#they just wanted to get a rise out of me. so i beat them at their own game

[julymusings]

you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is type A and suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep. 

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow. 

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam. 

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing. 

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?” 

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not. 

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly. 

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered. 

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

[dcxdpdabbles]

Holiday request: single dad

Bruce admits that he is unsure of the seriousness of his relationship with Daniel Fenton. He had never meant to run into the man after the parent-teacher conference. Yes, his introduction had a breath of fresh air, but Bruce was not naive.

It may have all been a trick, and Fentong was merely waiting to try to get closer to him or his money later on. He has always been optimistic about the good in man's hearts, but Bruce is also familiar with the equal darkness there.

That's why spotting the man in a busy cafe was such a shock. Bruce had gone on a walk between meetings, wanting something sweet to tie him over for the follow-up one.

He walked into a random family-owned place with a spicy smell. Bruce had been browsing the menu when he heard the soft melody for Fairy Tale Ending by Dumpty Humpty. Looking around a pillar, he found Daniel Fenton bobbing his head to the music while tapping away on his old beat-up laptop.

The cashier sees him staring and smiles apologetically. "We don't usually have people here, so we let him play his music. If it bothers you, I can ask him to get his headphones on."

"Oh no. I actually like the band." He assures her, paying for his drink and dropping a ten in her tip jar. He glances at Fenton again, then points, "What is he drinking?"

"Gingerbread Latte and a chocolate croissant," She responds easily, and at that moment, Bruce knows she hasn't recognized him. Not that he expects everyone on the street to point him out in a crowd, but it does mean she won't take pictures of him.

She doesn't know the photos could get her some money from down-on-their-luck gossip rags. He considers Fenton a little longer before nodding at her. "Can I have a gingerbread Latte? The exact same as his."

"You got it."

Bruce doesn't know what urges him to approach Fenton with the two drinks- though the cashier giving him a wink might have clued him in and clears his throat just as Fenton gets to the chorus. Blue eyes blink up at him. "Oh, Mr. Wayne. Hi."

"Good afternoon," Bruce starts, which causes Fenton to snort. With good-natured humor, he grins up at Bruce, and Bruce feels his intrigue rise just a few notches higher.

"Good afternoon to you as well, milord." The man says, one hand over his chest, bending his neck a little in a mock bow. "Has thy golden carriage brought to thy to me?"

"Having a golden carriage is a privilege for only the Roayl family. My carriage is made of silver, I assure you." Bruce laughs, stepping closer. This is different from the cashier. Fenton knows who he is, but he simply doesn't care.

Bruce is merely Bruce to him instead of the wealthiest man in the city and the country. It's....well, it's liberating, like being reminded that there are good and wonderful things still left in life. If this is how Fenton makes him feel only after the second meeting, what else could Bruce experience if he formed a bond with him?

Fenton's eyes catch the extra drink Bruce holds, lighting up when the other man offers it to him. He accepts the cup, offering the chair opposite from him. When Brue sits down, he asks about what he was writing where. Fenton admits to being a fantasy novelist and moves the conversation to what they enjoy reading.

Bruce arrived late to his next meeting but felt lighter, and a phone number scribbled on the back of his hand just like when he was a teenager and traveling states away to attend Dumpty Humpty Concerts.

The rest, like they say, is history.

Danny had quickly become a part of his life. It was odd how giggly the other man made him feel. Danny was a good balance to Bruce's brooding. Ironically, while Bruce believed the best in humans, keeping a calm center persona, Danny was cynical and bubbly. He assumed people were terrible, but there was no reason to give them any mind, and he was unapologetic for being himself.

After their third date, Bruce has worked up the nerve to ask Danny to be his boyfriend, only to have the other man laugh. "I thought we were boyfriends?"

"I didn't want to assume."

"Well, aren't you a gentleman? Look at those soft hands. You've never seen a day of work. Gentle-handed man," Danny teased while watching the people around them. Bruce knew there wasn't any real danger, but Danny had a habit of watching their surroundings in public places.

He didn't like being caught unaware. Bruce thinks he's in love. The thing is, Bruce has thought that before, and every single time, his relationship had fallen through.

He had a hand in it, but that didn't mean his partners never broke his heart one way or another.

But this time, things would be different.

Dick had pointed it out when he ran into the two at the grocery store. Danny had invited him to help pick out dinner while Dani had been on an overnight field trip at the planetarium. His eldest had cornered him when he returned the next day, smiling widely.

"Danny seems excellent. He's like an undercover goth dating an undercover prep. You both are literally the opposite of each other and seem to like spending time around each other."

Bruce wasn't entirely sure whether it was a bad or good thing, but he was happy that his kids approved of him dating again. He did get a little nervous about Damian, only to find out his youngest had come to idolize Dani, and that only made him hope the relationship would work out even more.

He could see it now, Danny tapping away on his laptop while Dani painted next to him in the Wayne Manor yard- Both preferred to be in nature- on cozy weekends. His children crowding the breakfast table while Danny sang songs from bands he'd never heard.

Birthday candles are being blown out with the cheering family. Christmas mornings followed the candle lighting of Hanukkah on the previous eight nights. Graduation ceremonies that will bring Bruce to tears despite claiming he has trained too hard to do so. Boyfriends and girlfriends, the two could tag team into scaring while their children regretted ever bringing them over for an introduction.

