#or should it be Terror Space?

[evilminji]

*Distant sound of frantic running growing closer*

*I throw open the door with manic eyes, breathing heavily*

Hatsume Mei! The Fenton's! Oh DEAR LORD. The Couple, the Doctors Fenton... would think she's A Lovely Young Lady ™! Normal even! Charming! I bet the Hatsume Adults would find to be a Charming And Upstanding Young Lad!

JAPAN ISNT READY.

If the GIW got out of hand? And Amity, as a town? Said "fuck ya'll we taken our ball and going home"? All they'd NEED to do? Is shut down the portal, get the skilled portal makers stationed at side A of town to open it up, rip the whole thing up, have the mover ghosts push it IN, aaaaaand? Everyone in? Good! We close it from the inside!

Fuck those guys.

Okay, so, I'm Jerry. You're real estate officer, we got some GREAT options for you this season! How do feel about ninjas? No? Pirates? Not feeling it? Superheroes? Seeing some interest! We got a- *continues their pitch as Amity is moved*

Amity get phased into the Japanese countryside.

What do you MEAN "there wasn't a town here?" Of course there way! We have roads and everything! Why are we all Americans? What're you a cop? Mind your business, spandex man.

.....yeah, they're gonna call this one a "Quirk accident".

Pay your taxes, folks, and we promise not to care!

Fenton's? Back in business, baby! Well, never STOPPED being in business. But details! They're now a "support company"! And yes! The quotation marks ARE on all their documents AND signs! They think it's stupid!

But you want lazers?

Oh ho hoooo~ DO WE HAVE LAZERS!!!

Maddie n Jack start hitting the scene. Conventions. Conferences. Fancy parties. Weirdly? They "unnerve" people. Cowards.

Until? Gasp? They meet just the LOVELIEST couple! Who are so FUN! Who ALSO has a daughter? Danny's age no less! Oh she is just PRECIOUS? Is that her first bomb? Aaaaaw~♡.

Danny feels a disturbance in the force.

Like... like his folks are... are about to try and introduce him to a Nice Young Girl again. The last time this happened was at mom's fighting competitions. She ended up being some sort of assassin royalty. Thankfully, she accepted he could commit to a life of murder, since he wanted to be an astronaut, but it was like this whole THING and- you know what? Not important!

Where are his parents!?

(Planning his wedding! Gotta incorporate BOTH the family's completely batshit Family Traditions!)

[squeakyleftsneaker]

Colonialism Apologetics? In MY Space Mecha Kids TV Show? MORE LIKELY THAN U THINK

I will soon #discuss this but for now I'm just pissed off by it like really TV show? REALLY?

Wait also this is totally unrelated but I am still thinking about the Voltron Show episode where like I really do think they could've stumbled upon something interesting about 1: the fact that the Paladins suddenly become these like. Objects. Symbolically speaking. And then to the resistance movement there is a tension because they're not actually like. Doing shit. But then the paladins themselves feel objectified

Idk like there's so many things that you could do there that would be pretty doable to handle for the audience and keeping the tone of the show! Have Shiro feel uncomfortable with the Shiro The Hero [TM] persona because it reminds him too much of the Champion!

Have the rebels like in the Blade of Marmalade or Olkarion or other rebel outposts (which we barely even see because the show dgaf about the people fighting for freedom jfc) feeling some kinda way about it! A FUCKING MARVEL MOVIE DID THIS!!!! THAT'S HOW SIMPLE THIS IS TO DO!!! (I watched the first Captain America movie for the first time last night. It is extremely simple and very pro military. BUT IT UNDERSTANDS HOW TO DO WHAT IT NEEDS TO DO)

Like idk have Loverboy Lance be tied to Lance's own insecurities about what he brings to the team AND the war– have him feel some kind of way about being portrayed like that as MORE than just jokes!

Don't even get me started on Hunk this fucking show is so awful to Hunk

HAVE ALLURA REALLY GET TO GRIPS WITH THE FACT THAT SHE'S GOT TO PLAY A GUY WHO SHE IS BOTH VERY SIMILAR TO AND ALSO HE IS PART-GALRA, THE SAME GALRA WHO KILLED HER PEOPLE! IT'S A REASONABLE HESITANCY TO HAVE! IDK! IT JUST PISSES ME OFF MAN THERE'S SO MANY THINGS THIS SHOW COULD DO BUT DOESN'T

[nomilkinmyteaplease]

David Walmsley in Of Kings and Prophets

[misscammiedawn]

The thing that sucks most about this is that those who are accused of being annoying and needy and desperate are likely the ones who were deprived of those massive necessities of the soul and the knowledge of being perceived this way is typically seen as unwanted too.

It makes a person lack confidence, it makes them as a social drain who is concerned about being too much, too loud, too annoying. It dampens their ability to shine and the act of apologizing for whatever light they give off, as they have been trained to expect punishment for being perceived, makes it harder for others to give them what they need.

It's a horrible vicious cycle that causes the attention starved person to blame themselves for the fact that they are supposedly unwanted/unloveable and worse, it causes them to flinch at receiving the very thing they need.

its kinda weird that humans, a social species, view “attention-seeking” as a negative trait

[fingertipsmp3]

No pilates this morning because my knee is acting up and I have a doctor’s appointment and Benji cries when he’s alone.. what do I do with my time

[ozzgin]

Yandere! House Monster x Reader

Listen, I woke up in cold sweat at 4am with a vision: you and your stereotypically unavailable gamer boyfriend have moved into a new house. You find out very soon it's not as empty as you had assumed, but your worries fall on deaf ears. The tentacle monster lurking in dark corners just wants to make sure you're not lonely.

[Second Part]

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance (mildly NSFW)

You didn't notice anything strange at first. Maybe it was considering its prey. You'd found a cheap, old house available for rent, and your boyfriend couldn't refuse the extra space for his mancave.

Oh, you poor thing. It watched your lonely evenings, your empty bed at night, your futile attempts to spend more time with your beloved partner. It had originally planned to devour your souls and await the next foolish mortals to enter its realm, but seeing your pitiful state prompted a change of heart. Metaphorical heart, of course.

It started gradually: testing the waters, or what you'd call a courting attempt. Doors opening by themselves, disembodied eyes lovingly gazing at you from the nearby walls. Dark tendrils making their way out of the shadows, just to announce its presence.

"I think this place might be cursed", you told your boyfriend one evening. "I've been stalked by amorphous silhouettes of blight and terror, and they whisper ancient blasphemies to me at night." He let out a worried shout and slapped the desk. "That's cool, babe. I'm kind of losing right now, though, so perhaps give me a minute?"

One night you were awakened from your slumber by a warm touch sliding across your body. You smiled into your pillow as the cheeky hands made their way down, fondling your curves and hungrily searching for your sensitive areas. You let out a soft moan, enjoying the moment, until you heard your boyfriend yell from the other room. Your eyes shot open.

The hands lewdly groping your privates were, in fact, tentacles. Your first reaction was to gasp, but you were quickly silenced by another slippery appendage pressing against your lips. Shh, shh. Allow the creature to do its thing, dear. Surely enough, within minutes you were a drooling mess, holding onto the sheets for dear life.

"You've been in a good mood lately", you boyfriend remarks, idly scrolling on his phone and crunching on his breakfast cereal. You ponder if you should tell him you've been fucked relentlessly by a monstrous creature inhabiting your new home. You glance at the counter and smirk, remembering how you just had to wipe your wet mess from it a few hours ago. "Keep it that way, hun, I could get used to not being pestered every hour", the man jokes with a laugh.

Does it count as cheating if your affair partner isn't really human? Although, you have to wonder if you're still dating to begin with. From the corner of your eye, you can discern faint movement above the young man, a shadow looming menacingly. The eldritch monster would not hesitate to tear your poor boyfriend apart if he tried to mess with its belonging.

[hacash]

Me (and, probably, Edward Little) throughout this episode:

episode 108: terror camp clear

[helaintoloki]

Can you write a fic between Bucky and an avenger reader (maybe she’s just a little older than Peter (like she’s in her mid 20s)and she always had a crush on Bucky)

notes: thank you for sending this in ! i hope you enjoy

warnings: fluff, mentions of night terrors

summary: you think you’re too young for Bucky to be interested in you. ironically, Bucky thinks he’s too old for you to be interested in him

“So how did that date go?” Wanda asks while watching you mindlessly scroll through the selection of movies Tony has on the entertainment room TV.

“I bailed,” Natasha admits shamelessly with an innocent shrug, prompting both Wanda and yourself to turn to her in shock. “I’m not really interested in giving up my personal time for something as trivial as a blind date.”

You hum thoughtfully at her response, only half listening as Wanda begins to pester her for more details about the man she had stood up. The three of you are enjoying a rare night of peace in the tower after forcing the men to vacate the premises and allow you to have the space to yourselves. The three of you are outnumbered on the team, so sometimes a break from the intense amounts of testosterone are needed for you all to decompress. Girl’s night is a simple tradition, but you all enjoy each other’s company more than anything.

“What about you, y/n?” Natasha prompts while gently nudging your side and breaking you from your daze. “Any guys out there you think are first date material?”

You shift uncomfortably now that the spotlight is on you and try to mask the embarrassment that washes over you in response to the question. You know your answer, but you think you’d rather die than admit the truth. You try to remain as nonchalant as possible by offering a seemingly uninterested shrug and answering with a quiet ‘No,’ but you unfortunately can’t hide the truth from a mind reader.

“She has a crush on Barnes,” Wanda blurts out before she can stop herself, causing your eyes to widen in horror at being exposed. Natasha lets out an amused huff while her counterpart quickly utters out apologies. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say it. It’s just your thoughts get so loud when you think about him.”

“You don’t need to be a mind reader to know that,” Natasha jokes much to your dismay.

“Is it really that obvious?” You groan before allowing your head to fall back against the couch in defeat. Wanda pats your arm sympathetically, obviously still guilty about her slip up. You’re just thankful no one else is in the tower other than the three of you.

“Not to him,” the Widow consoles with a faint smile, “the man isn’t exactly the greatest at navigating social interactions. But I’ve seen the way you look at him from across the room and how your eyes light up when Steve puts you together on missions. You like him.”

“It’s pathetic, I know,” you admit with a defeated sigh, looking between the two in despair. “I don’t even know how it happened! One day we’re just teammates and the next I’m suddenly realizing just how blue his eyes are instead of paying attention to a debrief.”

“There’s nothing pathetic about your feelings,” Wanda says with a comforting smile, “it’s only natural. Maybe you should try talking to him about it.”

You look at her as if she’s grown a second head before scoffing at her suggestion. “You’re kidding, right? There’s no way I’d ever be his type. Besides, he probably sees me as some kid considering I’m only twenty-six and he’s basically a hundred years old.”

Natasha can’t help but to let out a small chuckle at your predicament before taking the remote from your fidgety hands. You don’t exactly appreciate her amusement towards your self-depreciating rant, but you know she means well, and you also know you have a tendency to be a bit dramatic.

“Don’t sell yourself short, y/n/n,” she advises before finally deciding to hit play on a random comedy movie. “Remember that you’re the prize, and any guy or girl would be lucky to have you. Besides, you’ll never know what could happen if you don’t give it a shot.”

The conversation ends there as your trio becomes engrossed with the movie, but her words linger on your mind for the rest of the night. You really doubt Bucky could have anything but platonic feelings for you, and it would be embarrassing to confess your feelings only to have him shoot you down. You don’t think you could show your face around the tower again if that were to happen, but you also know that you would give anything to win the super soldier’s heart.

Your inner turmoil persists, and you go to bed that night unsure of how to move forward.

~~~

“Barnes, y/l/n, how are you holding up?”

“We’re pretty much fucked, Cap,” you grunt into your earpiece after being slammed against a wall. You thought the room had been cleared, but you were soon proven wrong by the assailants who had been hiding in the shadows waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Bucky was currently taking on three on his own while you tried to fight off the woman who seemed hell bent on killing you. “If I survive this will I still be written up for swearing?”

“Focus, y/n,” Natasha’s voice chimes in. “Do you guys need backup?”

You manage to chance a glance over at Bucky and see that he’s fairing rather well on his own, and after returning your attention back to your own attacker, you swiftly lift your knee so that it slams into her gut and forces her to stumble back. It doesn’t take you long to disarm her and render her unconscious so that she no longer proves to be a threat, and you’re finally able to return to your own task.

“No, we’re good. Bucky should be able to hold them off while I plant the chip into the computer system,” you finally reply before setting to work. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“I hope so because they’ve got reinforcements already on the way,” Tony alerts over the earpiece. “You need to be out of there within the next five minutes.”

“Yep, you got it,” you affirm before looking over your shoulder to see Bucky finishing off the last of your attackers. His broad shoulders rise and fall with his labored breaths, hair falling perfectly into place and blue eyes looking up to meet your gaze. You swallow nervously and return your attention to the computer in an attempt to act inconspicuous. Luckily for you, the files you came for have been uploaded. “Alright, let’s get out of here before someone slams me up against another wall.”

“What?” Bucky retorts, eyebrows scrunched in confusion and cheeks slowly turning red at your poor choice of words. You pay him no mind and begin your trek towards the exit, though your stomach flips at the mere thought of having him cage you in against a wall and having you at his complete mercy. You shudder and try to shake the thoughts away, but it’s hard to do so when the man in question is right beside you matching your brisk pace.

“You okay?” He asks, eyes scanning your figure for any sign of injuries.

“Definitely going to have a bruise in the morning, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” you note with an easygoing smile.

“I’m on dinner duty tonight,” Bucky notes thoughtfully before kicking down the doors and clearing your path to the outside. “You interested in lending a hand?”

“Oh, definitely. You and Steve can’t be trusted with dinner anymore after the last time.”

“I’ll have you know tuna casserole was a popular dish back in my day,” he retorts defensively only to make you laugh instead.

“Okay, grandpa, whatever you say,” you giggle much to his annoyance. He retaliates by playfully nudging your side with his elbow so that you stumble away, but he can’t hide the amused smile on his face at your antics.

“It’s about time,” Tony retorts impatiently after you two finally make it to the Quinjet. “I’d appreciate some sense of urgency, you know.”

“You said be back in five minutes, it’s only been three,” you reply defensively only to earn an eye roll from the man.

“You and Barnes can flirt with each other on your own time,” he quips to your dismay. You immediately feel yourself heat with embarrassment and do everything your power to avoid looking at Bucky who shifts uncomfortably beside you.

“We weren’t-“ Bucky starts to say only for Tony to interrupt.

“I don’t need the details, I just need both of your butts on the quinjet now.”

You’re mortified as you step foot inside where the rest of the team sits waiting. All eyes land on you and Bucky, and you try to ignore their gazes as you take your seat beside Wanda.

“If it makes you feel any better,” she whispers after leaning in closer to you, “his thoughts about you are loud, too.”

You swallow nervously and chance at a peek at the super soldier only to find he’s already looking right at you. You immediately turn your gaze towards the floor before sinking down sullenly into your seat.

It’s going to be a long flight home.

