. “Thank you again for dinner. For everything.”

His eyes shine as he gazes down at you. “Of course. Sweet dreams, Y/N. And ...” He brushes a feather-light touch over your belly. “Sweet dreams to you too, little one.”

You feel your heart melt just a little. With a last smile, you head down the hall to the elevators. As the doors slide closed, you catch one last glimpse of Charles watching after you.

Back in your smaller, blander room, you change for bed in a happy haze. Sliding between cool sheets, you let out a contented sigh. Tonight was lovely. Charles’ thoughtfulness reminds you there are still good people in the world. For the first time in weeks, you feel a spark of hope.

You drift off to sleep with a hand resting gently on your belly. Everything seems less frightening now that you aren’t alone. Whatever happens next, you and your baby will get through it together.

***

The buzz of the media pen is giving you a headache today. Or maybe that’s just the pregnancy. You blink heavily, trying to focus on Carlos speaking into the microphone in front of you. You hit record on your phone as he answers the first question. It’s your job to capture every word to ensure he’s not misrepresented later.

The reporter’s voice fades in and out. You sway slightly, shaking your head. Just need some fresh air. You take a step away from the crowd, vision blurring at the edges. Dark spots dance across your eyes. The concrete floor rushes up to meet you-

“Y/N!”

Strong hands grab your shoulders, slowing your collapse. Your head spins as you try to make sense of it.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Charles’ worried face swims into view above you. You part your lips but no words come out.

There’s loud commotion around you now. You feel yourself being shifted, lifted. Snatches of Charles’ voice pierce through the fog.

“She’s pregnant ... get help ... ambulance ...”

You try to cling to consciousness but it’s like grasping at smoke. The world goes dark.

When you resurface, it’s to antiseptic white walls and a steady beeping. Hospital. An IV pulls at your arm as you shift.

“Y/N?” Charles appears at your side, relief breaking across his face. “Thank God. You’re awake.”

Before you can respond, he’s disappeared again, calling for a doctor. You try to push yourself more upright but your limbs feel like lead.

A brisk older woman in a white coat enters, glancing at the monitor beside your bed. “Good to see you awake, Miss Y/L/N. You gave us quite a scare.”

“What happened?” Your voice comes out hoarse.

“You fainted from low blood pressure. A common issue in pregnancy, but yours seems to be more severe.” The doctor flips through your chart with a frown.

Charles stands anxiously at the foot of the bed. “But she’ll be alright now?”

The doctor hesitates. “I’m recommending complete pelvic rest and limited activity for the remainder of the pregnancy. Strictly no standing or walking for prolonged periods.” She pins you with a sharp look. “And if your blood pressure drops again, we’ll have no choice but to put you on full bed rest.”

Your stomach drops through the floor. “What? No, I can’t! I have to keep working, I-”

“Y/N.” Charles’ voice stops your panicked rambling. His face is lined with concern as he takes your hand. “Your health is what matters most.”

The doctor nods briskly. “Precisely. No job is worth risking your or your baby’s safety.” With a final warning look, she departs.

The moment she leaves, you burst into tears. Harsh, gasping sobs wrack your frame. This is a disaster. Without being able to stand or walk for long stretches, you’re useless to the team. You’ll be fired for sure. And then what will you do? You have no one, no other skills-

Warm, strong arms wrap around you as you weep. Charles cradles you against his chest, making low soothing sounds.

“Shh, it’s going to be alright,” he murmurs, stroking your hair. “We’ll figure this out.”

You clutch fistfuls of his shirt, burying your face in the soft cotton. The steady thump of his heartbeat slowly calms your hysteria.

When the tears finally subside, Charles eases you gently back against the pillows. His thumbs brush away the moisture from your cheeks.

“I know you’re scared,” he says quietly. “But I promise, I will do everything I can to help you. We are in this together now.”

His green eyes radiate such sincerity, you feel some of the panic and despair lift. You cling tightly to his hand, anchoring yourself to him like he’s a rock in a stormy sea.

***

You pick listlessly at the greyish meat and mushy vegetables on your hospital dinner tray. At least Charles had the foresight to sneak in some contraband snacks earlier — you polish off the last crumbs of the cookies he brought, wishing futilely for something more appetizing.

A knock at the door precedes Charles peeking in. “Hungry for something better than hospital food?” He holds up a paper takeout bag and shakes it enticingly.

You brighten immediately. “Charles, you’re my hero.”

He laughs and enters, pulling a table over your lap to serve as a makeshift dining surface. Soon plastic containers of pasta, salad, and fresh bread are opened, the savory scents making your mouth water.