Danny would be the last thing he saw when he closed his eyes before bed and the first thing he saw in the morning light.

Bruce wasn't sure how their relationship was going, but he hoped, oh, he hoped.

[dearru]

twelve grapes | o.miya

pairing: ts!miya osamu x gn!reader | sfw | cw: slight manga spoilers, alcohol, atsumu sucks and kita is here too, a lot of yearning and unresolved feelings, no use of yn | genre: hurt/comfort sorta but also idk just read it and you’ll see | wc: 3.3k (3330) | mlist

synopsis -> in attempting to follow an age-old tradition, you begin to confront some repressed feelings you have for your best friend.

TWENTY MINUTES UNTIL MIDNIGHT, and you’re buzzing with anticipation. Tonight was the annual New Year's party, and the air was alive with excitement. Laughter fills the room, and you navigate through the crowd, ignoring the feeling of sweaty partygoers pressing against your body. Normally, you’d hate pushing through a crowded group of people, but tonight, you’re on a mission. You need to find Kita– the reluctant host of this year’s party and your longtime friend. 

When you find him, you call out, bounding over to where he’s resigned to nursing a bottle of water on the couch, looking entirely overwhelmed by the festivities. You giggle at his current state as he lifts his head sluggishly, eyes half-lidded and fighting sleep. If he weren’t the host of this event, you’re sure he’d already be snuggled under his warm bedsheets, sleeping the Holiday away. 

He hums, sitting up to give you his full attention despite his exhaustion. 

“Do you have grapes?” you ask. 

“Grapes?” He tilts his head, “I have some in the kitchen.” And like the good host he is, he rises from the couch. It’s a half-hearted attempt but appreciated nonetheless. 

Shaking your head, you gesture for him to sit back down, “I can get them; it’s okay!” 

Nodding, he looks almost relieved as he points toward the kitchen. “Top shelf of the fridge.” He says, smiling appreciatively. 

Before you can go, you feel a hand grip your shoulder. Turning, you see a familiar mop of blonde hair and a mischievous grin staring back at you. 

Atsumu Miya– who is another one of your long-term friends, unfortunately. 

“Who’s goin’ to the kitchen?”  The setter slurs, cheeks flushed, “Get me another beer, yeah?” His eyes are glazed over, and the scent of what you presume to be the copious amounts of alcohol he’s consumed wafts off him. The odor is prominent and slightly bitter. You fight the urge to shake your head in knowing disappointment. 

“I think you’ve had enough.” Kita scolds, calm but firm. Atsumu puts a hand up in submission and mutters something under his breath, still holding onto you. 

Chuckling, you untangle yourself from his grasp, glancing toward the kitchen. “Couldn’t get you a beer even if I wanted,” You tease, “I’m gonna stay in the kitchen ‘til midnight.”  

Yawning loudly and plopping down on the sofa next to Kita, Atsumu peers at you curiously. “Midnight? ‘Samu gonna be there too?” He snickers, nudging his former teammate. Kita shoots him a warning glance and then shifts his gaze to you. It’s warm and empathetic. 

You stiffen. The sound of his name has your heart skipping a beat, and Atsumu’s question echoes loud in your ear like the pop of a champagne cork. Everyone’s been drinking tonight, so maybe it’s the liquor and crowd getting to you, but you suddenly feel aware of how your breath catches.

You and Osamu are friends– best friends, even– but recently, you’ve started to notice things about him that maybe best friends shouldn’t notice. Like the way his hair tousles in an annoyingly effortless way or how he rolls his sleeves up just enough for you to get a glimpse of his arms, toned and strong. You try your best to push the thoughts away because you two are friends, and it’s wrong to think of friends like that. 

Try as you might, it’s more difficult said than done. Especially when you two spend every free moment you have together. Even after spending long, laborious nights slaving away at Onigiri Miya, Osamu always stops by your apartment, doggy bag in hand. He tells you it’s just to make sure you’re eating, but you know the casual drop-ins are an excuse to have hour-long chats together in the dead of night. You never mind, but it makes you wonder if he thinks about you in the way you think about him. 

It’s wishful thinking, you tell yourself, He’s got better things to worry about than you. It’s best practice to not have false hope, and you’ve tried your best to not let all the inner turmoil affect the way you act.

When Atsumu mentions his brother, you feel a wave of discomfort that betrays how desperately unbothered you want to seem by him. You want to laugh it off, but the words don’t come out in the effortlessly cool way you imagined in your head. 

“Why would we be together at midnight?” You ask. The words are rushed, and you cringe at how the pitch of your voice raises. The weight of his accusatory gaze makes you feel like a dying animal being stalked by a vulture. He’s onto you, and you can’t do anything about it. 

Letting the silence hang in the air for a moment longer than what’s comfortable, Atsumu sighs, chuckling and leaning further into the cushions, “If yer not with ‘Samu, then what’re ya doin’ in the kitchen?” 

You breathe a sigh of relief at the change of topic. “I’m doing the twelve grapes tradition.” 

“Twelve grapes?” Kita asks.

You smile, confidence returning to you, “Yeah! I read about it online. You eat twelve grapes under a table, and it’s supposed to bring good luck for the New Year.” 

Snorting, Atsumu crosses his arms, “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Biting your inner lip, your eyes narrow. You’re used to his blunt comments, but they still get under your skin sometimes. You try not to let it show. 