~~~

The tower is silent when you make your way to the living room in search of a distraction from the terrible nightmare you’d just endured. Your body still trembles with unease despite the blanket you have wrapped tightly around your figure, and it was times like these where you heavily contemplated begging Wanda to use her powers on you despite her reluctance to manipulate your mind.

There isn’t anything good playing this late on TV, but you don’t mind watching reruns of old sitcoms if it means you don’t have to sit in silence. You fixate your gaze on the screen, but you’re hardly paying any mind to your surroundings as you simply begin to dissociate. No one knows about the night terrors or the bad dreams that plague you after missions; you fear coming off as weak or unprepared for the life of an Avenger by telling any of your teammates about your dilemma, so you’ve learned to deal with it on your own by escaping through trivial distractions.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t detect the presence of someone else in the room until a hand rests on your bare shoulder. You jump, obviously startled as your wide eyes look to the perpetrator sitting beside you. Bucky immediately yanks his hand back and raises his hands in surrender, his features apologetic at having startled you.

“Sorry, sorry,” he immediately says. “I tried calling your name first but you weren’t exactly responding. You okay?”

“Yeah, I um- sorry,” you utter with a soft shake of your head before swallowing, “I just got lost in thought I guess.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

You normally would have insisted you were fine and tried to change the topic, but there was something about the gentleness in his eyes and the comfort his presence brought you that made it easier for you to open yourself up. You sigh, shifting in place so that you’re facing him now. He offers you a an encouraging smile and already you can feel yourself melting.

“Sometimes I have night terrors,” you confess quietly, almost embarrassed to admit it out loud. “They usually tend show up after a mission or an intense fight. When they happen I just come out here and watch some TV until my brain shuts up enough for me to get some sleep. Pathetic, huh?”

Despite the humorless laugh you let out, Bucky frowns before uttering, “I don’t think that’s pathetic at all. I get it. This job is tough, and sometimes you see things you can’t unsee no matter how hard you try. Don’t beat yourself up for having a normal human reaction to trauma.”

“You sound just like a therapist,” you tease, prompting him to let out a sheepish laugh in return.

“I may have picked up a thing or two in therapy myself,” he admits. A beat passes before he takes your hand in his own and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Just know that if you ever need help chasing the nightmares away, I’m right here.”

Your heart pounds in your chest while the warmth of his hold encompasses your hand and spreads throughout your entire body. His eyes are full of sincerity, but you also detect something that you’ve never seen from him before. This look is different than the ones he normally gives you, more intimate, and you find yourself nervously biting the inside of your cheek while trying to decipher what it could be.

“Thank you,” you finally voice with a tired smile. Wanting to lighten the mood, you ask, “How come you’re up this late, anyway?”

“Made the mistake of having a cup of coffee after dinner,” he confesses with an embarrassed chuckle. “You mind if I keep you company?”

“Of course not, silly,” you retort as if it’s the most absurd question you’ve ever heard.

You and Bucky settle into a comfortable silence as you tune in to the sitcom playing on the TV screen. A sense of calm has washed over your body now that you’re no longer being tormented by the remnants of your nightmare, but there’s still a part of you that remains nervous around the man you secretly harbor feelings for. You find your mind drifting back to what Wanda had said you earlier and wonder if there was any truth to her words. What did she mean by it?

“Can I ask you something?” Bucky prompts after the episode ends.

“Anything,” you reassure him, grabbing the remote to lower the television’s volume so that he can have your undivided attention.

“I know it’s just your way of poking fun at me, but when you call me ‘grandpa’ or ‘old man,’ is that… that’s not how you see me, is it? Old?”

You’re honestly taken back by his comment, not expecting him to have thought this heavily into the subject. Of course you knew the man was out of his time, and if he had been given the chance to age naturally you most likely would not be sitting here on this couch with him, but you had never thought less of him because of the fact.

“No, of course not! Honestly sometimes I forget you’re technically 106.”

Bucky lets out a chuckle at that, but there’s still doubt lingering on his features as he self-consciously looks down at his hands in his lap. “I just see you with Peter and Wanda sometimes and wonder if I’m too old for you to be hanging around with.”

You shift closer to Bucky so that you can rest a comforting hand on his bicep, prompting him to lift his head and meet your softhearted gaze. Your entire being emanates warmth and tenderness, and it draws the soldier right in to you. You have no idea the effect you have on him or the way a single brush of your fingertips against his skin can satiate the yearning he feels every time he looks at you. Wanda had been telling you the truth; his thoughts are always loud when you’re around him.

“I guess sometimes it’s easier to connect with them considering we’re closer in age, but I like that you and I are so different because of it. I think there’s more to learn with you and more to appreciate. I genuinely enjoy any minute that’s spent with you,” you confess adamantly, prompting the corner of his lips to quirk up. “Besides, it’s going to take a lot more than a number to scare me away from you.”

Bucky only responds by wrapping his arms around your frame and pulling you into a long awaited hug. You try to stifle your gasp of surprise at suddenly being so close to him, and you hope he doesn’t pick up on the fact that your heart is nearly beating out of your ribcage. You feel his lips press to the top of your head and swear you must be dreaming this because there’s no way the Avenger you’ve pining after for months is now so boldly giving you his affection.

“How about we go away for a weekend?” He finally says after holding you in silence for some time.

“Go away?” You repeat, curiously peeking up at him.

“Leave New York, explore somewhere new,” Bucky reiterates, his features relaxed as he looks down upon you with an adoring gaze. “Be regular people for a few days.”

“I’d like that,” you profess quietly, sighing in contentment when the man pulls you against his chest once more before settling back against the couch. You can feel your eyelids already starting to become heavy, and the soothing circles he rubs into your back doesn’t help. You don’t want this moment with Bucky to end, but you also know that there’s so much to look forward to.

“Bucky?” You hum quietly after allowing your eyes to flutter shut.

“Yes, doll?”

“When we go away for the weekend, can we be regular people in a relationship?”