Charles watches fondly as you tuck in. “I wasn’t sure what you’d feel up to eating. But who doesn’t like Italian food?”

You make a noise of emphatic agreement through your full mouth. Charles chuckles.

When you finally surface for air, he clears his throat. “So I was thinking ...” Charles busies himself folding and refolding your napkin. “My apartment in Monaco is pretty big for just me. And it has a guest room that’s just sitting empty.”

You raise your eyebrows, waiting for him to go on.

“Well ...” Charles rubs the back of his neck. “I thought maybe when you’re discharged, you could come stay with me for a while. So I can make sure you’re not overexerting yourself.”

You frown slightly. “Oh. That’s really kind, but I’ll be fine once I’m out of here.”

“Will you?” Charles levels you with a knowing look. “No offense, but you’re not exactly the best at asking for help when you need it.”

You open your mouth to protest, but can’t really argue with that.

“Let me do this for you. For my own peace of mind too,” Charles implores gently. He takes your hand, blue eyes full of sincerity. “Please?”

Looking into his earnest face, you feel your weak resistance faltering. Still ... “I don’t want to be a burden,” you mumble half-heartedly.

Charles squeezes your hand. “You could never be. I care about you, Y/N.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles. “I want to take care of you and the baby.”

The warmth in his voice melts away the last of your reluctance. And honestly, the prospect of having Charles doting on you is far preferable to being alone in your small, dreary apartment.

You meet his hopeful gaze. “Okay. If you’re sure you don’t mind, then … I accept your kind offer.”

Charles’ answering smile rivals the sun. “Yeah? Oh, that’s fantastic!” He sweeps you into an enthusiastic but gentle hug. You cling to him, feeling the nervous knot that’s been your constant companion for weeks finally start to loosen. Everything will work out.

That night as Charles is leaving, you call his name softly. He pauses, one hand on the door.

You twist your fingers in the blanket, suddenly shy. “I just wanted to say … thank you. For everything. I’ll find a way to repay you someday, I promise.”

Charles’ expression softens. He comes back and squeezes your hand. “You don’t owe me anything. Just focus on yourself and that little one.” He strokes a finger over your belly. “That’s all the repayment I need.”

With a last smile, he slips out, leaving you to fall asleep with a heart full of gratitude and growing affection for your kind rescuer.

***

You smooth your hands nervously over your dress as you approach Fred Vasseur’s office. This is it. Time to tell your boss that you’ll be leaving him in the lurch smack dab in the middle of the season.

Charles gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It will be okay. Just explain the situation.”

You take a deep breath and nod. Charles opens the door and gestures for you to enter first.

Fred rises from behind his desk, surprise flickering across his face. “Y/N, Charles. What can I do for you?” His gaze darts between you curiously.

Your mouth goes dry. Charles gently guides you to sit in one of the chairs facing Fred, taking the other himself.

“Y/N has something she needs to discuss with you,” Charles begins calmly. “I’m here for moral support.”

Fred’s eyebrows raise but he nods for you to go on. Your hands twist together in your lap.

“Well, I ...” You have to pause and swallow hard. “I recently learned that I’m pregnant. And I’ve developed some, uh, complications that mean I can’t travel or be on my feet much.”

Fred’s eyebrows climb higher. “I … see. Congratulations?” He still looks perplexed.

Charles jumps in. “What she’s trying to say is, she needs to take a leave of absence. Doctor’s orders.”

“Ah.” Understanding settles on Fred’s face. He turns back to you. “I’m very sorry to hear you’re unwell. Of course health must come first.”

You feel yourself relax slightly. “So I can take a sabbatical? My job will still be here when I’m able to return?”

“Absolutely.” Fred nods. “You’ve been invaluable to our team. Your role will be waiting whenever you’re ready.”

You could cry with relief. “Oh, thank you! That means the world.”

Fred smiles kindly. “Think nothing of it. Focus on your health and that baby. We’ll manage in the meantime.”

Charles reaches over to clasp your hand supportively. “Is there anything else she needs to know before starting her leave?”

Fred considers this. “Y/N will have full pay during sabbatical, of course. And keep me posted on any support you require — medical, household, anything at all.”

You clutch Charles’ hand, too overwhelmed to speak. He smiles. “Very generous. We appreciate that greatly.”

After finalizing a few details, you both stand. Fred comes around the desk to shake your hand. “Best of luck with everything. Let me know if you need absolutely anything.”