“Don’t be rude,” Kita sighs, then looks to you, voice softening, “Just don’t choke when you’re eating them, okay?” 

“I won’t.” You assure him while glaring at Atsumu, who’s still laughing under his breath. 

Making your way to the kitchen, you hear Atsumu call out, mockingly cheery, “Yer gonna look dumb bein’ all alone at Midnight!” 

You pause and then shake your head, continuing to the kitchen. What do you care if you’re alone? The one person you’d want to ring the New Year in with had probably left the party by now to get ready to open his restaurant in the morning, anyway. 

It’s not a big deal. 

TEN MINUTES UNTIL MIDNIGHT, and you feel stupid. 

In spite of Atsumu’s taunts, you’ve slipped away into the kitchen to escape the boisterous crowd that gathered around the living room. They’re all anxiously awaiting for 12:00 AM to strike together, and you’re by yourself. Bass from the loud music seeps through the thin walls and pulses through your head, amplifying your growing discomfort. You try to focus on how the quiet hum of the stove subtly masks the muffled sounds of laughter and the premature clinking of glasses from the other room. It would be nice, you think, to take a break from the party— if it weren’t for how alone you felt. 

This is silly.

Opening the fridge, you sigh as you feel the cool air hit your face, the chill sobering and harsh. You’re grateful for the obsessively organized way Kita stores his groceries; it makes it easy to find the grapes. They’re exactly where he said they’d be, tucked away on the top shelf. Grabbing the container, you set it down on the counter, gently plucking the fruit from the stem. As you place twelve into a bowl, the simple task is marred by a feeling of unbelievable doubt. You try to fight off the creeping sensation of dread overcoming you. 

Is this a dumb idea? 

You pause, thoughts wandering. You think about how this tradition is said to bring luck and success in all areas of life, it was exciting at first, but now it feels like an absurd notion. Why did you want to do this in the first place? 

As you continue to prepare the grapes, you try to settle the unease you feel. This tradition is supposed to be fun, but now you feel like it represents something more. Something bigger. 

Silently, you hope Atsumu will come and drag you away from this nonsense. It was always easier to ignore the thoughts when you were around others. 

But more than that, you wish for something else– Osamu. Looking down at the dish, you wish he would come and tell you how he feels. Reassure you there’s some merit in your thought. 

If that happened, you wouldn’t need the grapes anymore. It would prove that you had more than enough luck on your side. 

You really wish he was here. 

His lack of presence only emphasizes the emptiness of the room, and your heart lurches with the desire for him to be here with you. It’s pointless; though, you’re sure he’s gone home by now, and you’re still here with nothing but a bowl of fruit and unanswered questions.  

Running the sink, you wash the fruit, hoping it’ll help you calm down. But you realize that pushing down these thoughts is a futile task. You can’t keep pretending like you don’t feel this magnetic pull to him– you can’t keep acting like you don’t need him. 

You love him too much to ignore it anymore. 

FIVE MINUTES UNTIL MIDNIGHT, and you wonder if you should forget your idea and return to celebrate with the others. 

You haven’t gotten under the table yet. Instead, you’re standing idly by the counter, staring at the grapes with more intensity than they’re worth. With the magnitude of your previous realization sitting heavy on your chest, you wonder if this tradition holds the key to anything. 

Could it help you learn to navigate your now undeniable feelings? 

The thought of grapes being the answer to all your problems is such a silly idea that you giggle to yourself. It takes some of the weight off your mind. 

And then, with comedic timing, you hear Osamu call your name. 

Snapping your head to the doorframe, you see his figure walking towards you, the door swinging closed in his wake. The clock in the room ticks steadily, but time seems to move slowly. Though a typically reserved person, his presence feels large and looms over you, causing your heart to pound with want. 

Clearing your throat, you pick the bowl up, holding it tight to your chest like a shield. 

“I thought you went home,” You say, face warm. 

It’s almost time now, but Osamu’s sudden appearance has thrown a wrench in your plans. 

“Nah,” He waves his hand dismissively, “Just crashed on Kita’s bed for a bit. Shop was busy. Needed to recharge.” 

You hum mindlessly, finding it hard to focus. Adorning a fitted shirt and a simple pair of jeans, it makes you almost mad at how he doesn’t have to try, and he still looks good. 

You’re so screwed. 

“How’d you know I was here?”  You ask, tapping your fingers against the dish. The cool porcelain touches your fingertips and sends a rush down your spine. 

“‘Tsumu told me.” He explains, “ ‘S ‘cause he heard I was lookin’ for you.” 

Your heart stutters. “You were looking for me?” 

“‘Course I was,” He replies, amused. He says it like you’re silly for thinking otherwise. Lips turning into a slight grin, he shrugs, “‘S almost Midnight.” 

He steps closer, not seeming bothered at all. His gaze locks on yours, and you feel like it’s on purpose. When he tries to reach for a grape, you quickly jerk the dish out of reach. Osamu looks at you curiously. 

“What’re you doin’ here, anyways?” He asks, a playful glint in his eyes. There’s something else, too– but you can’t place it yet. 

You hold up the bowl, feeling a bit ridiculous having to explain yourself, “I’m— uh, gonna eat twelve of these under a table.” 