You feel his body gently shake from the quiet laugh he lets out at your response. You feel his lips press to your forehead as you drift to sleep, missing his answer when he replies, “I’d want nothing more.”

~~~

You slept through the rest of the night without issue; Bucky’s comforting presence was enough to lull you into a peaceful rest, and you entrusted him to chase away the nightmares for you. The two of you remained entangled together on the couch all the way until sunrise, and neither of you had bothered to consider the repercussions of your actions in the morning.

“I feel bad waking them,” Steve sighs, arms crossed over his chest as he and Natasha look down on your sleeping forms. There’s an almost proud smile on his face as he takes in the sight of his best friend holding the woman of his dreams in his arms.

“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let them sleep a little longer,” Natasha notes with a knowing smile before promptly ushering the blond out of the entertainment room. Unbeknownst to either of you, by the time you wake up you’ll be the talk of the tower.

“So how much do you owe Wanda?” Steve asks after quietly shutting the door behind him. Natasha lets out a disappointed sigh.

“I’m out twenty bucks. I bet it would take at least another week before they finally got their heads out of their asses and confessed. But I guess as long as they’re happy…”

“That’s all that matters,” Steve finishes for her with a nod.

The team is happy they’ll no longer have to endure your obvious pining over each other, and they make sure to tell you so when you finally wake up.

It’s an eventful morning to say the least.

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

This one goes out to all the bitches who love some good Safehouse Era Horror. It's me, I'm bitches. I want Jon and Martin to be fucked up and eldritch but I want them to be fucked up and eldritch and loved

(Notes under the cut because I can't help myself. Heads up, I do go into some detail of how Jon gets injured so I can explain my thought process for how I designed his scars. All canon-typical and fairly clinical in tone.)

Here's how I picture Safehouse Jon!

He doesn't need glasses anymore by this point, so he should just be wearing empty frames, but I drew this before I settled on my glasses headcanons. This drawing looks better with the reflection anyways.

He hasn't gotten a haircut since before his promotion to Head Archivist. He doesn't love the weight of it on his neck, but he also uses it to fidget, and he really doesn't want to go through the whole process of cutting it. He's disliked haircuts since he was a kid (People: Bad. Small talk: Bad. Touching: Bad. Loud sounds: Bad. People talking all at once: Bad) and since his time with the Circus he's only grown more reluctant to go and get it done.

At this length his hair is naturally pretty curly but he is. Not taking care of it. I actually put a lot of effort into trying to make it look brittle and tangled (I have a lot of experience lol, my hair is quite thick and I've always hated taking care of it. Yes I am also projecting my feelings about going to a hairdressers onto him why do you ask.)

The various scars were a bit of a strange task, but anyone who has seen my takes on The Bad Kids knows I'm not averse to selective realism in my fiction. Easiest one was the neck, I always pictured Daisy making a vertical cut based on "through the voice box". The larynx is longer than it is wide, so I think Daisy would go for the method that dealt damage across the largest total surface area. Yes I am aware that I'm speaking the same way Martin does when he explains his corkscrew.

The worm scars were easy because I barely drew any. There are a few marks on his cheek, but they're just surface bites. I picture most of his encounter with Prentiss showing on his legs, particularly on the right side, with enough damage there that he starts using a cane after the incident to keep weight off his right leg. More research to be done on this particular detail.

Finally the burn on his hand from Jude. This was the weirdest one to figure out just because of the nature of the injury. How do you quantify the damage done to an epidermis by a living manifestation of sometimes-boiling wax that can heat and cool at will? I settled on it being a second-degree burn that healed supernaturally fast, containing the damage to the space Jude had direct contact with. He'd probably have some mobility issues there as well. I know there are ways to help with mobility and pain after a severe burn, but I don't know how much of it Jon would actually. Do. Like I said, definitely further research to be done on these last two.

Hey so I'm gonna ask you to stop and consider the horror of the watcher. The helplessness. The guilt. The inherent terror of being a spectator, a participant by proximity but not by action. The horror of not being able to look away, of being a bystander. Jon forgets to blink sometimes. But wouldn't it be so much worse if there were no eyelids at all? That's how I interpret the description of The Archivist being "All Eyes" :D

I love a good Many-Eyed Jon, so I whipped up my own interpretation here. I think the more he Becomes the more he starts to resemble the thing from the dreams. He has a lot more control of it in S5, but it still creeps up on him and he has to consciously go back to a human shape.

[bookshelftreasures]

Jealous Shadows

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Light Angst

Summary: Azriel's shadows have always been loyal, always obeyed him without question. Until now. Until they start misbehaving whenever another man so much as looks at you.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,066

Notes: This is my first fic, I hope you like it! :)

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

The first time it happens, you don't think much of it.

You're at Rita's with the Inner Circle, nursing a drink at the bar while Cassian and Mor dance somewhere among the crowded space. The music thrums through the air, and the conversation hums around you when a male slides into an empty seat beside you.

"Didn't think someone like you would be sitting alone," he says, flashing a grin.

You don't even get the chance to respond before a flicker of something moves between you.

The male frowns, swiping at his hair, which has suddenly transformed from being neatly styled to sticking up in wild angles, as if an invisible force had run its hands through it... aggressively.

You blink in surprise.

He mutters a curse, trying to fix it, but the moment he smooths it down, the strands spring right back up. His frustration grows, hands swiping over his head repeatedly.

"I- what the hell?" he grumbles. "Is this air cursed or something?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting a laugh.

And then you feel it.

A cool, familiar brush against your wrist.

Slowly, you glance down—just in time to see a shadow curling around your fingers before slipping away.

Your stomach flips.

You don't even need to turn around to know exactly where Azriel is.

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

The second time it happens, it's harder to ignore.

You and Azriel are training in the House of Wing, and the session has drawn some attention—mainly from a visiting group of Illyrians who very clearly wanted to spar with you.

One in particular, a cocky warrior named Dain, is relentless. He lingers, circling the ring as Azriel corrects your stance, his gloved hands light against your arms.

"You sure you don't want a real sparring partner, sweetheart?" Dain calls, grinning. "I promise I'll go easy on you."

Azriel stills.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly before he steps back, shadows slithering at his feet. "She's training," he says evenly, but there's an obvious warning beneath the words.

Dain chuckles. "Training is nice and all, but I'd be happy to teach her a few things myself."

Something cold coils around your ankles.

Before you can react, the shadows yank. Not hard. Just enough to make you stumble backwards, right into Azriel's chest.

Your breath catches.

His hands steady you, fingers gripping your waist for a fraction of a second before he forces himself to let you.

You glance up at him, about to ask whether or not that was intentional, but his jaw is tight, hazel eyes locked on Dain.

Azriel's shadows have started to shift.

Not the lazy, fluid movements they usually have—but sharp, possessive flickers that wrap around you. One curls over your shoulder, while another drapes across your wrist, looping around like a claim.

You shiver, pulse skittering.

Dain seems to notice, too. His smirk falters, his eyes flicking between you and the swirling darkness. "Uh-"

The shadows snap toward him.

Not touching—just close. Close enough to make him step back.

You swear you hear them hiss.

Dain swallows hard. "Right. I, uh, should probably-"

Azriel doesn't blink. Doesn't move.

Dain takes the hint. He all but scrambles away, muttering under his breath.

And just like that, the shadows slip away, leaving you cold.

You whip around, crossing your arms. "What was that about?"

Azriel frowns, too casual. "What was what?"

"Oh, I don't know," you say dryly. "Maybe terrorizing a man into running for his life?"

His brow furrows, like he truly doesn't know what you're talking about. "I didn't do anything."

You narrow your eyes. Then one last shadow curls around your wrist before darting away like a child caught misbehaving.

Azriel glares at it.

Your lips part. "You have got to be kidding me."

His expression darkens as more shadows flick around you, playful now.

Azriel sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose. "They don't usually-"

"Get jealous?" You finish for him, holding back a smile.

Silence.

His throat bobs.

And then—quietly, almost too quiet—you hear his shadows whisper something.

A name.

Your name.

And you realize—maybe it's not just his shadows who are jealous.

Your breath hitches. Azriel's wings rustle. And he looks like he's about to bolt.

Which is just unacceptable.

You cross your arms, tilting your head back to study him. "You know, I think your shadows like me more than they like you."

Azriel exhales sharply. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" You smirk, glancing down as a shadow curl lazily around your wrist. You give it a little wiggle, and the shadow clings tighter.

Azriel scowls at it. "Traitor."

A laugh bubbles out of you. You can't help it.

The great and terrifying Shadowsinger, bested by his own shadows.

"Oh, this is too good," you say, beaming up at him. "All this time, and they've secretly been on my side."

Azriel mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a curse. His wings twitch again. His shadows flick in annoyance—except the ones still clinging to you, moving to curl around your waist like they never want to let go.

You bite back a grin. "I mean, it makes sense." You gesture vaguely at them. "They probably just think I'd be a much better master."

Azriel gives you a deadpan stare. "That's not how this works."

"I don't know," you hum, pretending to consider it. "They seem pretty happy right now."

As if to prove your point, one shadow playfully loops around your fingers.

Azriel glowers. "You're encouraging them."

You give him an innocent smile. "Would I do that?"

He sighs, but you catch it—the way the corner of his mouth twitches. The way his gaze softens, just a little.

And then, so softly you almost miss it, he murmurs, "They have good taste, at least."

Your breath catches.

Your teasing falters for half a second before you recover. "So, you admit they like me more?"

Azriel exhales, shaking his head. "You're impossible."

You grin. "And you love it."

He doesn't answer. But the way his shadows linger—curling, warm, content—tells you everything you need to know.

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

Cassian walks in moments later, takes one look at Azriel's shadows practically cuddling you, and immediately points.

"I knew it!" He boasts.

Azriel pinches the bridge of his nose. His shadows flick toward Cassian, clearly unimpressed.

And you?

You just laugh.

Because really—Azriel might deny it all he wants, but his shadows?

They don't lie.

[vynlrecord]

♡ is the light sleeper in the room with us?

At first when you’d asked Simon to move in with you, he seemed excited or well, as excited as Simon allowed himself to show. Yet as it got closer and closer, you weren't so sure.

“You probably won’t ever get a good night’s sleep again. I'll constantly be disrupting it.”

"I have nightmares and night terrors, I’ll probably scare you-"

“I’m such a light sleeper, everything wakes me up and puts me in a panic."

It was almost like he was trying to dissuade you from sticking to your decision, giving you an out in case he was too difficult for you, you knew exactly how his brain worked.

But you loved him, and nothing he was saying was making you change your mind, not even close to it.

You prepared anyway, looked up everything you could with how to handle certain night terrors, best things to say or not say, whether you should wake him up if he’s having a nightmare, everything.

Then the first night came, and you were ready to be woken up at 3am, maybe to Simon shouting or crying or something and you pictured all the things you’d do to calm him down, grab him some tea, maybe gentle reassurances as you wiped his tears, whatever it took. 

But none of that happened.

The first night, he slept the whole way through, completely undisturbed and you would know because ironically you were the one who didn’t sleep the first night. You'd stayed awake, worrying, wanting to make sure he was okay, checking for even a slight twitch or a face of anguish but, nothing.

And then a few days later, on an early Sunday morning, your neighbour had decided to mow the grass. It was unbearably loud and you'd sat up, internally screaming because who chooses 7am to cut grass on a Sunday?

And Simon? Well he was completely out.

You looked at him, wondering if he was pretending for a moment, giving him a little nudge. He'd shuffled a little in his sleep before letting out a few soft snores, it was like he was on another planet completely.

And it kept happening. He'd sleep through alarms, and not just one or two but enough in a row that you had to turn them off yourself and tell him to wake up. Phone calls too, slept through every call, no matter the ringtone, no matter how loud. Your cat's 4am zoomies? Not even a flinch.

You were so confused, he'd worried constantly before moving in about ruining your sleep and now it was like sleeping was second nature to him, which you wouldn't have questioned if not for the repeated warnings of how light of a sleeper he was.

It made no sense, Simon couldn't understand it either, but you were quite happy with it of course, and so was he. Whenever you thought about it for too long, it actually made you smile, there was something sweet about it to you.

Perhaps it was your apartment, the fact that the space was yours, maybe your presence was helping him, you'd even joke it was your cat's soothing company. Or maybe it was the soft sheets, in a bedroom that felt cosy. A proper homely space, one that Simon wasn't quite used to in his old place, all bare walls and no decoration, not even a comfortable mattress. He'd never bothered with anything except the bare minimum, a vast difference to now.

Whatever it was, he was actually sleeping, peacefully for once, he couldn't remember the last time he was able to say that.

But what Simon did know, was that he felt completely safe with you and seeing him like this was the most beautiful thing to you.

[sixeyesonathiel]

satoru gojo is cocky, top of the class, and one passive-aggressive emoji away from tears.

a/n: nerdjo is so easily rage baited it’s actually embarrassing. one compliment from you and he’s rewriting his entire thesis out of spite. i love bullying him gently.

satoru is going to break his keyboard.

his fingers twitch above the keys—hesitating, retreating, returning again—hovering like they might snap the poor letters clean off. the skin on his knuckles is taut, his jaw clenched so hard it ticks like a time bomb, and his mouth is parted just barely, like he’s one saccharine comment away from spontaneously combusting.

strands of white hair keep falling over his forehead—static-charged from his hoodie—and he shoves them back, again and again, increasingly violent about it, like maybe the hair is conspiring with you. his glasses have slipped halfway down his nose. the gleam of his lenses barely masks the pure, incandescent rage in his eyes.

those eyes, now glassy with disbelief, are locked on the latest reply from you—the class discussion board’s reigning empress of emotional terrorism. his academic rival. personal poltergeist. a sugar-coated demon in pastel lip gloss.

oh satoru, i think it’s so admirable how you stuck by that article! not many people would be brave enough to defend a source that’s been debunked four times. it’s honestly kind of inspiring. keep doing you!

his vision goes white.

that is not a compliment. it is a tactical airstrike in a pink envelope. he knows it. you know it. and worst of all, you signed off with a heart emoji. a heart. he can see your face in his head—tilted just slightly, like you’re too sweet to possibly mean harm, but your eyes glint like you’re holding a scalpel behind your back.

his reply has already died and resurrected five times. the first version read like a cease-and-desist letter. the second had footnotes so aggressive it required double-spaced disclaimers. the third almost made it to the post button, until he remembered your last reply that ended with, “hope this clears it up, prof said some people struggle with statistical nuance.”

you are not just baiting him. you’ve turned it into an art form. a spiritual practice. and your weapon of choice is niceness so passive-aggressive it should be federally regulated.

back in first year econ, you sat beside him, humming under your breath and tapping your pen against the desk in tempo with his unraveling sanity. you kicked his bag under the table. you leaned close just to whisper, “your equation’s wrong, but don’t worry, i won’t tell anyone! not everyone’s meant for regression models.”