You whisper a heartfelt thank you before allowing Charles to guide you out. Safely in the hallway, you turn and fling your arms around him.

“Charles, thank you,” you murmur into his shoulder. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

His strong arms come around you, cradling you close. “Of course, Y/N. I meant what I said — I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

You cling to each other for a long moment, his steadfast support washing away your lingering fears. As long as Charles is with you, you know everything will work out just fine.

***

You fidget in the generic mint-colored exam room, paper crinkling beneath you as you perch on the edge of the table. Charles sits in a nearby chair, scrolling through his phone, the picture of calm. You wish you shared his zen attitude.

A brisk knock precedes the door swinging open. A smiling older woman enters, glancing down at her chart.

“Y/N? I’m Dr. Boucher, nice to meet you.” Her smile widens as she looks between you and Charles. “And you must be the dad! Wonderful.”

Your mouth drops open to correct her, but Charles beats you to it. “That’s right, thank you,” he says easily, standing to shake the doctor’s hand.

You snap your mouth shut, eyes widening. But the doctor has already moved on, washing her hands at the sink.

“Now then, let’s take a look at this baby, shall we?” She pats the exam table.

You lie back, hiking up your shirt to expose your belly. The cool gel makes you shiver as the doctor smears it over your skin. She places the ultrasound wand low on your abdomen and moves it slowly.

The screen blooms to life, blurred black and white shifting until a shape emerges — a tiny profile, curled arms and legs distinct. You gasp softly. There’s your baby.

Dr. Boucher smiles. “There we are. Looks to be about 16 weeks along. Growing beautifully.”

You can’t tear your eyes away from the screen. Your throat feels tight. After so many weeks of secrecy and fear, this precious little life finally seems real.

“And there’s the heartbeat.” The doctor turns up the volume, and a rapid thumping fills the room. “Nice and strong.”

Tears spill over your cheeks before you can stop them. A glance over shows Charles watching the monitor intently, green eyes shiny with emotion. He reaches for your hand, gripping tightly.

When the appointment ends, you both exit the office in a daze. As you walk down the street to Charles’ car, he turns to you.

“That was … incredible,” he says softly. “Seeing your baby for the first time ...” He trails off, at a loss for words.

You lift his hand and press a kiss to the back, hoping he understands the depth of your gratitude. Charles smiles tenderly in return.

Safely home in Charles’ plush apartment, you curl up together on the sofa with mugs of tea to continue gazing at the ultrasound photos. Charles slips an arm around your shoulders, his thumb idly stroking your arm as you chatter excitedly about preparing a nursery.

This moment, here with Charles, your child’s heartbeat still echoing in your ears … it’s the closest thing to pure joy you’ve ever known. The future finally feels bright with hope. You lean into Charles’ warmth and send up a silent prayer of thanks for this man and the new life he’s given back to you.

***

You curl deeper into the plush couch in Charles’ apartment, cradling your mug of tea. Rain patters against the windows overlooking Monaco’s glittering harbor. The cozy scene makes you feel safe enough to finally open up.

“Charles?”

He glances over from where he’s poking at the fire. “Hmm?”

You twist your fingers together nervously. “There’s more I should tell you. About how I got pregnant.”

Charles rises and comes to sit beside you, face open and attentive. Taking a deep breath, you begin.

“It happened last winter, during the off-season. I went back home to Italy for a while, to the little town outside Milan where my family lives.”

You stare into your tea, remembering. “There was a man vacationing there, from Rome. Dario. We met in a cafe and just … clicked. He was handsome, charming, a perfect gentleman.” Your lips twist wryly. “Or so I thought.”

Charles remains quiet, letting you gather the words.

“We spent every day together for two weeks. Took long walks, went on romantic dinners. When it was time for him to leave, we ...” You trail off, face warming.

“You made love,” Charles supplies gently. You nod, still not meeting his eyes.

“I thought it meant as much to him as to me. But after he went back to Rome, his texts and calls slowly stopped. And then I found out why.”

Your voice drops to a pained whisper. “He was married. His ‘business trip’ was just a chance to fool around. When his wife saw my texts on his phone … it exploded. And then my family found out about the affair.”

Finally you lift your head. Charles’ face is lined with compassion. “They disowned me. Called me a fool and a harlot. It didn’t matter that I was lied to — as far as they’re concerned, I brought shame upon our family.”

Hot tears spill down your cheeks. Charles immediately pulls you into his arms. You cling to him, crying into his shoulder as he rubs your back.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “You did nothing wrong. This Dario took advantage of you, and your family should have supported you.”