His gaze has your mind reeling. Tilting his head, he peers at you, “Why wouldn’t ya just eat ‘em right now? Grapes ‘re good.” 

You giggle at his simple nature. Of course he’d want to eat the snack as soon as possible. Trying to play it cool, you swat his hand away. His hand brushes against yours and makes you shiver. 

Clearing your throat, you avert your eyes, “It’s ‘cause people say if you eat them under the table at midnight, you’ll gain success in all areas of life.” You pause before quickly adding, “Even romance.” 

You regret it as soon as you say it, but you can’t do anything about it now. 

He raises his eyebrows, “Ya want a boyfriend?” 

“It would be nice, I guess,” You stammer, embarrassed but relieved to say something truthful about your feelings for once.

“I didn’t know that,” He hums thoughtfully.

An agonizing silence hangs in the air. The only noise comes from the increasingly rowdy crowd in the other room. 

Osamu breaks the still before you can. 

“So why aren’t ya under a table yet?” He asks, looking down at his watch, “‘S almost time.” 

Smiling sheepishly, you look down at the floor, “Well, I was gonna do it, but now I’m insecure ‘cause Atsumu said I’d look dumb being all alone.” 

He scoffs, “Don’t listen to ‘Tsumu– he’s the dumb one.” 

You chuckle, “I guess, yeah, but still, I’d feel better if I could’ve found someone to do it with me. Kinda like a solidarity thing, y’know?”

“Yeah,” He agrees, then grabs the bowl without warning. You lunge to grab it back, but he holds it just out of reach when you get close. Looking around the room, he seems like he’s considering his options. You whine. 

“Samu! I need those!” 

“Ya wanna do it right there?” He asks, ignoring your plea and pointing at a cozy table hidden in the nook of Kita’s kitchen. His voice is low and laced with a teasing energy. 

Taken aback, you stop your efforts. You stare at him. 

Was he going to do the tradition with you?  

He starts to walk away, and you stand there, confused. He looks over his shoulder, still holding the bowl out of your reach, “Well,” He says, “Ya comin’?”

“I…” You swallow, heart filling with something hopeful, “You’re serious?”  

“Dead.” He quips. 

And because you could never say no to him– and you also really did want to do the tradition— you haphazardly scramble to grab more grapes from the counter since Osamu had stolen yours. 

Kita would just have to forgive you for eating all his food. 

ONE MINUTE UNTIL MIDNIGHT, and your body warms from being in such close proximity to Osamu. If it were anyone else, you’d laugh at how the two of you barely fit under the small table, your knees awkwardly bumping and arms pressed together. But because it’s him, the closeness hurts. Your hands are so close that you ache to reach out and touch him. Every small movement sends a jolt of electricity through you. The faint scent of his cologne– sandalwood, you think– clings to his person and makes your pulse quicken.

Everything feels so trivial with him next to you. This moment shouldn’t feel as intimate as it does, but you can’t help it. 

Looking at the grapes, you wonder why he’s doing this. Did he feel bad for you? Is that why he wasn’t somewhere else, celebrating with his brother and other friends?

It’s all too much. At this rate, you’ll die before the clock strikes twelve. 

You have to say something. 

“I didn’t know you believed in stuff like this.” You say, careful to keep your voice steady. 

He turns to you, and you can feel his breath on your face. The sudden nearness steals your own breath away. 

He’s so close. 

“I like eating grapes.” He shrugs, his voice as calm as you wish you were. Pausing, he parts his lips to speak, eyes glimmering with something unspoken, “And maybe I need a little luck too.” 

You’re too eager to know what he’s talking about to hide your embarrassingly shrill speech, “Luck? With what?” 

His gaze holds yours, and for a second, you feel like he’s about to say something important– but he doesn’t. 

Instead, he gives you a sly smile. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see if it works,” He says. It’s teasing, but there’s something else in his eyes. It makes your heart lurch. 

His words settle over you like the weight of the sky, crushing you with their ambiguity. It’s cruel, how vaguely he speaks. Doesn’t he know what he’s doing to you? How he makes you feel? All you can do is gape at him, the air filling with so much tension that you’re sure he can feel it too. 

The countdown starts in the other room and delays your inevitable spiral. Nodding at him, you look at the grapes in front of you, preparing yourself for the task you originally set out to do.

You’re so focused that you miss how Osamu’s still looking at you. 

ONE MINUTE PAST MIDNIGHT, and you’ve both finished your grapes. The faint echoes of drunken cheering filter in from the other room– a signal that it’s time to leave the kitchen and rejoin the celebration. Despite this, neither you or Osamu have moved from your places under the table. You’re still so close. The sound of your shaky breaths dance together, and the heat of his touch burns your skin. 

He hasn’t stopped looking at you. 

You try not to meet his gaze. It’s charged and entirely too intense for you to even begin to wrap your head around what it all means. Maybe you’re looking too deeply into things again. But you don’t think you are. 

Eyes darting around the room, you settle on looking at the clock. Its ticking has sped back up to a normal pace, and you focus on the calming rhythm. 

It’s useless, though. You can’t ignore him. Not for long. 

“What?” You breathe out, still not looking at him directly. 

“Nothin’,” He echoes, voice equally quiet. 