you once highlighted his errors in the shared google doc—in pink. pastel pink. with cheerful comments like “uh oh!” and “almost got it!” he swears he could hear the sparkle emoji implied in your tone. the worst part? your spelling was immaculate.

he still thinks about it in the shower.

now?

now he’s two seconds away from flinging his laptop across the room. the lab’s overhead lights buzz like mosquitoes. someone’s typing across from him, calm and steady, and it only amplifies the sound of his own frenzied assault on the keyboard.

his typing is violent. the spacebar clacks like gunfire. he’s halfway through a paragraph when he snarls—actually snarls—and deletes the whole thing. he writes another. more venomous. more precise. then pauses, eyes narrowing.

because you’ve edited your post.

p.s. just reread your old comment and i think i finally get your logic now! i must’ve been too slow before. thanks for your patience <3

he makes a sound. an animal sound. it’s somewhere between a wheeze and a gasp. his knee bounces under the table, leg jittery with restrained rage.

“i hate her,” he breathes.

from across the lab, shoko doesn’t even glance up. “you said that yesterday.”

“i mean it today.”

she lifts her eyes only slightly to peer over her laptop, one brow arched in apathy. “you said that yesterday too.”

“no, no, no—you don’t understand, shoko.” he shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the frames skewed slightly to the left from stress. “she thanked me.”

“chilling.”

“she made it sound real. like she appreciated it. like she didn’t just nuke my thesis and then bake me a fucking muffin.”

“did she add sprinkles?”

“a smiley face.”

he slumps forward, head in his hands, glasses slipping again. his breath fogs the screen. it’s like you’re there—he swears he smells that damn peach shampoo you use. he hears the echo of your voice cooing, “aww, did i mess up your graph again?” like a knife wrapped in a silk ribbon.

he’s haunted. infuriated. he’d rather be insulted outright, mocked, cursed at, anything but this sweet, syrupy condescension that drips like poison into his every academic wound.

then his inbox pings.

a private message.

hey, sorry again for misunderstanding your point in the thread! i know you work really hard on these. if you ever want to explain it to me one-on-one, i’d love that. i learn best from people who are smarter than me :)

his soul ascends. his body remains.

he stares at the message, slack-jawed. horror prickles under his skin like cold water. one hand twitches toward the power button, but he hesitates. you know what you’re doing.

and he hates that it’s working.

“what did she say now?” shoko asks, sipping lukewarm coffee from a chipped mug labeled ‘property of shoko: touch and perish.’

he doesn’t look up. “she wants me to teach her.”

“sounds like flirting.”

“it’s not flirting.”

“she called you smart.”

he pauses. then squints at the screen like it just insulted his bloodline. “she called me smart the way you praise a goldfish for finding the glass.”

he types:

sure. let me know when.

deletes it.

types:

that’s… fine. i guess.

deletes that too.

his fingers hover over the keys.

he types, each letter hammered with the weight of pride swallowed whole:

if you need clarification, i can walk you through it. though i'm sure you'll figure it out eventually.

hits send.

wants to die.

he sags back, hoodie bunching around his shoulders. his sleeves fall over his knuckles. his knee taps against the metal chair leg in a relentless rhythm. he stares at the blinking cursor like it’s counting down to his doom. the little grey dots appear. you’re typing. again. you’re going to be worse. he knows this. the anticipation is psychological warfare.

he watches anyway.

this is war.

[astraveritas]

── .✦ I don't know if people with saturnian 3H (capricorn or aquarius ruiling their 3rd house), know how blunt and rude they sometimes are. I'm dragging myself here, but at times we really do not know how to say things without hurting other people's feelings even if the intentions are good and we're trying to help. no sense of diplomacy just "you're being an idiot, here's what you should do" and you standing there feeling like you're being scolded by your deadbeat dad.

── .✦ if your crush has a libra venus and you’re worrying about not being pretty enough for them - don’t be. this "libra venus only wanting the prettiest of the pretty" talk is a propaganda, I’ve seen what they date, cuff and marry, you’ll be fine.

── .✦ aquarius placements (mars!) love for long ass rants about meaningless bullshit is why all those podcasts are infested with them.

── .✦ best thing to do is just ignore what they're ranting about this time and just listen to them for the sound of their voice only. cause baby, men with an aquarius mars have such nice voices, they have this low timbre and slow way of speaking that is kind of hypnotizing, for example: penn badgley, theo james, oliver jackson cohen, harry styles.

── .✦ cancer placements men getting whacked like a pinata left and right for having breeding kink, while libra placements men and their army of toddlers remain unscathed is the pretty privilege they yap about on tiktok.

── .✦ scorpio placements that are obsessed with being perceived as dark and  constantly talk like they are feared and desired by everyone are kind of like those 40yo divorcees of tiktok that pop up on your for you feed sometimes and they have black eyes filter on, lipsync to pop punk songs, talk about how scary and sexy they are, but their eyes look empty and sad cause linda took the kids and left. people clown leos for being self obsessed, but they have competition.

── .✦ I love when I stumble upon an astrology cliche, because why my gemini ascendant - sagittarius descendant friend keeps falling in love with priests, and now she's with a guy that left the church to be with her. gemini risings' ego's so big nothing's hotter to them than a man who loves them more than a god.

── .✦ if you wanna know if someone has leo placements just look at their partner, if their significant other has so much hair on their head NASA can photograph it from space - there's probably a prominent leo placement lurking in their chart. the higher the hair the closer to god - the god being of course, a leo.

── .✦ the dichotomy of cancer rising in women and in men is astounding. cause why cancer rising women are the most beautiful angelic creatures on this earth and cancer rising men look like hard boiled eggs or half-cooked potato. venus is much more egalitarian in that aspect cause she's blessed both the feminine and the masculine with beauty and charm and the taurus and libra risings both in women and men are usually conventionally attractive and then there's the the moon and she's like "and why would a man be here?".

── .✦ aries sun/mars folks need to learn to flirt with people without terrorizing these poor souls, cause what do you mean you like them so you were chasing them down with your car?

── .✦ libra placements get into relationship first and ask questions later. they see an opportunity to be coupled up, fall head over heels at the thought of it and then they get to know the person they're with, realize they're incompatible, the reality of who they're with hits them, the delusion wears off and that's why they have the reputation of being h-o-e-s. just doing things ass backwards in that area of their life. yeah, aries are hotheads in general but libras are too, they're just relationship hotheads.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

beauty and the beast

a/n: ahhh here it is! february's poll fic! hope you all enjoy the twisted tale it became!

polls for this fic: 1 | 2 | 3 

summary: sucking in a breath, he stared down at you before stating firmly, “…I want to be human again. No matter the cost…” 

warnings: beast/werewolf!bucky barnes x reader, smut, dark content, noncon/dubcon, fairytale retelling, soulmate au, prisoner x captive, predator x prey, monsterfucking, magical castle (except it's alive in the sense that bucky can control it because of the curse), violence, references to murder, bondage, dirty talk, size difference, size kink, belly bulge, gaping, manhandling, knotting, overstimulation, oral, squirting, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie 

word count: 3505

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

Your lungs burned as you dashed through the cold castle, your cloak billowing behind you as you tried to navigate the dark halls. 

But as you whipped your head around in your frantic search, your eyes caught sight of a dusty portrait on the wall that stunned you to your very core and momentarily caused you to forget about the vital matters at hand. 

Though scratched up by angry streaks, you still recognised the face that the painting portrayed. Although you had never met him, it was still the visage of the very man who had haunted your dreams for as long as you could remember. You’d never previously known if the man of noble birth had been real or just a figment of your imagination, though his tormented life, and the terrors he’d had to endure every month when the moon above became the prince’s master, had flickered in your mind almost every night.

A distant scream then rang out high up in the eastern tower and echoed through the castle till it found your ears and ripped you away from your discovery. 

Darting down the dim hall and up a winding stone staircase, you soon found the elderly man you’d left your little village to find, bolted and locked away in a freezing cell.

“Papa!” you cried out as you lunged forward and grasped the iron bars dividing you both. 

Achingly pushing himself up to his feet, he scurried closer and gasped, “what are you doing here?” his eyes as big as saucers. 

“Getting you home,” you felt a tear roll down your cheek before your fingers brushed over your father’s knobbly ones, “oh, papa, how did this happen?” 

“No, darling, listen to me, you must leave here at once, it isn’t safe,” he urged in a hushed tone as his eyes darted to the shadows behind you, “go! Run away before he finds you!” 

“Who?” you asked, but before your dad could be the one to fill you in, a low growl rumbled throughout the space. Spinning around, you glanced around the darkness, “who’s there?”

“Oh no…” your father whimpered, “he’s back…”

Keeping a hand clutched over your dad’s, you sucked in a deep breath and yelled, “let my father go!”

“The very least that thief deserves is to rot in a cell,” a deep voice chilled your bones, though your wild eyes still couldn’t find the source. 

“Thief?” you panted, “no, he would never–, it has to be a misunderstanding–”

“He stole a rose,” a trickle ran down your spine as you recalled what flower you had requested for your father to bring back home for you, “it was this sentence or death.”

“You truly demand a life for a rose?” your eyes continued to dart through the darkness. 

“Please, darling–,” your dad begged you to stop, though you swiftly cut his efforts short. 

“Let me take his place,” you pleaded. Keeping your gaze twisted away, you flinched as your father’s protests seeped through the metal bars, “I was the one who asked for the flower, so I should be the one taking the penance.” 

A low snarl rumbled in the night as the unseen figure thought it over, though as he did, he shifted just enough for you to make out the faint silhouette of him, huge and hulking, unlike any man you’d ever seen before. 

But instead of offering you his verdict in words, he instead, by some mystical means beyond your comprehension, unlocked the cell door by his sheer will. 

As it creaked open with a loud groan, you rushed in and threw your arms around your father. 

“I can’t let you do this,” he stated, pulling back from the hug. 

“It’s going to be alright,” you tried to assure him, though tears still streamed down your face, “I love you.” 

“No, darling, no–,” he continued to protest, before a massive arm suddenly reached out of the shadows and snatched up your father by the scruff of his neck, “ah!” the old man screamed as his captor dragged him out of the cell.

“Don’t hurt him!” you tried to follow, but the iron door was slammed shut in your face, “please!”

Halting at your words for but a moment as the broad figure began to accent the stone steps, pulling your father after him like a burlap sack, he muttered in a low tone, “silly peasant girl…” the moonlight streaming in from one of the small windows caught and illuminated him just enough for you to discover that he wasn’t a human at all, “you should have just run away when you had the chance…” 

Curled up in the corner of the cold cell, you shivered violently as you hugged your knees even closer to your chest, though swiftly jumped as you suddenly heard a pair of heavy footsteps stomping up the winding staircase. 

As you scurried to crawl even further away from the dungeon door, the towering beast appeared once again on the other side. 

“Eat,” he growled after he’d kicked a plate in through the sliver of space at the bottom of the door. 

Your stare only flickered down at the stale bread and the tankard of water for a mere moment before it darted back up to the monster before you. 

“Who are you?” you gathered the courage to ask, “what are you?” though the beast didn’t bother entertaining your questions, only grumbled quietly before he shifted back towards the steps, “please,” you called after him, “I’m already your prisoner, what harm could a few questions do?”

Stopping in his tracks, he let out a heavy sigh, “more than you’d think,” before he disappeared from your sight. 

A painful gasp filled up your lungs as you snapped awake, swiftly shooting up to a sitting position. 

It had seemed so real… the careful seduction honeyed enough to make your core throb even now, to the loss of control and blind rage that swiftly followed each disappointment…

Though you knew it just to be a figment of your imagination, you still trembled at the possibility of it being true. Princesses, more than you could recall, had all, one by one, been taken to this castle. The gentle side of the beast that he had granted them each the privilege of witnessing nearly scared you with how efficiently it had not only wooed them, but also had made your own heart confused for even but a moment. 

Though after he had carried them off to bed and made love to them in a manner you could quite literally only dream about, something, unbeknownst to you, would cease to take a hold, a failure that each time would cause the monster to snap, and in the mindless frenzy, he would accidentally take the royal’s lives, each and every time. 

Panting as you tried to calm your rapid pulse, your weary eyes finally noticed the shadow lurking on the other side of your cell. 

“Are you gonna kill me like you did with all of those princesses?” you hesitantly asked in a hushed tone. 

Shifting his weight, he slowly tilted closer and uttered darkly, “how do you know about that?” 

“Are you?” you insisted, “because then you might as well just get it over with instead of drawing it out–”

“No!” he roared, “you’re no good use to me dead,” his beastly head then tilted, “but if that’s what you wish, then…”

Sucking in a breath, your stare stayed glued on him before you muttered, “depends on what you’re planning to do with me…” 

“Well, since you don’t have any blue blood running through your veins, you aren’t what I need. But perhaps I can still find some use of you. Maybe, if one day you change,” or more like break, “forget about that meaningless life you had before and grow loyal to me, then you could live out the rest of your days as my servant, assist me with whatever I may require.”

“Like getting you more royals to murder? I won’t help you with that,” you dared to stand your ground, “is that also what happened to the man in the paintings downstairs, the ones that are all scratched up? Did you kill him too, just to have his castle?”

Your words caused the creature’s features to get muddled as he then blinked, “I didn’t–…” swallowing hard, his jaw clenched before he continued, “he’s not dead, not yet at least. Though I fear he doesn’t have much time left.” 

“Can I see him?” you heard your own heartbeat thump in your ears, “I know it sounds crazy, but I think I might, some way, somehow, be able to help him.”

Staring back at you, the monster then uttered, “…you’re staring at him,” causing you to seize up in shock before you slowly heard him say, “prince James Barnes,” he introduced himself, though with a hesitancy as if the memory of his own name had begun to fade away, “though everyone always used to just call me Bucky.” 

Scarcely breathing, you uttered, “what happened to you?” 

Averting his gaze, he began to explain, “…I’ve always had this affliction, ever since I was but a child, each time the moon would stand full and proud in the night sky, I would change, lose control… I was young and dumb… hunted the wrong doe…” he uttered, though the way he phrased it made you think he wasn’t speaking of a deer at all, “so now, instead, I am cursed to live like this each day that doesn’t bear the same full moon I used to fear, slowly losing my myself with every month that passes, becoming less human and forgetting about those ways… if I do not break the curse before the next eclipse, then I will be stuck like this forever,” he shared before he added with a growl, “so, yes, I would greatly appreciate it if you helped me find some more royals since I am running out of time.” 

“That’s what you need to break the curse? A princess?”

“Not just any princess,” his head slowly shook from side to side, “the day that spell was cast, it was prophesied that she would be the only one who could save me. So, she became linked to me. But, perhaps out of fear, or greed, or something else, her kingdom hid her away from even themselves,” he exhaled, “and I still haven’t been able to find her, no matter where I look–…” his sentence then melted away as you shifted slightly and the sleeve of your dress dropped down just a tad from where the hem had been resting on your shoulder. In the low light, the beast spotted just the very crescent of the birthmark that was now visible, poking out of your neckline “…what is that?” he whispered before willing the door, that kept you both separated, to swing open. 