Charles holds you until the storm of tears passes. When you finally pull back, he cups your face in both hands, brushing away the lingering moisture with his thumbs.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says softly. “I know that wasn’t easy. You’re so incredibly strong.”

Leaning forward, he places a tender kiss on your forehead. Then his palms slide down to cradle your rounded belly.

“I’ve got you now,” Charles murmurs. “Both of you. You’ll never be alone again.”

Nestled in his lap, you close your eyes and just breathe. The remnants of hurt and betrayal wash away, replaced by the safety of Charles’ embrace. Whatever comes next, you have found your sanctuary here, with him.

***

You wander through the apartment looking for Charles, one hand braced on your lower back. Your belly has popped noticeably in the last couple weeks, throwing your balance off.

Not finding Charles in any of the usual spots, you head down the hall towards the spare bedroom. When you push open the door, your jaw drops.

The room has been completely transformed. Bright sunshine spills through the windows onto whitewashed walls. A plush rug covers the hardwood floor. In one corner sits a fully assembled crib, stuffed animals piled inside.

Charles stands back to admire his work, shirtsleeves rolled up and hair adorably mussed. He turns when you gasp softly.

“Y/N! I wanted to surprise you.” His grin falters. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? Charles, I love it!” You blink back happy tears, wandering further inside. Charles’ face lights up.

“I wasn’t sure what color to paint, so I left the walls white for now,” he explains, coming over to slip an arm around you.

You lean into him, gazing around. “It’s perfect. Our baby is so lucky to have you.”

Pink tinges Charles’ cheeks. He kisses the top of your head. “I’m the lucky one.”

You decide on a pale green for the walls. Charles immediately fetches paint supplies, but hovers anxiously as you start rolling color onto the first wall.

“Are you sure you should be doing this?” He eyes your protruding stomach. “The fumes can’t be good ...”

You wave off his concern. “I’ll be fine! Here-” You dip a roller in paint and offer it out. “Make yourself useful instead of worrying.”

Charles accepts the roller reluctantly. Soon you’re both working side by side. Charles takes on the higher parts of the walls that you can’t comfortably reach anymore.

Humming under your breath, you step back to critique your work so far. As you do, your foot catches on the paint tray and you stumble. Charles reaches out to steady you, but not before a fat drop of paint lands on his cheek.

“Oops!” You clap a hand over your mouth, trying not to laugh at the green splotch on his tanned skin.

Charles narrows his eyes in mock indignation. “You think that’s funny, do you?” Before you can react, he flicks his loaded paintbrush at you, spattering your shirt.

You gasp in delighted outrage. “Oh, it is on!” Grabbing your roller, you swipe it down his arm.

Charles lets out a laugh of surprise. Soon paint is flying from both directions. You run around each other, giggling and slipping on the drops coating the floor.

Finally Charles catches you gently by the waist. You’re both absolutely covered in pale green, sides aching from laughter. Your faces are inches apart, smiles fading into something more tender.

Slowly, Charles leans in and presses his lips to yours in the softest, sweetest kiss. You melt against him, hands coming up to cradle his jaw.

When you finally part, Charles rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he confesses, a little breathless.

You smile, heart soaring. “What took you so long?”

His answering grin outshines the sun. There, surrounded by dreams of the future, you share another lingering kiss.

***

You settle back against the mountain of pillows, trying to find a comfortable position for your unwieldy body. At nearly 8 months along now, your belly feels impossibly huge. Luckily Charles’ plush bed offers plenty of space to sprawl.

Speaking of Charles, he appears in the doorway holding a bottle. “Ready for your massage?”

You eye the bottle of oil eagerly. The stretch marks crisscrossing your stomach have been itchy and tight. “Yes please.”

Charles props up pillows behind you so you’re half-reclining. Then he drizzles some of the oil into his palms, warming it up before smoothing his hands over your bump.

You sigh in bliss at his gentle but firm touch. The fragrant oil soothes and softens your irritated skin. Under Charles’ ministrations, the discomfort slowly ebbs away.

His strong hands glide over every inch, easing out the aches and pains. As Charles works, he murmurs to your belly. “There you go, little one. We’re going to make your home nice and cozy.”

Your heart clenches at the tender scene. Even after all these months of living together, it still sometimes hits you how domestic this is. Sharing a home, sharing a bed … it’s everything you secretly longed for but never expected to have. A real family.