You swallow, finally allowing yourself to indulge in the intimacy of having his complete attention. Examining his face, your eyes widen. He’s really staring. You squirm from the intensity of the situation, accidentally bumping his side. You squeak out a “Sorry!” And he laughs. It’s full of warmth and affection, and it makes the hairs on your arm stand. 

Your breath hitches. Has he always acted like this with you? 

He says your name and smiles softly. Gaze pining you in place, dark eyes filled with intent, “Ya think we’ll both get what we want this year?” 

Your stomach flips.  

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask. The closeness paired with the intensity of his stare is almost unbearable. You’re sure he can see your heart beating out of your chest if he hadn’t picked up on it already.

He shrugs, “Dunno.” Then he gets up from under the table, brushing dust off his knees. The ghost of his touch lingers on your skin, and you have half the mind to tell him to come back. Under the table, it felt like you two were in your own world, but now you’re worlds apart. 

His hand falls in front of your face to help you up, and you accept it just to feel him touch you again. 

It’s silent for a moment as you two stand next to each other. You’re still close, even though you don’t have to be. 

“Hey,” Osamu says softly, voice cutting through the tension, “Happy New Year.” 

You blink at him, chest tight, “Yeah, Happy New Year.” 

He hesitates, just for a moment, mouth opening like he wants to say something more, “I…” He starts but then shakes his head, “I think a lot’s gonna change this year.” 

You ache from everything left unspoken and what could be. An indescribable feeling settles over you, and your mind races with possibility. This year is a fresh slate– a chance for something new.

With luck on your side, maybe that something new could be with Osamu.

—a/n HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! This was supposed to be a 500 word drabble for a multi-character post, but I got a bit carried away…whoops! I hope you guys enjoyed regardless. I know longer fics don’t typically do well on tumblr, so If you read everything, I’m very grateful! I hope the Holiday season treated everyone who celebrate well :3.  

–a/n #2: according to mexican tradition, you’re supposed to match your underwear to what aligns with your desire for the new year. you and osamu both wore red aka the color of love. do with that what u will. (@cherrysurf gave me this idea!) 

[gffa]

Hi, I'm both curious and interested in starting a fight among the Batman fandom

There's an old joke where the Batmobile is failing to start. Batman says:

"Robin, can you check the battery?"

To which Robin says:

"What's a tery?"

I was just curious which Robin this would have been. Funniest and most likely answer are both acceptable

Here's my answers: All of them made this exact joke. Dick came by it honestly, that's his sense of humor, especially because he likes needling Bruce for a reaction, he is never as proud of himself as when he can get Batman to laugh and dumb jokes are his FAVORITE way of getting a rise out of the man. Jason would make the joke, because he was trying to live up to Dick Grayson's legacy and mold himself in the same image, so he made jokes that weren't really his style sometimes and it was really cute, because Bruce would smile, but the times he would get a real laugh out of Bruce were when he made his own style of jokes. Tim would do it because he was beating Nightwing to the punch on a joke, because Tim Drake may be a Dick Grayson stan first and a human being second, but that often came out in the form of, "I must steal my favorite human being's joke So He Will Approve Of Me." This 100% works, Dick acts offended that his line was stepped on, but he laughs and noogies Tim's head because that's now his baby brother. Steph would do it because she's trying to fit in at the time, trying to live up to the mantle of Robin, because she's seen Tim step on people's jokes and how it's a good ice-breaker and she's really working hard at this. Damian would do it because Damian is The Funniest Child Alive Actually and will whip out a joke when you least expect it, but also because that child's foundation as a superhero was 100% Dick Grayson and sometimes he misses Dick so he makes Dick's stupid joke for him. Ultra Hot Take: Sometimes all five of them try for it at once and NOBODY is happy at the ensuing chaos, because someone has to Win at the joke, because if you're all reaching for it, nobody is annoyed. EXCEPT when Bruce makes an annoyed little "Hn." noise and then they all swivel their heads towards him at the exact same speed and light up with unholy glee and start chirping it on repeat. "What's a tery?" "What's a tery?" "What's a tery?" "What's a tery?" "What's a tery?" on repeat for a solid 30 seconds like a group of parrots in an echo chamber. It's uncanny and Bruce hates it, but, hey, it's teamwork and he wanted them to work together better, don't punish the behavior you want to see, Bruce.

[astracora]

Happy Newdawn Day!

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc (featuring Nero, Tara, Simone, Greyson, Yvonne, Jeremiah, Thomas and Caleb (mention only))

Warnings: None

Word Count: 5797

Written: 1st January 2025

Notes: Established relationship with gn!MC (using Cat Curse MC) with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. I'm so sorry this got away from me so much I feel baffled by it. I just had to get it down, it's so messy and not beta-read, but I love them all so much. (I'm also sorry for the ending, I got possessed by Caleb's not-ghost). So enjoy... the first actual fic I've written for the Poly!LADs and not just smaus... Now I need to eat.

Masterlist AO3

If someone asked you right now, “Hey, a year ago did you think you’d be stood here?”

Well, you’d have given some incredulous notion of being alive, let alone stood in one of Linkon’s Parks, taking in the sight of your loved ones.

Most of them, anyway.

If, upon meeting Xavier, Rafayel, Sylus and Zayne (again), someone had said, “Hey in a years time they will be the most important people to you.” You’d have laughed in their face. The idea as absurd as it is invigorating… because they are. The most important people in the world to you. The companions you trust to have your back in combat, the people you want to see most when you wake up, the lives you most want to share.