You stumbled back as he slowly strode in, “what is what?” 

“That,” he then ripped down your sleeve, the seams slightly tearing from the force. Petrified, you didn’t move an inch as he stared at the moon-like shape on your skin, “…you’re–…” his breath sounded ragged as he pieced the mystery together, “you’re her…” his eyes then flickered up to find your own. 

“I’m–,” your breath got caught in your throat, “sorry?” 

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” he breathed, “you came to me,” the corners of his lips faintly twisted at his spellbound amazement, “you finally came to me.” 

“I came here to free my father,” you swiftly corrected him. 

“Your Highness, that thief wasn’t your kin. Did you truly not know?” he uttered, “don’t worry, I will never lie to you as they did, you have my word.”

“I thought I was your prisoner, and now you want to–, what, love me?” 

Sucking in a breath, he stared down at you before stating firmly, “…I want to be human again. No matter the cost…” 

Your eyes then flickered towards the cell door he’d left agape, and before you could even weigh out the odds, you seized the opportunity and darted out. 

“What are you–, no, no!” he roared from behind you before you heard his thunderous steps nip at your heels. 

Running down the stairs, you nearly slipped countless of times before you reached the bottom. As you stormed through the castle as fast as your freezing feet could take you, screeches cut through your panting as all manner of furniture, large and small, magically came soaring through the air in attempts at slowing you down or blocking your path. 

“Stop!” you heard him behind you, though didn’t have the courage to glance back to discover how close he was as he chased you and continued to fling items towards you at his will, only narrowly missing your form, “you will not escape, not when I finally have you!” 

But when you finally reached the bottom of the grand staircase that led down into the entrance hall, eyes glued to the exit, Bucky then lunged down the latter half of the steps and tackled you to the ground. 

Wind knocked clean out of your lungs, your body ached from the collision. The stone floor was cold beneath you as his weight pinned you down against it. 

“You really shouldn’t have done that…” he panted in your ear, his laboured breath causing your hair to rustle, “I was gonna be all nice and gentle with you, just as I was with the other princesses, but I can’t have you slipping away again.”

His hulking form then peeled away from you, though only to seize your hips swiftly enough for escape to never be an option. Yanking you up off the ground till your bottom was propped up high, yet your upper half stayed plastered to the floor, his wide hands raked over your frame before a claw caught onto the fabric of your dress. 

Once your clothing was ripped to shreds and scattered across the castle’s entryway, his grasp encircled your hips as his thumbs stretched out to spread you open for him. 

Your toes curled as he then began to lap at your core, tickling your clit till your cunt couldn’t help but leak for him. The beastly tongue was long and just as strong as the other muscles in Bucky’s body, making you quiver as it greedily explored your holes. 

But when the cursed prince’s patience ran thin, he didn’t hesitate to let himself straighten up behind you and nudge his length against your core. Without even catching a glance of it, the sear weight of his girth as he briefly tapped it against your glossy folds sent a shiver down your spine. As he buried his monstrous cock inside of you, instantly bullying it much further than you thought plausible, your mind went blank as your body struggled to accommodate for his inhuman size. 

Fear swiftly magnified within you at the thought that he might break you, since that was what it felt like as he split you open.

“O-oh shit, little one…” he groaned as he tried to draw back out, though when only the tip of him remained, your tightness clung around the bulbous head too fiercely to let it escape. A yelp bubbled out of you as he had to put his might into it, letting out a grunt as he forced himself out with an audible pop, watching as your poor pussy gaped for a second before achingly clenching around nothing. 

When he sank back into you, the ruthless rhythm he then initiated caused your body to shake violently beneath him as his rough thrusts were too intense for what your form was used to.  

“Quit fucking squirming, princess,” each word was punctuated by a buck as he mercilessly drove his fat cock into you, “fucking take it or I’ll just eat you instead.”

On the next thrust that rocked your body, your wobbly knees finally gave out, though the drop barely affected the monster’s pace as he only followed and blanketed you with his form. 

Weakly, your fingers shakily snaked up above your head before they began to claw at the ground in a hopeless attempt at crawling away.

“Where do you think you’re going, huh?” one of his massive palms came down over the back of your head to shove you back down against the floor, holding you there as his glance then flickered to the curtains close by. Jaggedly, the fabric then fluttered alive and came flying through the air to obey his wish. Slithering over, they first tangled themselves around both your wrists, yanking them up high till your arms were completely stretched out against the floor, before another curtain then slipped around your torso, just beneath the swell of your tits, to keep you that much further trapped. 

Slamming his dick even further inside of you, he tried to ram the bulbous knot at the base of his cock inside of your warmth, but no matter how hard he thrust, it just wouldn’t pop in. Though as he kept up his efforts, it kept on hitting your puffy pearl at every failed attempt, soon rendering you to gush around his fat girth as he continued to rut into you till you were crying out at the overstimulation. 

Pinned down and mind melted, your blurry vision found the painting on the wall of Bucky’s true form, the very prince you had dreamt about your whole life and put up on some pedestal as someone to yearn for. Though as you stared at the portrait, it was then that you noticed his eyes, and you finally began to lose yourself. They were the only thing that hadn’t changed about the beast that still buried himself inside of you. Eyes that you had previously fallen in love with… eyes that you perhaps still were in love with… 

Suddenly, the curtains around you tightened before you were flipped all the way around. Head spinning, you blinked up at Bucky as he pushed himself back till he was kneeling between your trembling legs. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as he grasped your hips and lifted them up off the ground, rubbing your drooling pussy messily against his leaking tip before his hardness caught your entrance and he slipped back in. 

Sinking you down onto him, a low groan of elation rumbled in his throat as his big knot finally popped inside. His thick fingers dented your hips as his efforts paused for a moment as he let himself revel in the sensation of your cunt clenching around all of him.

As his movements picked back up again, lewd and sloppy pops sounded each time he fucked his knot in and out of you, repeatedly making you take it and stretch your tiny hole out for him. 

As your eyes drifted down, they caught sight of just how intimidating his size truly was, for if you had seen it before, there would have been no way in hell you would have thought your body was capable of taking it. 

Your messy cream stained his knot as he continued to bring you down against him, fucking you as if you were just a toy in his grasp. It was then that you spotted the bulge that appeared in your belly, though it still took you a moment to realise that it was the thrusting imprint of his jarring size, visible for all to witness. It was so staggeringly pronounced that it caused you to unravel once more for him, your squirt that leaked around his cock only caused the beast to grow more feral and snap his hips up to meet your own each time he drove your body down against him. 

His heavy balls slapped against your slick skin as he repeatedly bumped against your sore cervix, nearly piecing his way through it as he brought you down one last time before he finally tumbled over the edge himself, pumping you full of so much cum that it began to leak out of your stuffed hole before he was even finished. 

And then, while he was panting above you and still plugging up your poor pussy, a bright light appeared and set his body aflame in an ethereal glow. 

You had to narrow your eyes to a squint as the beast’s visage began to melt away before you, till he wasn’t a beast no more, and only the man of your dreams remained hovering above you. 

Staring down at his hands with wide eyes, Bucky turned his palms a couple of times before he gasped, “it worked! I can’t believe it actually–, I’m human again!” before his teary vision found you below him, “and all because of you! You–, oh…” he then melted down against you, a bright smile shining on his face as he uttered, “thank you,” and worshipingly pressed his lips to your skin. 

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[purple-obsidian]

unconditional (18+, red hood jason todd x fem reader) wc 1.5k

⭓ this post contains explicit sexual content and is not suitable for minors. reader is afab and described as shorter than jason. established relationship. if you sense a theme in my writing, what can i say. i'm a sucker for sleepy sex. dedicated to @janybabyy who is always down to proofread my work at a moments notice.

You awaken with a start, the familiar creek of your front door closing, pulling you from your uncomfortable half-slumber.

The hall light flickers on, casting a tall, dark shadow over your perch on the oversized recliner in your shared living room.

“You actually used the door.” You mumble sarcastically, recognizing the hulking frame as your boyfriend.

Your greeting is reciprocated by a raspy exhale, followed by a heavy footstep, then another. “You should be in bed.”

He's already rid himself of his helmet. You admire the outline of his shaggy hair as he stalks closer, your heart beating stronger when he pauses several feet in front of you.

“Says who?” You ask, a coy grin itching at the corner of your mouth.

“Me.”

Exhaustion is apparent in his voice. You can practically feel it radiating off his body. Jason reaches a heavy arm to massage away an ache in the back of his neck as you stand up and approach.

He’s leaning into your touch before your palm even reaches his cheek. Another long exhale escapes him, your touch akin to a cool drink of water after a long run in the heat.

”Can’t sleep without you here.”

“Huh. Yeah right,” he presses his lips to the skin of your wrist briefly before continuing, “I know I wake you up. Don’t lie.”

His arm snakes around your waist, the most natural movement in the world to him. Muscle memory. That’s where you belong, in his arms, by his side. Even so, you know he doesn’t believe you when you tell him that some people are worth losing sleep over. That his love is worth the occasional sleepless night, whether it’s staying awake from worry, or comforting him through his ever-present night terrors.

“Jason…” You bring your other hand to cup his face gingerly, feeling a pang of guilt at the dark circles under his eyes.

He works so hard.

Before you realize it’s happening, you’re guiding him down into a slow kiss. His lips, warm and familiar, are tinged with the taste of salt and blood. You allow yourself to indulge for a beat before shying away, wanting to check him for injuries. But as you rescind, needy lips follow, an almost desperate groan rumbling in his throat.

“Don’t.” He mumbles, lips flush against your own. Rough hands grip you closer at the small of your back. “Please, sweetheart. Need you. Missed you.”

You swoon, allowing him to consume your senses. Eyes closed, lips entangled once more, Jason Todd never needs to ask more than once for your affection. Ever since the day you confessed your love for each other, you give it to him, freely and willingly. You are his safe space, his haven. The one person he’s finally let himself be vulnerable with, where there’s no need for his reticence.

And in return? You have, in him, a best friend. Your protector, your lover, the only man who can make living in this hellhole of a city worth it. There are very few problems in your life that he cannot solve. Nevermind that most of those problems are caused by dating him in the first place. Dating a vigilante has its dangers, but Red Hood seems to be at the top of the ‘food chain’ when it comes to Gotham’s criminal underworld.

All that influence, all the money and power that comes with it, and he still chooses to come home to you. In your mediocre flat, with spotty internet, expensive heating, and a dishwasher that never seems to stay not broken, no matter how many times he fixes it.

Several articles of clothing, discarded in a tired haze of affection, lead a telling trail to the bedroom. Jason lifts you effortlessly, laying you down on the bed, keeping himself close so he’s on top of you. Cognizant of his size, he remains propped on his forearms, caging you in but graciously allowing you to breathe.

“Need you too.” You whisper up at him, basking in his attention. You bite your lip, and reach down for the waistband of his boxers, the only remaining article of clothing keeping him modest.

“M’gross.” He mutters, voice tinged in hesitation. “It’s been a long night.”

But he doesn’t stop your fingers from tugging on the elastic. He helps you, kicking them off, and settling his frame over yours again, allowing his lips to rest against your forehead.

“Don’t care.”

You turn your head, allowing your breath to fan over the scarred skin of his neck.

“I couldn’t be more proud of you, Jay. Besides…” You nudge your nose against him, inhaling deeply, savoring his musk, eyes rolling back at the rush of feel-good hormones that flood your brain from the familiarity.

Your boyfriend chuckles, “Yeah? Besides what, hm?” Peering down at you with lustful eyes, his deep tone sends a tingle down your spine. Nerves on fire from the closeness, you reach for him, slow yet confident, not disappointed when your fingers wrap around his length to guide him to the space reserved for him and him alone.

He knows what.

“No prep? You sure, sweetheart?” His voice is tired, strained, but there’s an unmistakable tenderness in how he addresses you. You know he doesn’t have the energy to get you warmed up. He barely has the energy to be on top.

“I can handle you, handsome. Just take it easy on me.”

With no willpower to contest your assurance, Jason's heavy eyelids flutter shut as he slowly lowers himself flush on top of you. Chest to chest, skin to skin. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pushes his aching cockhead inside the familiar warmth of your body. Your velvet walls weep from his intrusion, the sting in your inner muscles one you’ll never quite get used to. It’s a bittersweet pain that you've come to associate with this behemoth of a man you share your home with.

Jason takes his time. His movements are slow, languid, letting you grow accustomed to him an inch at a time. He keeps close, exhaling little praises into your ear every time a pained whimper escapes your throat.

“Good girl, shhh, nice and slow.”

“Been thinking about you all night.”

“That's it, relax for me, beautiful.”

His unhurried thrusts, tender and deliberate, are slow enough that the cool air of the bedroom has enough time to cool your slick along his shaft before he pushes his progress back in. Your strained panting fills his ear, the way you cling to him urges him to continue on despite the stretch you feel. You don’t want him to think he’s too much.

He’s never too much for you.

Never.

“Jason… Please.”

You clench around him when he pushes deeper, your body finally catching up and leaking your desire around his girth that’s splitting you open.

“Fuck.”

The muscles in Jason’s back tense and release. He pauses his hips, biting into the pillow behind your head, adjusting one arm to hold a bit more of his weight.

Desperate for more of him, you shift your hips up and buck him deeper inside you in short thrusts, digging your fingertips into his back. You’re careful not to use your nails, having promised yourself long ago that you would never be the cause of one of his scars.

But deep down you know, this man would wear a scar from you proudly. He’s proved on more than one occasion that he would die for you.

Just because he would take it, doesn’t mean he deserves it. Which is why you use your self control to restrain yourself while you cling to him gently, crying out in pleasure when he finally starts moving again to match your rhythm, heavy breathing shaking his whole body.

The friction from the increase in pace has you flexing your feet and writhing, nodding your head, stuttering out his name.

“I love when you’re like this…” He admits. “Fuck, you feel so, ugmmmph!” Jason loses his breath, his orgasm hitting him unexpectedly, like an ocean current that sweeps you away so quick, you don’t know which way is up. All he can think about, all he can perceive while the pleasure spasms down his legs is you.

“Y-yes!” You stuffer, helping him bottom out deep inside you, his tip kissing the entrance to your womb, decorating it with his essence while his climax peaks.

Taking advantage of his euphoria, you wrap your legs around his strong abdomen, and hold him closely, showering his neck in fervent kisses.

The noises he makes in response to your affection sound guttural, like you’re fulfilling a primal need of his that he’s been deprived of for too long. A need all humans have. Something Jason Todd, specifically, was lacking most of his life, until he met you.

Enthusiastic, genuine, tender affection. Love that’s unconditional.