You trail your fingers through Charles’ soft waves. His eyes lift to meet yours, soft with affection. The look on his face steals your breath — pure adoration, like you’re the most precious thing in his world.

“I love you.” The words slip out unbidden. Charles’ hands still. For a heartbeat, you’re afraid you’ve said too much.

But then he surges up to capture your lips in a searing kiss. “I love you too,” Charles whispers fiercely when you finally break apart, both panting. “So much.”

He seals his words with another drugging kiss. Your hands clutch him close, heart near bursting with joy.

Suddenly Charles breaks the kiss with a gasp. His wide eyes dart down. “Did you feel that?”

You start to shake your head no, distracted by the sensation of his calloused hands massaging your belly, but then you feel it — a distinct thump against your insides. Your baby shifting and kicking.

Charles’ face lights up. “There it is again!” He laughs in wonder. “The little one is saying hello.”

Happy tears blur your vision. Charles presses a delighted kiss to your stomach. “I can’t wait to meet you,” he whispers tenderly.

Through your tears, you smile at the man you love. The one who gave you and your child a home when you had nothing. However you got here, this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

A dull ache starts low in your back as you crawl into bed. You shift and stretch, trying to get comfortable, but can’t seem to. Charles notices your restlessness.

“Alright?” He murmurs sleepily, rolling over to rub your back.

You nod. “Yeah, just some back pain today.” Probably from lugging around this massive belly.

Charles makes soothing noises and continues massaging you until he drifts off. You finally manage to doze too.

Sometime in the night, you jerk awake. The sheets under you are soaked. For one confused moment you think you wet the bed. But then it hits you.

Your water broke.

“Charles!” You shake his shoulder urgently.

He comes awake with a snort. “Huh? What’s wrong?”

“It’s time! The baby-” You break off with a hiss as the first real contraction clenches your belly.

That wakes Charles up fully. “The baby? It’s coming?” He practically falls out of bed, all long limbs flailing.

You have to stifle an inappropriate giggle at his panic. “Yes, so we should-” Your instructions die as Charles sprints from the room. Alright then.

You shake your head in amusement and heave yourself to your feet, one hand braced on your lower back. Waddling slowly after Charles, you find him hyperactively rushing around the living room, tossing items randomly into your hospital bag.

“Okay, let’s go!” He grabs the overflowing bag and dashes out the front door. You stare after him in disbelief then lower yourself carefully onto the couch to wait.

Not thirty seconds later, Charles comes barreling back inside. “Oh God, I forgot you!”

You have to laugh at the panic on his face. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”

Looking marginally calmer, he helps you up, frantically gathering your bag in one hand while keeping the other wrapped around you.

You lean your weight on him during the next contraction, breathing through it. “It’s okay. But we should really go now.”

Charles practically carries you down to the garage and bundles you into his Ferrari in record time. He drives well over the speed limit, one hand clutching yours the whole way.

At the hospital, Charles refuses to leave your side even for a second. He holds the gas and air for you to breathe during contractions, whispering how strong and amazing you are.

When the time comes to push, the pain is unimaginable. You nearly give up, sobbing that you can’t do this. But Charles is there, guiding you through it, telling you that you absolutely can. And with one final scream, your son enters the world.

The shrill cry is the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. Charles cuts the cord with trembling hands. Then the nurse lays your wailing, squirmy son on your chest.

You press kisses to his downy head, tears of joy streaming down your face. Charles gazes at you both with pure reverence.

“His name is Matteo Charles,” you whisper. Charles lets out a choked sob at the middle name.

Too soon, the nurses take Matteo for cleaning and checks. One asks Charles if he’d like to hold him. Charles looks to you questioningly, and you nod through your exhaustion.

Charles settles into a chair, shirtless, and Matteo is laid on his bare chest. Charles strokes a gentle finger over Matteo’s cheek, seemingly enraptured.

“Thank you,” he rasps to you. “For our beautiful boy. Thank you, mon amour.”

This is everything you never knew you needed — a family, a home, and an overflowing love you once thought would forever be lost to you. But you’ve found it now, here in this room, together.

***

The sharp cries jolt you from sleep. With a groan, you roll out of the warm circle of Charles’ arms. Your body still aches and protests as you make your way to the nursery in the dark.

Picking up little Matteo, you carry him to the rocker and situate him at your breast. He latches on eagerly, cries fading to soft snuffles.

Charles appears in the doorway, hair adorably mussed. “Everything okay?” He asks through a yawn.

“We’re good now.” You smile tiredly down at your nursing son. His downy hair and scrunched features are all you — you find yourself thankful that there is barely any indication that his biological father even participated in making him.