You think back to a hazy childhood, told your heart could give out any minute. A timeline unknown, the nature of your condition hard to track. The core in your chest, a question no one had the answer to. Giving up on a future, on meaning anything.

You think back to days spent in the hospital, for your heart, for injuries gained from fights that even Caleb couldn’t help piece back together, for the arm you lost. Wondering if you were going to hit the wall eventually.

When you lost Caleb, your partner in crime, and rock, you’d expected the tides to rise. Sinking you.

It was folly to misjudge those around you. Kindness, warmth and love, with some degree of greed. Of course they’d grabbed your hand, pulling you back to land. Wrapping you in a towel, bringing you to heat, keeping you shielded against the chill.

The wounds healed, though they left scars behind, but you could breathe again. 

That troublesome little heart beating harder, hope as a lifeblood. Bringing you forward, keeping you moving.

All the way to a new year.

Between the five of you, the gathering had bloomed out for Newdawn Day.

You’re not sure how Rafayel and Sylus had gotten permission to rent out an entire park. Money had to be involved, you also wouldn’t be surprised if threats came into play too. Though you hope not.

You’d been decorating all morning. Flowers, bunting, balloons. Tables set up with food, drinks and an entire section set up with photobooth equipment and props. After all, you’d spent far too much of this year taking photos, what better way to commemorate the end of it.

Xavie’s barbeque has reopened, with Sylus keeping a watchful eye… or being an interference. It was hard to tell.

Rafayel has taken to making drinks, you weren’t sure where he learned how to mix cocktails, but you’re happy to leave him to it. Watching as he makes non-alcoholic ones for Zayne as well.

You sit with Tara and Simone, watching the people around you.

“I can’t believe we’ve been hunters for a year now.” Tara nudges you, grin on her face. Her cheeks are slightly pink, eyes glittering as she leans her head on your shoulder. “I’m so glad we joined together.”

The fidgeting in your chest is ticklish, and you let out a soft laugh under breathe, “Yeah, me too Tay.”

Simone leans back in her chair, stretching her arms out behind her, as she balances on the back two legs, “We’ve been really busy, I bet it’ll get worse too.”

Tara groans, “Come on Omi…”

A bark of laughter is the response as she rights her chair, leaning forwards, “Hey, it’s fine, we’ll be working at it together.” Poking Tara in the forehead, she laughs again.

As she rubs the offending spot, Tara looks over at where Nero is chatting to Xavier, “Can’t believe Nero came, he doesn’t really enjoy these kind of things.”

“Yeah, no offence but I think he likes Wanderers more than us.”

You laugh, it’s not incorrect. You think about meeting Nero, about the shy man who is a living encyclopedia about wanderers, who could talk for hours about Lumiere. You also think about how isolating it is not to share things you enjoy with others, not knowing how to approach people because they think you’re weird.

Odd.

Not fitting in.

You think about how the first time you’d engaged with Nero’s conversation, his eyes had lit up and he’d leaned forwards so far in his chair he’d fallen out of it.

You think about how he attached himself to Xavier, just because the man listened, calm, even if he didn’t always have much to say in response.

Didn’t make him feel like an outsider.

Pride fills your chest even though Xavier’s personality has little to do with you. You still find yourself loving him more for his warmth. His acceptance.

The sleepy smile on his face when he assures someone he has no problems hearing them.

“There’s no Lumiere specials running today,” Simone is talking, looking at her phone, “maybe the size of the gathering and that mixed together to make a Nero appearance.”

“Plus, Xavier.”

“We should have invited Jenna!” Tara exclaimed, grabbing your arm, pulling it. You think that maybe Raffy put a little too much rum in her daiquiri.

“Do you think she would have even come?”

You think about Sylus over by the grill, arms folded and canines on show in his smirk, “I think maybe next time, I’m sure we can invite her next time.”

When the stress of having hunters in the same area as Sylus isn’t quite so high, when you’re not constantly worried about tripping up with his name. When you don’t have to sit and debate if inviting him is worth the risk, despite loving him and wanting him there. Wanting to see him outside of his world of violence and strain.

You’re not sure how much Jenna knows, but it’s not worth pushing a brick in an old wall.

“You should check on those kids though.” Simone reaches over to turn your head, to where to twins are milling around by the dessert table. You can see them fidgeting. Hand twisting in their hoodie pockets. “Either they really want some cake, or they’re uncomfortable.”

You are standing before she’s even finished talking, worry twisting at you like a snake around your chest.

Tara releases your arm and nudges you forwards, grin on her face, “It’s Simone’s turn to get drinks anyway.”

The woman laughs, twisting the end of her ponytail around her finger, “They’re free, this is the easiest set of rounds I’ve ever had to get.”

Your laugh is soft, and warm, and so heavy in your heart, but you lean down to kiss the top of Tara’s head as she smiles so happily up at you, “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“See ya bestie!”

Simone returns the salute you offer, and you let your feet carry you to the twins.

They’re wearing their crow hoodies again, but with party hats over the hoods. Kieran’s scars are visible, his hood pushed back so you can see his eyes. They’re wavering, unsure. Darting around the place. It’s less controlled, but he looks so much like Sylus does that you pause.

Worried. They’re worried.

Of course they are, there’s hunters here, people who pose some… degree of threat to the person they care most about, other than each other.