The type of love that doesn’t care if he’s dirty and scarred. The kind of love that understands not every instance of intimacy will be an epic performance. It’s the love that finds it endearing when his gentle snoring fills your ear less than a minute later, still one with the most intimate parts of you.

if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment!

please don’t steal my work. don't upload it to another site, use it to train ai, or claim it as your own.

⭓ masterlist ⭓

[sinofwriting]

I ❤️ MILFS - Max Verstappen

Words: 9,747 Summary: Max wasn’t too sure who the woman was that was always with Logan, but he was sure that he wanted to get to know her. Note(s): Sargeant Reader, Age Gap, Older!Reader, Logan and Oscar are both 20 during the 2023 season, not 22. The 2023 driver standings are different (I am giving Logan the season he should have had). Reader has the nickname Pan (short for momma panther). Logan is sweetheart, Max is head over heels in love. I’m gonna be honest I never thought this fic would get written or finished. I got the idea for it back in December but only started writing it on March 16th. And it would have never happened without @burningcupcakefire & @pucksandpower. Thank you both so much for all your help. (also if anyone wants to see more of Max and Pan, let me know)

Masterlist | Support Me! | I ❤️ MILFS verse

Max remembers the announcement of Oscar’s arrival to F1, the drama and hilarity of it. Sometimes he sees the kids name and has to stop himself from laughing. No nineteen-year-old had any business being that funny.

Max doesn’t remember much of Logan’s announcement to F1. Only that he was young as well, being the first American in forever, and Williams' quick admission that they hadn’t wanted to sign, had wanted to wait another year.

He wishes now that he had paid more attention.

There’s a woman standing in the William’s garage, on Logan’s side. She’s clearly there for him, with the similar pass that his trainer has around her neck, and the way her eyes intently follow Logan’s movements around the garage as he talks to the mechanics and engineers.

She also happens to be the most beautiful woman Max has ever seen.

—

She can’t help but clutch at Benny’s arm the whole race, terror gripping her along with pride.

Benny chuckles when the race comes to an end, Logan doing his cooldown lap and she finally lets go. “And just think you’ve got over twenty more races of this.”

Her nose wrinkle and a hand goes over her heart that’s thudding. “Please, Benny.”

He chuckles again but pats her shoulder. “You’ve got this.”

“Not gonna tell me it gets easier?”

He snorts. “No. This is far worse than F2 or F3 and we still were both scared watching him out there. We’ll never know a day of peace now.”

She sighs, watching the screens as it shows the top three getting interviewed and in the background you can see some of the drivers getting weighed. “He’s going to be sore and in pain.” It makes something clench inside her, the knowledge that Logan would be in pain. It was part of the job, the aches and the bruises, but it didn’t make it any easier for her to know.

“I’ve already got everything set up as soon as he’s back and debriefs are done.”

Her eyes catch on the screen showing where all the drivers placed and tears prick her eyes and she shakes her head. “Twelfth in his first grand prix. I can’t believe it.”

The garage is filled with chatter as the team celebrates getting their first points of the season and their rookie driver performing better than they expected. The way they don’t even try to whisper it makes her jaw twitch. She was grateful that Williams was giving Logan his dream, but she didn’t like how they were going about it. Quickly and publicly stating that they didn’t want to sign Logan yet, wanted to wait a year. And now this.

A light nudge to her ribs makes her unclench her jaw and she gives Benny a grateful smile.

Both of their attention is quickly drawn however to the two Williams drivers entering the garage, the space filling with cheers.

She smiles as Logan grins at the team, basking in the smiles they have on their faces for him and Alex, the pats on the back he’s getting. The grin turns to a beam when he spots Benny and her and he quickly bounces over to them.

A laugh leaves her at the way Benny pulls him into a bear hug, lifting him off his feet a little. “Proud of you, kid.” He murmurs.

She can’t hear what Logan says, but he’s put down and it’s her turn.

She wants to bundle him up in her arms, hold him and not let go, but doesn’t want to embarrass him in front of his team, so she raises a hand and pushes his hair out of his face. “You did amazing, baby.”

He smiles at her, all bright and shiny eyes and then he’s wrapping his arms around her, hugging her tight and she’s quick to return it, rubbing his back.

“You did so good, Logan. So good. I’m so proud.” She tells him again, pressing a kiss to his sweaty head.

“Thank you, momma.” He tells her, hugging her tight for another moment before letting her go.

She smiles up at him and god, that makes her heart ache. Her son, her baby, taller than her somehow. She woke up some days and still wasn’t sure where the time had gone and how he was taller than her shoulders. “Go shower and debrief and then Benny and me will take care of you, yeah? And I’ll get your favorite ordered to the hotel, ready as soon as you get there.”

He beams at her again, darting forward to press a quick to her cheek before starting to rush away. “Best mom ever!” He calls over his shoulder and she laughs.

—

Y/N Sargeant will never forget the first time she held her son, only then at nine years old, he had been her cousin.

Logan was small, wrinkly, pink skin, and full of small cries. She could remember staring at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to understand how he could be what her baby dolls were made to be like. She remembers her mama having her sit on the couch after asking her if she wanted to hold him and how she had quickly nodded, hoping that maybe holding him would somehow make him look better.

She remembers the sudden nerves that built in her stomach as her mama started to hand him to her. Remembers being scared that she would drop him, remembers thinking how stupid it would be if he was still weird to look at like this.

And she remembers finally holding that and it disappearing. His small cries, no more, his wriggling calmed down, and his wrinkles no longer looked weird but cute. She remembers holding him for the first time and feeling unconditional love for the first time in her life.

—

She’s twelve when she realizes that her uncle and aunt don’t like Logan much. It didn’t make sense to her then, still doesn’t know. Because they liked Dalton just fine, but not Logan.

She remembers asking her dad about it. Asking him why they didn’t love Logan, but loved Dalton and worse, she remembers the pained look in his eyes as he realizes that his child picked up on what he and his wife had as well.

It’s the first hard adult conversation she has with her parents and it’s fitting that it’s about Logan, as they sit her down and talk to her about how not all parents love their kids, and how sometimes that includes them only loving one child and not the other.

—

She remembers clearly the first time Logan calls her mom.

It’s her fourteenth birthday and she’s got the four-year-old in her lap as she sits in a rocking chair, reading her English essay aloud for him. Logan’s eyes are closed, head resting on her chest, over her heart, and his little fingers of his one hand are curled in her shirt right by his head.

She wants to sit there forever, reading to him as she rocks back and forth. But she wants another slice of cake before Martha puts it away and Logan needs to sleep in his bed where he can stretch out fully and drool on his pillowcases and not her shirt that Martha will surely tut over but then smile fondly when she sees Logan doing it all over again.

Setting the essay down on her dresser, she runs her now free fingers through his blond hair. “C’mon Logan, time for bed.”

He grumbles, fingers tightening on her shirt and she can feel it being pulled slightly.

“You can put on your new race car jammies, cuddle with Ello.”

He shakes his head, squirming a bit in her lap as he tries to shove himself closer. “Stay with you.”

“Oh, baby.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Y’know I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

His head shakes again and she has to bite her lip as his head hits her collarbone. “Want cuddles, momma.”

Her heart thuds painfully in her chest at the name he called her, tears pricking her eyes. “Okay, baby. Let's get you in jammies, grab Ello, and you can stay with me tonight.”

—

She’s only been eighteen for ten hours when she asks her father for the near impossible.

“I want custody of Logan. I want to adopt him. And I need your help to make that happen.”

He stares at her, no expression on his face, not even shock.

“He’s,” She pauses, jaw twitching and tears springing to her eyes. “He wants to do karting, just like Dalton. And he’s good at it. I’ve taken him. They told him no. They haven’t bought him clothes in two years. They don’t know a single thing about his school, his grades, his teachers. He hasn’t called David dad since he was six and he hasn’t called Madelyn mom since he was four.” Her hands are formed into fists, nails digging into her palms as she speaks. “I have money, I can provide for him. I’ve got my shares of the company now and I’ve got my inheritance from Grandma Talls. But I know that a judge won’t sign off without some influence.”

“Madelyn and Daniel?”

She leans forward in her seat, a spark of hope filling her. “I already talked to them, they’ll do it.”

One of his hands comes up to rub at his mouth, sighing. Then it drops to open up one of his desk drawers and he’s pulling out a bunch of papers, dropping them on the desk in front of her.

“I figured this was gonna happen and I knew after you talked to them and they called me. They signed away their rights three hours ago. Michael and Lily are waiting outside to come in so you can sign the papers.”

Tears slipped from her eyes, joy wrapping itself around her entire being from his words, the fact that he called their family lawyer to be on standby, that he and her mother were so supportive. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He smiles at her. “I couldn’t say no to you. Not when it comes to Logan. I’m way too young to have a grandkid, let alone one that’s eight, but I made my peace with that years ago.”

“Thank you.”

—

Max watches the free practice session coverage intently as they focus on the Williams garage, nose wrinkling when they focus on Logan’s trainer, Benny and then James Vowles. Could it really be possible that they never once caught a shot of her? He starts to get a sinking feeling in his stomach that he's gonna have to go on Twitter when the camera moves and suddenly she’s there and he’s scrambling for the tv remote, pressing the pause button just before the camera switches to an overhead shot of the Bahrain track.

His heart skips a beat as he gets his first good luck at her. Her pretty eyes and smile. His eyes then travel down, wanting to know her name and his heart drops.

Y/N Sargeant, Mother of Logan Sargeant.

Fuck.

—

“Momma Panther!” Oscar greets to the confusion of other drivers as Logan and a woman enter the room.

Lando’s eyebrows are raised as he watches Oscar stand. Watching as his teammate claps Logan on the back, before giving him an actual hug. Before he then hugs the woman as well, whispering something to her that makes her laugh.

Pulling away from her, Oscar grins when her hand comes up to pat his cheek for a second. “Thank you for the invite, Os.”

“Of course.” He sends a fond look to Logan, who's standing awkwardly by the table.

“Y’know Logan and you are always welcome.”

She makes a humming noise.

“C’mon, let me introduce you to everyone.”

Turning around, he smirks at the table. “Everyone, Logan.”

Charles lets out a laugh, as the others chuckle.

He gestures to her, “This is Momma Panther or Pan.”

“Y/N or Pan.” She corrects, playfully shaking her finger at Oscar. “I only let the F2 boys call me Momma Pan.”

He sighs. “Okay, this is Y/N. Logan’s mom.”

Lando coughs, water going down the wrong pipe. Fernando’s eyes are wide as he looks at her. Charles, George, and Alex are all nodding. Max has a weird expression on his face and Carlos looks dumbfounded.

“She,” Carlos points at her. “Is his,” he points at Logan. “Mother?”

Logan moves away from the table to stand by his mom, easily melting into her side at all the attention. The action makes Oscar smile, all too used to the easy affection between the mother and son. “I got pretty lucky right?”

She shakes her head. “I’m just happy you weren’t a difficult child.”

Logan both blushes and preens at the same time.

Carlos shakes his head, disbelief still clear.

“Please, sit.” George says after a moment. “We haven’t ordered yet.”

The seasoned drivers and her watch amused as both Oscar and Logan usher her to sit first. Oscar easily then lets Logan sit next before sitting beside the American. The two of them sharing a grin after.

It makes her shake her head as she turns her attention to the menu, tuning out the sound of conversation picking back up.

The gentle sound of a throat clearing makes her glance to her left.

The current two time world champion smiles a bit awkwardly at her. “Have you been here before?”

She shakes her head, turning her head a bit to look at him better. “No. To Australia of course, for Logan’s races and to visit Oscar once, but not here.”

He nods and she can’t help but notice the way he swallows harshly. “We started coming here in 2021, it’s good food. Good drinks.”

She laughs, “good gin and tonic?”

He flushes a little, but laughs. “Yes. Very good. Heavy on the gin.”

She nods, “I think I’ll have one of those then.”

Her eyes drift back to the menu, not even wincing at the prices next to the dishes. This was nearly cheap compared to where she had been forced to eat growing up.

“Momma, can we,”

“Yes.” She answers before Logan finishes, already knowing what he’s asking. “Also you two, no hard liquor. We have plans tomorrow.” She continues, still looking at the menu.

They wouldn’t get drunk from a few drinks, but she had a feeling that Lando would try to instigate something again with Oscar, making the poor kid so drunk he could barely walk, again. And she didn’t mind people thinking that she was overbearing with Logan and even Oscar. The boys knew that if they really wanted to do something they could, even if she said otherwise. It was one of the nice things about being an adult.

Logan wrinkles his nose, glancing at the drinks part of the menu, before grinning. “They have it.”

Oscar glances at what he’s pointing at, shaking his head. “You and your goddamn obsession.”

“We come here like once a year.” Logan defends. “And no other country sells it.”

It’s not until after the server leaves, all of their orders taken, that conversation starts again.

“So, Mrs. Sargeant,” Lando starts.

“Just Y/N or even Pan.” She sends a fond look to Oscar who had made that nickname stick. “And I’m not married.” She says, amused.

“Ah.”

“Not married.” Fernando shakes his head. “Now that doesn’t sound right.”

She looks at him amused. “Don’t believe in premarital sex?” She teases.

The older driver laughs and so do the others. “No. Just hard to believe that you aren’t married. You are a very gorgeous woman.”

“Thank you.”

“So,” Lando starts again, giving Max a weird look seeing how his friend is gripping his glass of water. “Will you be coming to all the races?”

She nods. “Yes, I have since Logan started his career. Haven’t missed one.”

Logan shakes his head, grinning at her. “Nope, not one.”

“Your work allows you to do that?”

Her lips press together for a second to try and hide her smile at the gentle but obvious fishing they are doing. “I have shares in some companies and a very generous inheritance. So, no true, real work.”

“You do some work for Grandpa when we’re in the states.”

“I organize his desk for him, which he then messes up as soon as he sits back down at it.”

“You do not mind the constant travel? It is quite tiring.” Charles asks, curious.

“No. And once I got Logan in karting, I promised him that I’d make it to all of his races. Maybe in a few years, I’ll stop going to all of them, but I am part of his team as well.”

“Manager?”

“God, no.” She shakes her head at Carlos’ assumption. “Cook slash nutritionist. Benny, his trainer is amazing, also doubles at being a physiotherapist for Logan, but he doesn’t know how to cook to save his life. So I make their meals.”

“Mine as well.” Alex pipes in. “They’re truly amazing, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“Can you make mine again?” Oscar asks, leaning over Logan a bit to look at her. “I’ve missed having them.”

“Sure.” She laughs. “Get me your new sheets before the next race, yeah?”

“Done.”

—

Max watches from the corner of his eyes as she takes her first sip of her gin and tonic. Her brows raise a bit when the drink hits her tongue and he has to force his eyes up, to not focus in on her lips, to think about them and what they’d feel like on, he shakes his head. Forcing the thoughts, the ideas away.

“Very heavy on the gin.” She whispers, turning a bit to look at him.

He rubs his hands against his jeans. “Do you like it?”

“It’s nice.” She smiles.

Relief fills him. “Good.”

He continues to look at her, wanting to tear his eyes away but being unable to. She was simply lovely. And getting this closer look at her, he can’t believe that she’s a mother, or at least a mother to a twenty-year-old. It didn’t seem possible. She looked barely older than him. Not at least thirty-five. She was probably more like Fernando’s age as well and he glances at the fellow two world champion, more disbelief filling him. Because how could the two be close in age at all?

—

Logan sighs as he collapses face first onto Oscar’s bed. Laying there for a solid minute before groaning and turning his head.

“Dinner was nice.”

Oscar hums and he can feel the bed dip beside him.

“You seemed a bit more relaxed.”

“No media, and you and Pan were there. A bit more relaxed.”