Charles comes to perch on the ottoman, watching Matteo. “I can’t believe he’s really here,” he murmurs. “Our son.”

Pride swells in your chest. Charles has fully embraced his role as Matteo’s father, as naturally as breathing.

When Matteo finishes eating, Charles takes him to gently pat his back while you right your nightgown. He kisses your son’s head when Matteo lets out a tiny burp.

Back in bed, you curl into Charles with Matteo nestled safely between you. Charles has a race this weekend, his first since the birth. The thought of him leaving fills you with anxiety.

In the morning, Charles confirms your fears. “I’ll just tell Fred I’m not coming this weekend,” he says casually over breakfast. “The team will manage without me. One of the reserve drivers can take over for a few days.”

Your head jerks up. “What? No, Charles, you have to race.”

“But I don’t want to leave you two!” Charles gestures helplessly to where Matteo snoozes in a bouncer.

You catch Charles’ hand. “This is your dream. Matteo and I will be right here cheering you on when you get back.”

Charles wavers. You soften your voice. “It’s only for a little while. We’ll be okay.”

Finally he nods reluctantly. You know how hard this is for him — but Charles was born to race. You won’t let him give that up.

The morning Charles is set to fly out, he clings to you and Matteo like a second skin. You practically have to peel him off at airport security.

“I’ll be back so soon,” he whispers fiercely. One last kiss, and then he’s gone.

The apartment feels empty and too quiet. But you fill the time singing and playing with Matteo, keeping yourself busy until the race.

You and Matteo cuddle close on the couch to watch Charles zoom around the track. Your heart swells with love and pride seeing your man do what he was meant to.

When Charles wins, he shouts his ecstatic thanks to you and Matteo over the team radio. The podium champagne gets sprayed directly into the camera for you.

Finally Charles is home, sweeping you and Matteo into his arms. “I love you both so much,” he murmurs in wonder. You whisper it right back, nestled safe in the arms of your little family.

***

The energy in the Albert Park paddock is electric as teams prepare for the first race of the 2025 season. You feel a thrill just being back, Matteo cooing happily in your arms. At nearly six months old now, he’s ready for his first race.

Charles bounces on his toes, unable to contain his excitement. “Are you ready to see Papa race, Matteo?” He tickles Matteo’s belly, eliciting bubbly giggles.

You head first to the Ferrari garage, where the mechanics crowd around eagerly to fawn over Matteo. Lewis gives you a careful hug, peering curiously at the baby.

“Lewis, meet Matteo,” Charles says proudly. At Lewis’ questioning look, he adds “My son.” The way he says it brooks no argument.

Lewis’ eyes widen slightly but he just smiles. “Hi Matteo!” He offers a finger for Matteo to grip.

Fred comes over next, cooing over how much Matteo has grown. You enjoy the familial atmosphere, everyone fussing over your boy. Matteo basks in the attention.

Charles takes him down to the front of the garage to watch the crews work on the cars. He points out parts of the sleek machines, explaining them seriously to Matteo as if he understands. Matteo just gazes adoringly up at his Papa.

When Charles finally straps into the car for practice, you have ear muffs ready for Matteo’s sensitive ears. Charles blows kisses to you both before pulling on his helmet. Matteo squeals and waves his little fist as the car roars out.

In the hotel that night, you set Matteo on the bed while Charles showers. Stripped down to his diaper, your son kicks his chubby legs excitedly.

Charles emerges in comfy clothes, his hair still damp, and laughs at Matteo’s antics. “Alright, my little race car driver, time for bed.”

He tickles Matteo’s tummy as he puts on a fresh diaper and snaps up his pajamas. Then Charles cradles Matteo close, humming softly as he sways back and forth to soothe him. Your heart clenches at the tender scene.

Once Matteo is deeply asleep, Charles lays him gently in the travel crib. He turns to you with a soft smile. “I can’t imagine life without him now.”

You slip your arms around Charles from behind. “He loves his Papa so much already. Your biggest fan.”

Charles covers your hands with his, gazing at Matteo. “I’m going to win tomorrow for him.”

And he does. On the podium, Charles looks down to where you cradle Matteo in one arm, and gently showers you with champagne. Matteo’s delighted laughter is the sweetest sound.

This is everything you’ve ever wanted.

***

The energetic buzz of the Italian Grand Prix washes over you as you stroll hand-in-hand with Charles, your son cradled safely in his arms. At nearly a year old now, Matteo is fascinated by the vivid colors and cacophony of sounds surrounding him.