Luke is fidgeting, bouncing on the heels of his feet, like he doesn’t know where to put all the pent up energy. You can tell the two are in a feedback loop. Feeding off each others anxieties.

As you approach, they seem to halt, for a moment. Looking at each other, then at the cakes, then at you. Seconds, and then Luke forces a grin. “Hey Hunter!”

Your head tilts as you watch them, Luke pushing his hood back a little so he can look at you properly.

“You’re wearing them again?” It’s an easier question, than the one you want to ask.

“Of course! They’re comfy.”

“Boss keeps pulling them off us to wash them.” Kieran pouts at you, the expression pulling at the scar over his cheek, “Aren’t clothes meant to be worn?”

It’s hard not to laugh at them, they remind you of kids far younger than they are sometimes. Other times the darkness lingering in their gaze is reminiscent of one you’ve seen in your own. In Sylus’… In Rafayel’s.

There’s a sickening in your stomach, that you have to move on from quickly, lest it start to burn like acid.

“You have to take care of them, clean them, and they’ll last longer.”

Kieran rubs his chin, and the laugh comes out this time. They really have picked up so many traits from Sylus.

It gives you some courage, to focus on their expressions, and force through the feeling that always comes, “Are you two ok? You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

Luke blinks, fidgeting stopping, and droops, “No.”

Kieran nudges him, “He means, no we’re fine.”

“You don’t have to lie.” You move to the table, and despite knowing they haven’t eaten a proper meal yet, you slice some sponge cake and shove it into their hands on little paper plates. “Eat.”

You feel like Zayne is in front of you for a moment.

Eat, then talk about how you’re feeling.

You’re not sure the cake fixes the feeling of struggling through your feelings, but you do know that the distraction of sugar, gives you a moment to ground on something real. Tangible.

The twins take the plates, looking down at them, and then back up at you.

“You don’t have to stay, anywhere you don’t want to be. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You don’t have to pretend, or lie, or act a certain way.”

You’re relieved when they take the plates, even happier when Luke shoves some in his mouth. He doesn’t bother with the fork, just grabs it. Kieran pokes at it for a moment, before following in his brother’s footsteps.

“There’s a lot of people.” Kieran finally speaks, twisting his fork in the sponge.

“You can borrow my noise cancelling headphones if you like? I’m sure Zayne has his too.”

Luke shakes his head, “Not like that. Too many possible threats.” He winces, “Sorry, they’re your friends.”

You sit on the table, carefully avoiding cake as you look at the two, “They’re my friends, they’re strangers to you. It’s alright.”

“We just feel weird. On edge.”

“Do you want to go back to the base, somewhere safer? Or home?”

The two shake their heads in sync, frowning more, “No. We want to be here. With boss. To celebrate.”

“So how can I help?”

The expression they shoot back is another you’ve seen on Sylus’ face. But their eyes are wider as they blink at you, their faces younger. Their cheeks softer. You wonder, for a moment, if this is what having brothers would make you feel like.

“If you want to stay,” You clarify, “what can be done to make you feel better here?”

They look at each other, hesitating on the precipice. You wonder if they fear revealing too much, like you are. Showing too much of your heart is a risk. It comes with the very real fear of stumbling over the edge, with no net to catch you.

It comes with your chest flayed open, fragile organ revealed, ready for the risk of a knife… or a hand, no matter how gentle.

“We don’t know.”

“Can we think about it?”

You nod, hopping off the table, “You come find me the second you work it out, or go bother Sylus. I’m sure Xavier would appreciate the break from his probable torment.”

They laugh, and you watch for a moment as they resume eating their cake. Some level of buoyancy back in their stances. The relief settles… It’s something at least.

A door they can walk through at any moment.

The smell of grilling meat and vegetables has you drifting over to Xavie’s Barbecue. You’re relieved that Sylus has been keeping an eye over it, because there’s no smell of burning, and Xavier’s successfully making an array of food for everyone.

You didn’t want to think about how much food wastage there would be otherwise…

Nero is talking animatedly, gesturing as Xavier nods. Sylus is half paying attention, smirking at the prince every now and then. He notices you first though, hearing your footsteps even over the grass.

Sharp red eyes, turning molten and liquid as his gaze focuses on your approach. “Ah, there you are kitten.” Is said on an exhale. You’d think it was relief, with the way he breathes you in as you stand next to him and Xavi.

Xavier uses the hand not currently turning burgers, to hold onto yours, squeezing before releasing.

With his chin resting on your shoulder, Sylus indicates towards Nero with a half-hearted wave, “The Lumiere fan was just telling us some new stories.” You can hear his amusement. Clearly enjoying the situation.

The look on Nero’s face, however, is thrilled. You’re used to spending time talking to him, but the glee you see is always somewhere on the verge of scary, and sweet. “I heard that Lumiere took on an Arbiterwing. ALONE!”

You feel ice drip down your spine, and your eyes pin Xavier. Who jumps, almost dropping his tongs.

A chuckle sounds in your ear, as a hand grabs your waist, thumb soothing under your shirt to help ease down your hackles.

“Oh you did, huh? All on his own?”

“Yeah, how cool right? Lumiere’s EVOL is so powerful.”

If you had your fangs still, you think they’d be showing, as your try not to outwardly glare at the hero in question, “So cool. I bet he’s a really impressive person. Lumiere, that is.”