Logan scoffs. “Yeah, because you were so tense with media before.” As he speaks, he reaches out to lay a hand on Oscar’s thigh, giving the muscle a squeeze. “It’s nuts, isn’t it? I mean we all got told that the media was so much more, so different, but…” He trails off, shaking his head.

“Yeah.” Oscar sighs and then he’s laying beside Logan, the American luckily moving his hand off and away from the other’s thigh before he lies on it.

“Y’know I have no personality, apparently.”

Logan snorts, eyes opening when he hadn’t even realized he had closed him. The Australian driver also has his head turned so they’re looking at each other. “What? Have they never seen a Prema video?”

He shrugs as best as he can.

“I’d take that over my apparent frat boyness.”

“You? A frat boy?” Oscar laughs.

Logan sighs as he thinks a bit more about it, the mood turning a bit serious. “I just hope momma hasn’t seen it.”

“What happened?”

“She’s just worried. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but she’s wondering if she did a good job with me, done enough for me. And she’s given me everything y’know. I can’t imagine what I’d be like with them as my parents.”

Oscar moves a bit closer, just a few inches between their faces now. “You’d still be amazing, still great. Maybe a frat boy.”

The American rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“I think Fernando has a thing for her. For Pan.” He clarifies.

“What?”

“I mean, just during the dinner y’know, he kept looking at her. And him calling her gorgeous.”

“Well, he’d be dumb and blind to not notice that.” Logan scoffs, rolling onto his back and turning his head to the side, keeping his eyes on Oscar.

“I’m being serious.” The younger laughs, poking him lightly. “I think Alonso has a thing for her.”

Logan’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Dude, no. That’s gross. Momma isn’t even thirty and Fernando’s like forty-three. And isn’t he dating that journalist?”

Oscar’s brows press together. “What journalist?”

“The one that gave Fred shit.”

“I thought she died?”

The two look at each other, both baffled.

Logan thinks again of the journalist he’s seen around Fernando and the one that all of the Prema drivers, former and at the time current, had avoided or given shit statements too. They did look a bit different now that he really thought about it. Fernando’s journalist slash girlfriend didn’t have a fucking complex.

“Different journo.” Logan mutters. He then blinks, “wait, she died?”

“Mate, you didn’t hear about that?”

“No!”

“She was supposed to be at Spa, remember. And we all were relieved when she wasn’t there. She died, car crash or something, I can’t remember.”

“How do I not remember this?”

Oscar shrugs as best as he can while laying down. “I don’t know.”

It’s silent for a moment, “you don’t think,”

“No.” Oscar shakes his head, but he doesn’t sound too sure. “I mean, yeah no.”

“Right.” He looks up at the ceiling.

“Okay, so Fernando is out of the running.”

Logan groans, “Os, no.”

“Look he clearly has eyes, but if he’s dating someone he’s out. He wasn’t the only one looking.”

“Oscar, please, it’s my mom.”

“She’s like my mom too, which is why we have to talk about this.” Oscar insists, wriggling closer to Logan. Their sides completely pressed together and when Logan turns his head to look at the other, their noses nearly brush.

He looks at Oscar’s face, all earnest and caring and sighs. “Fine. Charles was looking, but he only dates one type, so safe from him.”

“Lando was looking.”

Logan snorts, “I thought this was for potential dates, not another kid.”

He laughs, their noses brushing together from the movement. “Okay, no Lando. Max.”

“He kind of looked weird when you introduced her.” He frowns.

“I saw that too.”

“But he also got all blushy when they talked.”

“The drivers do know, I mean Alex knows that she didn’t like birth you, right?”

Logan’s frown deepens. “Of course. I mean, it’s not super well known, but it’s a little hard to believe that she naturally had a kid twenty years ago.”

“Thought so.” Oscar then chuckles. “Imagine, them thinking that she did, though. Just thinking she’s got some sort of insane skin care routine.”

—

“How in the hell does she look like that with a twenty-year-old kid?”

“I know right?” Alex says, looking at Carlos. “It’s insane.”

Charles pokes at his own cheek. “I think I need to ask her for advice, what products she uses. I want to age like her.”

“We all want to age like her.” George agrees.

“What are you saying?” Fernando frowns.

A few of them share a look, but Charles and Max share a different one. “Mate, you’ve got wrinkles and all these lines.” Max says. “I mean those are natural, but look at her. The skincare helps.”

Fernando frowns, “Lines?”

Charles touches at his own lines, “see lines. From smiling, laughing, frowning. All good things, very nice. Just not uh,” his brows furrow drawing a blank.

Lando snorts at his struggle. “You just want to help your skin. Keep it healthy.”

The older driver makes a humming noise, considering.

—

Her breath is caught in her throat, eyes wide as she watches the screen. Her heart feels like it is beating in double time. She wants to look away, doesn’t want to watch in case something horrible happens, but she can’t. Because Logan just overtook both Magnussen and Ocon in the same lap. Logan is in 9th. Logan is in a point scoring position with only five laps of the race left. Logan might score his first formula 1 points at his home race, at his actual home race, at his first ever home race.

Her hands are shaking, fingers locked together as she presses them against her mouth, trying to breathe, praying that Logan won’t fall back out of the points.

She doesn’t even notice that he’s lessened that gap to Pierre until suddenly he’s overtaken the other French driver, just three laps later. “Oh my god.”

“Fuck.”

“Benny,” she whispers, and one of her hands is dropping so she can clutch at the older man. “Benny, I think,”

“He’s gonna do it.”

And sure enough he does it. Logan holds his place in front of Pierre and finishes in 8th.

“Yes!” The whole garage is cheering and she’s wrapping her arms around Benny, laughing when the trainer lifts her.

“He did it! He did it!” She cheers.

The garage quiets though as Gaetan starts to speak on the radio.

“Logan, you are on your cooldown lap.”

“Got it. Where’s Alex?”

She winces at the question, one of her hands grips at Benny’s shoulder as he sets her back down, the other holding onto her headphones that miraculously didn’t get thrown off her head or disconnected when celebrating. “Alex is P14, P14.”

It’s quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’m sorry we didn’t get any points today, next race is ours right? The car felt great.”

Both of her hands fly up to her mouth.

“Logan.” Gaetan’s voice is full of disbelief and laughter. “Mate, you finished P8. You got us points. You got your first points.”

She can see him react to the news, the car jerking underneath him for a second, before he wrangles it back under control.

“What? What do you mean?”

“You finished in P8. Clean race, finished ahead of both Alpines and Magnussen.”

“Holy fuck.”

The garage fills with laughter at his reaction and tears start to build in her eyes.

“You guys,” his voice breaks. “Thank you guys so much. This was you guys, the car felt great, really.”

She watches as James hops on the radio. “This was you as well, Logan. Amazing drive today.”

“Thank you, James. Thank you so much for this.”

His mechanics, Benny and her, quickly go over to where the cars are parking, watching as Logan slots it into place. He’s a little shaky as he gets out of the car and he’s about to dart towards them but someone from the FIA, is ushering him to the scale.

His reluctance is clear even with his helmet on, but he goes. Letting them take his weight and as soon as it’s written down, he’s stepping off and away, fumbling with his gloves and then his helmet.

There’s an awed grin on his face, tears in his eyes, and seeing it makes the tears that have built in her own fall.

His gloves and helmet tumble to the ground as his mechanics and Benny surround him, celebrating his points.

Logan laughs when they finally let them go and his eyes light up when he sees her and he darts to her and she easily welcomes him into her arms.

“I’m so proud of you.” She tells him, squeezing his sweaty body close before running a hand through his hair. “You did amazing.”

“I did it, momma.” His voice is weak and she can feel tears hit the skin of her neck where his head is buried.

“You did it.”

—

“Logan did amazing, it was a good drive.”

She blinks in surprise at the voice, turning in her barstool to look. “Max?”

He smiles at her, cheeks flushed. “He did really well.”

“He did.” She agrees before patting the stool next to her.

His smile widens as he takes the seat.

“I didn’t realize that Red Bull was in the same hotel.” Maybe she should have since she had spotted a few Red Bull polos, but she figured it was fan gear.

“I think Aston is here as well. You aren’t celebrating with Logan?”

She shakes her head. “We already celebrated. Him, Oscar, and a bunch of his friends here are throwing a party. I wasn’t really interested in watching them all get wasted, so this,” she gestures to the hotel bar, “is me having a drink to celebrate before going up to my room and ordering some room service.”

“Could I join you?” His cheeks redden at the words, at the way her eyebrows raise. “Not like that. But for food? I’ve never actually eaten anywhere in Miami that wasn’t catering.”

She stares at him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. And I have the perfect place to take you.”

—

“Did I actually score points yesterday?”

“You did.”

“Sweet.”

“Very. How’s the head?”

Logan shrugs, “I mean, I drank a lot, but like I’m just dehydrated.”

She shakes her head, “That will change in a few years.”

“Not gonna tell me to not drink underage?” He teases, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek before grabbing her glass of juice and draining it.

She snorts. “We’re in Europe most of the time and I gave you your first drink. I don’t think I have a leg to stand on. And you were celebrating.”

“True.”

He sits across from her, refilling the glass and taking another drink from it before setting it down and starting to help himself to her pancakes, which she just pushes closer to him. “How was your night? You could have joined us. We wouldn’t of minded.”

“I’m your mom, Logan.” She laughs. “I think the me going to your friend's parties ship sailed a few years ago.”

“Yeah, but you're awesome. We like having you around.”

“I know.” She smiles. “I wasn’t in the mood to watch all of you get wasted.”

“Fair.” he says around a bite of pancake, which she sends him a look for and he quickly swallows the food. Giving her a smile that says sorry.

“So, how was your night?”

“It was good.” She tells him, spearing a piece of fruit with her other fork. “I came back to the hotel, had a drink, and then got dinner with Max.”

His brows press together. “Max?”

“Verstappen.” She clarifies. “Red Bull is staying here as well, he saw me at the hotel bar and asked if he could join me for some food.”

“You went on a date?”

Her eyes narrow at him. “It wasn't a date.”

“You went on a date.” He scrambles for his phone. “Oscar is never gonna believe it.”

“I go on dates.”

“Momma, you’ve gone on like five dates. And two of those were before you turned eighteen.”

She scowls at him. “It wasn’t a date. We just got dinner.” She insists.

“Uh huh.” He says, clearly not believing her. “Did he pay?”

“Yes.”

“Pull your chair out, help you with your coat, anything like that?”

Her mind flashes back to Max helping her get out of his car, his insistence on opening doors for her. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean,”

Logan continues. “Did he walk you to your hotel room? Say that he had a good time and he’d like to do it again?”

“Oh.”

Logan grins at her, smug, as he finishes typing out a text to Oscar. “You went on a date last night.”

“I went on a date last night.” And she doesn’t mention the fact that a new number resides in her phone.

—

“Logan!”

He stops at the sound of his name, turning to look behind him, where Max Verstappen is nearly jogging to catch up with him. “Max.” He greets, when the older driver is next to him, nerves filling him at the eyes of said driver on him, along with how a few other drivers are also looking at the pair, shock and surprise clear on their faces.

“Hey.” Max grins. “How are you feeling about the track?”

He looks at the older driver in confusion. They had just left the drivers briefing, why was he asking him this? Alex had already spoken about how the team was feeling about Monaco. “The car won’t be the best here, but we said that in Miami, so we’re hoping to repeat that here. Alex has a good chance at ending in a point scoring position.” He reiterates what he's been told and what he’s been telling the press.

“But how are you feeling about it?”

Logan stares at the Dutchman, eyes flickering around trying to see if cameras are there, if his momma is there, but there isn’t anyone. The other drivers are already gone, so are the FIA people. It’s just him and Max. “Y’know you don’t have to talk to me because you went out with my mom.”

He expects relief, like that one dick Jase, and really who puts that on a birth certificate, but Max just frowns. “I know, I don’t have to.”

Logan swallows around the lump in his throat, “right.” Turning around, he starts to walk, somehow knowing that the other driver will join him. “It’s a tricky track, it’s Monaco. I was here last year and I barely got in the points.”

“P10 and P9.”

He throws the driver a look, because that was too much to know, but Max is just looking at him, encouraging him to continue. “The car isn’t suited for it. I mean it wasn’t for Miami, but this is different. And I’m still not managing my tyres correctly, so even if I did manage to gain positions, I’d get called in to pit and lose them.”

Max huffs out a laugh. “You are a rookie in a Williams, it’s impressive that you’ve already gotten points. If you could manage your tyres, when sometimes even I struggle, well I’d put you in Checo’s seat.”

“Not yours?”

He laughs again, “No. I’m a bit better at it than Checo.”

Logan couldn’t really deny that.

“Do you want some advice? On the tyres?”

Logan quickly nods. “I’ll take anything I can get.”

“Don’t fight the car too much on the turns. If you need to get it to turn properly or without going on the brakes too soon, fight it. But when you don’t, let the car be stable, keep it fluid. When you come out of the corner, press harder. It might feel like you’ll go into the wall, but you won’t.”

“And if I go into the wall?”

Max laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think you're a better driver than that mate.”

—

“How are you doing that in the turns?”

Logan looks up from his notebook, where he’d been scribbling a bunch of random words. Looking at the screen, he watches his own onboard. He thinks about saying that it was Max that told, but no one at Williams liked hearing about Red Bull, especially with Alex in the room. “Just something I thought I’d try.”

“Well, it was good, continue doing it. We may have ended up out of the points, but we got close.”

Logan nods. Even with his five-second penalty, he had still kept fourteenth, and Alex ended up in twelfth. “Will do.”

—

Max had thought about her in his apartment a lot, an embarrassing amount. He had also pictured it very differently. A nice dinner, wine, even though a majority of it made his nose wrinkle, perhaps some kissing on his couch as a movie plays that they both don’t care about.

He hadn’t expected lunch, with juice that he’s trying to figure out how he’s never had it when he’s lived in Monaco for so many years, and a somewhat serious conversation, though maybe he has been expecting that one or rather anticipating it.

“I like you, Max.”

He flushes, “I like you too.” He really did, even though his mother was going to have a heart attack when she found out how much older Pan was than him.

“And I want to continue doing this.” She gestures between them with her free hand that isn’t being held in his.

“So,” sensing that there’s something she wants to say.

“I’m a mom.”

He blinks at her words, panic starting to fill him. He thought he’d made that clear that he knew that, understood that. He always made sure to ask about Logan. He even had Logan’s number now after talking to him about how he felt about the Monaco track. “I know.”

“Logan is important to me.”

Oh, god, did Logan not like him?

“The most important thing to me. And if we're going to continue to do this, I just need you to know that. He’s always going to be my first priority.”

“Of course.” Relief fills him, his heart slows from its frantic beating. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

She stares at him, trying to gauge how truthful he’s being before nodding. “Okay.”

“Did you think that I didn’t know that?”

She shakes her head immediately. “No, it’s just. I don’t really do this.” She laughs. “Dating, relationships. Logan pointed that out to me, so I don’t really know how this goes and I just had to make it clear, put it on the table now.”

“I don’t really do this either.” He hesitates to ask his next question, but does. “Logan’s father. What was your relationship with him like?”

Her face screws up in disgust. “Ew.”

He laughs, not expecting that reply or that word to sum up a relationship. But fair enough.

“I mean the idea of a relationship between me and Logan’s father is gross. Logan’s,” she pauses, seeming to settle on a different word. “Birth parents are my aunt and uncle.”

“His what?” He could have sworn she said birth parents, but that couldn’t be right.

“His birth parents.” She looks at him, concerned. “I adopted Logan when I turned eighteen. Did you think I gave birth to him?”

“No.” He says, shaking head and clearing his throat. “Of course not.”

She stares at him, lips pressed together.

He sighs, slumping in his seat, eyes closing. “I may or may not have thought you were just a really, really young looking forty-something year old woman.”

She immediately bursts into laughter and his eyes fly open at the sound. “You thought?”