Charles playfully bounces Matteo as you weave through the crowded walkways, pointing out the sights and sounds. “Look Matteo, there’s the cars! Vroom vroom!” Charles mimics the roar of an engine. Matteo’s delighted giggle melts your heart. You can’t help but grin, chest swelling with love and pride for your little family.

You’ve just about reached the looming Ferrari motorhome when an absolutely venomous female voice shrieks out, “You!”

Every muscle in your body instantly tenses. You freeze mid-step, heart lurching into your throat. Whipping your head around, you see an immaculately dressed woman barreling directly towards you, her face mottled an ugly shade of rage-induced crimson.

“You disgusting harlot!” The woman spits with unrestrained fury. “You filthy whore!”

Stunned, you instinctively take a faltering step backwards, nearly stumbling. Charles’ strong arm immediately wraps protectively around you and Matteo, steadying you. His body angles partly in front of yours and Matteo’s smaller form, shielding you both on pure instinct.

The deranged woman continues her tirade, advancing until she’s nearly screaming in your face. “Oh, I know exactly who you are, you reprehensible little homewrecker!”

Before you can even begin to formulate a response, a ghost from your past suddenly materializes behind the enraged woman. A man you hoped to never lay eyes on again.

His eyes blow wide at the sight of you, Charles, and the infant cradled against Charles’ chest.

The woman — his wife, you realize with dawning horror — grabs viciously onto his arm, her razor-sharp nails digging in hard enough to leave crescent-shaped gouges. “Just look at her!” She shrieks, spit flying from her mouth. “Parading that little bastard child around like it’s something to be proud of!” She violently thrusts her finger towards Matteo, still safely ensconced in Charles’ embrace.

Your son, sensing the onslaught of hostile energy, immediately begins wailing in distress. You instinctively reach out to take him from Charles, desperate to comfort your frightened boy. But Charles subtly shifts his stance, moving further out of her reach, as he focuses intently on gently bouncing and shushing Matteo in an attempt to calm him.

Matteo’s biological father simply stares, slack-jawed, at the sobbing infant. The gears visibly turn in his head. “Is that ...” he chokes out, “Is he … mine?”

“No.” Charles’ immediate response is biting and unequivocal. He clutches Matteo tighter to his chest. “Matteo is my son.” Though his voice remains steady, you can see a muscle in his jaw ticking from the effort of holding back more heated words.

But Dario clearly does not accept this response. His eyes narrow calculatingly as he continues scrutinizing the wailing baby. Behind him, his unhinged wife keeps up her tirade of slurs and accusations, whipping the gathering crowd into greater frenzy.

You feel lightheaded, paralyzed. This is a living nightmare. Distantly you are aware of camera phones pointed your way, capturing every wretched moment. Charles seems to realize the same, his handsome face darkening with rage.

With frightening efficiency, Charles strides directly over to the nearest paddock security officers and has a brief, terse exchange. Moments later, two bulky guards firmly take hold of the still-screaming woman and shellshocked man, forcefully escorting them away. The crowd reluctantly disperses, murmuring.

Charles immediately returns to envelope you and Matteo in a fiercely protective embrace. “It’s alright now, you’re both safe,” he soothes, though his rapid heartbeat belies his calm words. Matteo’s panicked sobs have faded to tiny hiccups against Charles’ neck.

The rest of the chaotic day passes in a blur. Much later, in the privacy of your hotel room, Charles reveals that he pulled every string and called in every favor necessary to have Dario and his deranged wife permanently blacklisted from all Formula 1 events.

His voice shakes with quiet rage as he describes how close security came to needing to restrain him physically.

Finally he takes your face so very gently in his hands. “I promise you, I will do anything and everything to protect our family. You and Matteo are my entire world. Nothing will ever hurt you as long as I’m breathing.”

Overwhelmed with gratitude, you collapse against his solid chest. Charles’ strong arms anchor you in place as you cling to him. He continues murmuring fervent assurances, pressing kisses to your hair.

Despite the ugliness of the day, you know with utter certainty Charles will shield you and Matteo from the darkness of your past. Your family is still perfection in your eyes.

***

“Papa, I wanna be a race car driver like you when I grow up!”

Your five-year-old son looks up at Charles with big, adoring eyes as he makes this pronouncement over breakfast one morning.

Charles freezes with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. He slowly sets it down, gazing at Matteo with surprise and pride. “You do?”

Matteo bobs his curly head eagerly. “Yeah! I wanna drive fast cars and win like you! Can you teach me?”