“The graphic for the race footage says you are his mother, I did not think otherwise. I just thought you looked great for your age.” He defends, a little embarrassed, but delighted by the expression on her face and her laughter that is still filling his ears.

“I am his mother, just adopted.”

“Not that either of you see it that way.”

“No.” She shakes her head, laughing one last time before calming down.

“No. Logan’s mine, he’s been mine practically since he was born. It just wasn’t seen that way legally until I was eighteen and custody got signed over to me.”

“Of course.” He then flashes her smile, “So can I ask how old you are?”

She laughs, nodding. “Yes, Max. I think just this once it’s better to ask a lady her age than assume it.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-nine.”

He looks at her with new eyes, the age making much more sense. “I would’ve said twenty-five.”

“Really? I think you would’ve said forty-something.”

“How was I to know?” He throws his free hand in the air at the tease, his other still holding hers.

—

“Hi, baby.” She greets when Logan stumbles out of his room, practically still asleep, as he drops onto the couch.

“Momma.” He whines, resting his head on her lap and turning his face to press it into her stomach, trying to block out the sun.

Her fingers brush through his hair as she forces her body to stay relaxed. It was always a fight when he did this.

She hated that her body didn’t bear any signs of being pregnant before, no stretch marks around her belly. She hated that she hadn’t actually gotten to carry Logan no matter how impractical it was, unless of course she was as old as Max had thought she was. She smiles at the memory of how flustered Max had looked when he realized her actual age.

He mumbles something and she turns his face away from her stomach.

“What?”

“How was your date last night?”

Her smile widens. “It was good.”

“Yeah?”

She nods.

“Did you see Jimmy and Sassy?”

“No.” She runs her hand over his forehead, knowing that he’s thinking of Sooty. “We should talk though after you’ve had some breakfast.”

“About what?”

“Breakfast first.”

“What do we need to talk about?” Logan asks nearly thirty minutes later, his fruit bowl all gone and his coffee on its way to be there as well.

She swallows, hands flexing. “Max.”

“What about Max?”

She sighs. “Well, baby, him and I talked about becoming serious last night. But that’s not gonna happen until I know how you feel.”

“You know, I’m okay with it.”

“I know you're okay with me dating, but this is a bit more complicated. Max is on the grid with you and we’re talking about a relationship.”

Logan eyes widen a bit at the word relationship. “I mean, how does Max feel about it? About being with someone who has a kid on the grid?”

He asks knowing it will give him time to figure out how to tell her how he feels and because he wants to know, he kind of wants Max to be okay with it. He likes Max, and not just as a driver. The older driver is kind and funny, he also looks at his mom like she’s the sun, he makes her happy and that’s enough to put him in Logan’s good books. His mom deserves the best and he thinks from what little he’s seen, from how much more happy his mom has been (and god that was weird, because it wasn’t even like she wasn’t happy before) that Max might be the best for her. And Max now every time he sees Logan is always stopping to talk to him even if it’s just for a second to say a quick hi.

“Max is good with it. He knows that you're my number one and that’s never going to change.”

Logan flushes at the words.

“He also likes you, thinks you're a good kid.” She lets out an amused huff as the word kid leaves her mouth. It was odd to hear Max describe Logan that way, with only five years between them. But at the same time she knew it came from being practically a veteran in the sport. Max was coming up on ten years in Formula 1 despite his young age.

He flushes even more. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “He always asks about you, it’s really sweet. And he knows to that if you aren’t comfortable with this or need more time then that’s what will happen.”

“I am an adult.”

“You are.” She was sadly well aware of that fact. “But you are my baby, my kid. I couldn’t be in a relationship with someone if you didn’t like them or if it made you uncomfortable.”

He nods. “I’m okay with it. Max makes you happy, he’s nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

—

She lets out a giggle as arms wrap around her from behind, lips pressing against her cheek. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Another kiss is pressed to her cheek. “Can I help?”

She glances down at what she’s finishing up. “No. You could set the table, though?”

“Done.” A kiss is pressed to her temple and then the blanket of heat that covered her back is gone. “What cabinet?”

“First one entering the kitchen on the left.” She says, turning her head a bit to watch as Max pulls the dishes out.

Her mouth goes a little dry as she watches him. His t-shirt is tight around his biceps and chest. His skin is a little tanned after their date a few days ago on a friend's yacht. She forces her eyes to not look at his hands, instead trailing them up to his strong shoulders and neck and then to his face. Max, she thinks as he starts to put the plates on the table, is unfairly attractive. Before he can catch her staring, she checks on the final thing on the stove. “Perfectly done.” She mumbles with a smile.

The sound of the front door opening makes her smile grow wider as she grabs a pot holder.

“Am I late?”

“Just on time.” She tells Logan as he steps into the kitchen.

“Can I,”

She stops him before he can continue. “No, go wash up.”

“Alright.” He bends a little to press a kiss to her cheek before turning on his heel, offering a wave to Max. “Hi.”

“Hi, Logan.”

Picking up the pan, she shakes her head as Max goes to try and take it from her.

“Logan and you are both going to get on too well.”

“Why’s that?” He asks, a twinkle in his eye.

“You both don’t like when I lift anything.”

“What’s the point of having a son or a boyfriend, then?” Logan says, clapping Max on the shoulder as he comes back.

Max grins at the younger, delighted as he claps him back. “Exactly. We feel a bit neglected.”

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, though a smile is stretching across her lips.

—

Max watches amused as the mother and son argue.

“Mom, it would be for two races, two, that’s it.”

“One race, really.” Max chimes in, smiling when she glares at him. “Spa is nice, but Zandvoort is really what I consider my home race.”

“See, it would be one race. Max wants you in his garage.” Logan says, looking at the other driver, begging for him to help but at the last sentence Max shakes his head.

“I never said that. Well, I would like to see Pan in my garage, not for the whole weekend, or even a day. She’s part of your team.”

Logan looks at him, bewildered. “But, it’s your home race.”

He shrugs. “I’d like for her to stop by, you as well. I already have it cleared with the team. Staying for even a whole session though just doesn’t make any sense. I don’t need her on my side of the garage to know that she’s supporting me, wanting me to do well, not when you are on the grid.”

“Are you sure?”

Max smiles at Logan, because yes he was sure. Did he want her there, supporting him? Maybe even dressed in something with his number? Of course. But, he liked seeing her in Logan’s garage. Supporting him, wearing his merch, being a mom. “I’m more than sure.”

“Besides,” she says, drawing both of their attention. “Max and I haven’t gone public yet. Or really told anyone yet.”

—

“Well, this is a bit of an odd one.” Laura says as they stop in front of the Red Bull garage.

The cameraman focuses on what she’s looking at.

“Both Logan Sargeant and his mother, better known as Pan from Formula 2 fans, are in the Red Bull garage, currently talking with our current championship leader Max Verstappen, his engineer GP, and Daniel Ricciardo.”

“Shall I see if I can steal one of them away?” Will asks, smiling at the camera as he holds the F1 TV microphone loosely.

“Please.” She gestures.

Will steps towards the garage smiling at the small group hovering just inside. “Could I steal one of you for a quick minute?”

The five exchange a look and Will stops himself from rolling his eyes at the way they all look annoyed at the idea, but Logan nods. “Sure.”

“Thank you.”

He watches as Logan says something quietly to them, getting nods from them all. His brow furrows when Max squeezes his shoulder before the younger driver gives his mom a quick hug, making him shake his head. Logan Sargeant was an absolute mommy’s boy and it was embarrassing as all hell to see. He couldn’t imagine being twenty and hugging his mom in public, let alone all those videos and photos of him reaching for her hand.

Will ignored the part of him that did think it was sweet and felt bad for the kid. He couldn’t look all sappy while filming, especially not when in front of the Red Bull garage.

“Hi everyone.” Logan greets, taking the third mic from the newest crew member.

“Hello, Logan. How are you feeling about this weekend?”

He smiles at Laura. “I’m feeling okay, I’ve raced here before, obviously not in an F1 car, but I do have some experience with this track.”

“And you and your mum’s visit to the Red Bull garage, should we expect an announcement of you switching teams?” She teases.

“No.” He laughs. “No, uh, just visiting for personal reasons. Saying hello to Daniel, wishing Max a good home race.”

“I mean, I’m not sure, he needs it.” Will jokes, gaining a few laughs. “So, no business to be done at Red Bull? Just saying a hello and wishing a good race to a fellow driver.”

“Yeah,” he pauses, looking back at the garage where it’s just Max and his mom standing now watching him with smiles on their faces. It’s only that he continues when his mom gives a brief nod, one barely able to be seen by the camera. “And I wasn’t just wishing a fellow driver good luck.”

“Oh?”

Logan grins, looking pleased with himself. “I was wishing my new dad good luck.”

—

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.”

Max freezes at her words, hand still on the doorknob from just stepping into the room.

“Hi, schat.”

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” She repeats.

His brain is scrambling because what exactly had Carlos done but also why was it so attractive to her say the word cunt. It had to be the accent, he decided quickly, still trying to figure out the Carlos thing. “And why is Carlos a cunt?” He finally asks, releasing the door knob and stepping further into the room.

She’s on her laptop, rapidly typing something, and he can feel anger radiating off her.

“That bullshit he spewed, blaming Oscar’s inexperience.” She scoffs, pausing her typing as she shakes her head. “It was an incident, a racing incident, something he knows a lot about. There was no inexperience fault.”

“Oscar’s okay?” He already knows that he is, but knows it's good to ask.

“He’s good. He knows that it's a racing incident.”

Max winces. Wonders for a second if he should warn Carlos to keep his mouth shut, but shrugs. It wasn’t his fault that Carlos was getting in trouble because he couldn’t watch his mouth or correctly look at footage. “Can I help?”

She sighs, hitting close on whatever she was writing in. “No.” She then closes her laptop, turning to face him, with a smile. “Hi. Congrats on the win.”

“Thank you.” He bends to kiss her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just,” she waves her hand at her laptop, “stuff.”

“Anything I can help with?”

She starts to shake her head no as he sits on the edge of the bed, but she stops.

“Actually, could I get your insight on something? Not just as a driver, but as someone who lives and breathes racing, loves data, really knows how the sport works.”

“Of course. What’s going on?”

Another sigh leaves her, hand coming up to rub at her mouth for a second before it drops. “Why would a team not resign a driver?”

His eyebrows furrow, because she knows the reasons, but he answers. “Not performing well, they want out of the team or sport, sponsorship issues.”

“The driver wants to stay in the sport and the team.” Her lips turn downwards a bit at the word team. “And the driver brought new sponsorships to the team.”

“They have to be not performing well.”

“They’re a rookie in a back marker team.”

“They have to be really performing badly.” Max says, trying to think of who in Formula 2 or 3 she’s talking about.

“They already have six points and have placed ahead of their experienced teammate three times.”

His mind is scrambling again, trying to find a reason, because what? “How many does his teammate have?”

“Nine.”

“I have no idea. Not unless there’s conflict within the team.”

She shakes her head.

“Is there potentially a more experienced driver for the spot?”

She shakes her head. “They’re looking at another rookie or maybe someone who stepped away from the series for a year, though they’d rather take a rookie than him.”

“I don’t have an answer for you. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

She nods, expression falling and she’s rubbing at her face.

“What’s going on?” He asks, standing up just to crouch down in front of her, taking her hands in his.

“The driver’s Logan.”

“What?”

“Williams isn’t sure they want to offer Logan another year.”

Max stares at her. “How?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, laughing. “There’s talks of them signing whoever wins this F2 championship or even the runner-up depending on who it is. Logan’s making too many mistakes.”

“He’s costing them too much money.” Max fills in the blank, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous. Don’t take a rookie if you can’t afford it. You are supposed to account for the worse. And he’s doing well. It’s not his fault that they built a shit car.”

“I don’t know what to do.” She admits, voice just a whisper, and his heart clenches painfully at the sound of it, at the tears in her eyes. “This is his dream. I don't know what to do if that gets taken away from him.”

“It won’t. We’ll figure something out.” He tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

—

“I think I’m spoiled.” Max says, watching as she gets ready for bed. A faint feeling of arousal pooling his gut as she pulls on one of his shirts. He absentmindedly wonders if it would be weird to wear it tomorrow to the track, the scent of her lotion clinging to it.

“Why’s that, honey?”

He smiles, cheeks a bit pink, and that arousal builds a bit more at the pet name, at the way she shifts in the vanity chair to loosen some tension in her back. “You come to every race, you see me win, you celebrate them, you got to see me win my third championship today.” Those words feel weird off his tongue, today, but totally sober to celebrate. He wants desperately for tomorrow to come, for the race to finish so they can celebrate, him, her, Logan, the team.

“I guess you are a bit spoiled.”

He gasps, clutching at his heart, making her giggle.

“That’s okay though.” She says, getting up and moving onto the bed, straddling him. “I think I like you spoiled.”

He groans as she dips her head, pressing a kiss to the flutter of his pulse. “Schat.” It's a warning to stop and a plea for more.

“I know.” She kisses the spot a bit firmer. “Celebrations will have to wait just a day longer.” She then rolls off him, his arm immediately lifting so she can press against his side.

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race.”

She snorts, “A sprint race never stopped us before.”

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race in Qatar.” He amends.

“Very true.”

He sighs, staring at the ceiling as he calms down, luckily the feeling of her fingers tapping along his stomach not making it harder.

“How’s Logan feeling?” Max asks, remembering how pale he looked when they got dinner.

She sighs, moving somehow closer. “Not great. No fever, but his stomach is still a bit upset.”

He winces. “He gonna be okay tomorrow?”

“I hope so. The team knows that he’s sick, they’ll make the right choice.”

“I hope so.” He echoes, wishing that Logan felt better, hoping that he feels better by the time the race starts.

—

“We are confident in him.” Max scoffs, tossing his phone aside.

“I know.”

“Logan still wanting to do his new routine.”

She nods, lips pursed.

He shakes his head. “He did good.” It wasn’t the rookie season that Oscar had, but it couldn’t be. Oscar got lucky enough to get a seat in a near top team, while Logan got one with a back of the grid team that was sometimes midfield.

Logan scoring ten points, getting himself to sixteenth in the standings, tied with Bottas in the standings, was very good for a rookie. It was a shame that Williams seemed to think he could’ve and should have done better. At least, Max thinks, the 2025 grid was wide open for possibilities.

“Are him and Oscar still joining us?”

She throws him a look. “Us?”

“You.” He amends, knowing that despite him joining her, he’d get caught up in Redline and different things. He was just happy she didn’t mind that.

“Only for a few days and then they both are off to Australia.”

“Will Logan be joining us for Florida?”

“Yes. My mom has been asking the next time she’s going to see her only grandchild.”

Max laughs at the eye roll. “So, Belgium first, then Monaco,”

“You go to Milton for a day after.”

He nods, “then Greece, Florida, Monaco.”

“Not bad for the first few weeks of winter break.”

“Not bad at all.” He agrees, wrapping his arms around her waist, chest pressed against her back.

It’s quiet between the couple as Max sways them.

“Max.”

“Yes?”

“Your mom, she does know that I’m not in my forties right? Or thirties?” She figured that the woman did, but she also had only briefly gotten to meet her at the one race, and there had been an odd expression on her face when Max introduced her as his girlfriend.

He freezes.

“Max.”

“I knew I forgot something.”

@ohtous @cixrosie @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @quackquackhun @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @stopeatread @crashingwavesofeuphoria @jointhehunt67 @namgification @asphalstead @poppyflower-22 @racingheartsposts @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803