Charles melts, ruffling Matteo’s hair. “Of course, buddy. We’ll have to convince your maman first though.” He shoots you a meaningful look.

You shift uncertainly. Of course you want to encourage Matteo’s interests, but motorsport is dangerous ...

Charles seems to sense your hesitation. “Why don’t you think about it, mon amour? No need to decide yet.” He winks at Matteo, who grins in excitement.

Over the next few days, your two boys put on a full court press to sway you. Charles points out safety advances in karting and helps Matteo make adorable PowerPoint slides with photos of your son in race helmets. They both unleash heartbreaking puppy dog eyes.

Finally you cave. “Alright!” You laugh, holding up your hands in surrender. “You can start teaching him the basics.”

Matteo and Charles high-five so hard it makes a cracking sound. “Yesss!” Charles pumps his fists while Matteo dances in glee. Seeing their matching enthusiasm melts away the last of your reluctance. Your little daredevil was born for this.

The next weekend, Charles takes Matteo to a racetrack an hour outside the city. It’s just a small circuit, but Matteo gazes around with wide eyes, gripping Charles’ hand tightly.

Charles shows him the karts and safety gear, patiently explaining how everything works. Then it’s time. Charles helps strap Matteo into a kart made for kids, snugging his helmet gently under the chin.

“Ready, mon petit champion?”

Matteo gives him a thumbs up, practically vibrating with excitement. Charles grins and drops the visor down. “Alright! Let’s do this!”

He gives Matteo a little push to get the kart rolling onto the track. Your son quickly gets the hang of working the gas and brakes. Charles jogs alongside, gesturing and calling out instructions.

Gradually he lets Matteo take full control. Your little boy zips around the course, hair blowing out the back of his helmet. His delighted laughter echoes around the circuit.

Watching from the sidelines, Charles records it all on his phone, face alight with joy and pride. “That’s it Matteo, you’re doing amazing!” He cheers.

This is only the beginning. But seeing the utter bliss on both their faces, you know Matteo has chosen the right path. The Leclerc legacy will live on.

***

“I’m here in the pit lane with Charles Leclerc on the momentous day his son, Matteo Leclerc, makes his highly anticipated debut with Scuderia Ferrari. Charles, you must be incredibly proud right now.”

The Sky Sports reporter holds her mic out to Charles as he stands, beaming, in front of the scarlet Ferrari garage. Charles nods, looking slightly choked up.

“Incredibly proud doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he replies earnestly. “This has been Matteo’s dream since he was just a little boy. To see him achieve it, to be standing here watching him drive for the team I devoted my life to … it’s indescribable.”

Charles pauses, glancing over fondly at where you stand with Matteo, straightening your son’s helmet and race suit.

“His mother and I, we’ve worried and experienced every up and down along the way with him. But Matteo has worked so hard for this, never gave up even when it seemed impossible. He more than deserves today.”

The reporter smiles. “And his last name isn’t the only way he takes after you. Matteo is widely considered your protégé after you mentored him through the junior ranks.”

“I taught him everything I could,” Charles acknowledges. “But his talent and dedication are all his own. Matteo is his own man now. I can’t wait to see how high he continues to climb.”

“Any advice you’ve given him before his first race with Ferrari?”

Charles chuckles. “Just to enjoy every second. This only comes around once.” He looks off into the distance, eyes crinkling nostalgically.

“Still seems like yesterday I was in his shoes for my own Ferrari debut. I’ll never forget that feeling.”

The reporter wraps up the interview and Charles makes his way over to where you and 21-year-old Matteo are embracing. Charles’ eyes shine with unshed tears as he clasps arms with his son.

“I’m so proud of you,” Charles says hoarsely. “Your mother and I both. Now go show the world what you can do.”

Matteo’s answering smile is blinding. “I’ll make you proud, Papa.”

He hugs you tight, then pulls on his helmet and strides confidently to his waiting Ferrari. The mechanics cheer as the car roars to life and Matteo peels out onto the track, on the cusp of achieving his lifelong dream.

You cling to Charles’ side, waving tearfully. “Our little boy,” you whisper in awe.

Charles wraps an arm around you, never taking his eyes off the bright red car. “He’s all grown up. But he’ll always be our son.”

No matter how high Matteo climbs, Charles knows he will always remain his sweet little boy — the bright-eyed child you and Charles raised with love.

His greatest source of pride and joy as the future beckons brightly, another generation of Leclercs carrying the hopes of Ferrari forward.