This time Xavier pouts, and you see the light blush moving over his cheeks. He looks over at you, brows furrowing.

“I wonder how his loved ones must feel though, finding out he fought such a terrifying beast on his own.”

Now he has the decency to look guilty, like a sad bunny, ears drooping. You almost feel bad, almost. Wanting to soothe skin in your hands, before you remember he’s the one out there fighting wanderers you’d had to fight with a team, on his own. “I’m sure he was careful.” Xavier grumbles, pleading beautiful starry eyes focused on you.

“Foods burning, prince.” Sylus purrs from his place leaning against your shoulder.

The man in question jumps, and resumes his work.

Nero still has starry admirable eyes, not paying attention to your and Xavier’s starring, “It’s a shame he’s not a hunter, imagine how much more he could do in a team of us!”

You look away from Xavier, whose shoulders relax a bit when you stop spearing him with your eyes, and laugh, “Would be helpful having him around, right?”

Tara and Simone call over Nero, yelling for him to join them. You almost expect him to turn them down, but he seems buoyed by his conversations with Xavier, and trots over to join them.

One you’re alone, you turn around to look at Xavier properly, “Really? An Arbiterwing?”

Sylus growls a little, “Damn things.” You’ve never asked Sylus why he finds Arbiters so difficult, you remember fighting one with him in the N109 Zone, and you certainly didn’t want to fight one again if you could ever help it. Still he seems particularly irritable about them.

“I promise I was careful. I didn’t have time to call for anyone else.” He places a hand on the your cheek and presses a kid to your forehead, pleading eyes bright and beautiful. You sigh, tugging him down a little, planting a kiss on his cheek. His cheeks flare bright, and his fingers twitch against your cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You poke him in the chest now, “I’ll hold you to that, oh great hero.”

His groan is accompanied by yours and Sylus’ laugh. Who nuzzles against your shoulder, as he watches Xavier plating food.

“My job is done, nothing’s burned down.” He nips at your neck, “I think your favourite crow deserves praise.”

You mimic him, rubbing your chin with one hand, and titling your head, “Is Mephie around? I thought he had the day off.”

Another nip, this one a little harder, but not painful, “You’re cruel, kitten.” His hands are now both under your shirt, kneading your skin, warm palms sending small skitters of heat up and down your spine, “I worked hard, keeping the prince from destroying everything with his curse.”

“I’m not cursed.” Xavier spits back, “Some things just… don’t like working for me.”

“The burned down kitchen back at the base, certainly felt cursed.”

“It was your ovens fault.”

“Whatever you say, bunny.”

Your hand reaches up to tangle in Sylus’ soft hair as the two snipe at each other, easing through the strands and pulling his head in a way you can kiss him. He bites your bottom lip, and as you pull away, drowsily tries to chase your lips with his. Purring at the scratching at the back of his head. “You did good, both of you. Thank you.”

He doesn’t answer, just purrs and growls as he nuzzles, and inhales.

Xavier’s smile brightens, pride in his countenance as he nods, “Of course Starlight, whatever you need.”

“Take some grilled fish over to the fish, kitten.” Sylus finally breaks out of his daze, lifting himself up to grab a plate for Rafayel, that is being pilled with his favourites. “He’s been making drinks all day, I worry he’ll fall over soon.”

There’s something funny about the leader of Onychinus making sure Raffy is well fed, because he’d deny he was doing it. Pretend it was just to keep things moving smoothly, a measure to make the day easier to deal with.

Rather than what it actually is, concern for someone he cares about.

For a man so honest with his feelings, he prefers to hide them in smokescreens.

With a final kiss, one pressed to Xavier’s hand, and one to Sylus’ forehead, you leave with the plate.

When you approach Rafayel, he’s making a new drink for Yvonne and Greyson. It has gummy bears sprinkled on top, and a tiny little umbrella stuck in some pineapple. Greyson’s cheeks are very bright red, and you’re not surprised that he’s leaning heavily on Yvonne’s shoulder for balance.

“For you.” You offer the plate to Raffy, who sniffs at it happily, before stuffing a piece of salmon in his mouth.

“Cutie!” He speaks through chewing, pulling you down to join him at his makeshift bar. You grimace, staring at the sticky surface, and the mess he’s made.

Raffy is many things, a clean worker is not at all one of them.

You pull your arms back quickly to not get a horrifying sensory issue.

Your fish doesn’t notice, instead shaking a mixer in one hand, as he eats with the other. Even just looking at him, you can see the blush on his ears, and the slight unsteadiness to his hands. “Let me do that.” You take the mixer, “Eat.” He obliges, frowning only a little bit before he happily begins to clear his plate. Humming in satisfaction.

Xavier is a capable cook, when there’s no active flames or risk of explosion.

“Hey hunter!” Greyson exclaims, leaning forwards, his drink spilling a little over the side. “Thanks for inviting us.”

Yvonne smiles, offering you a glass of… what you assume is a Piña colada based by the pineapple slice. You take it, placing it down in front of you as you shake the mixer. Handing it back to Raffy, as he finishes his food. “I’m shocked seeing Dr Li trying to set up fireworks.”

Your laugh is warm, and fond. Zayne builds such an image of himself around others, “He’s secretly a big child, under the snowy layers.”

“Dr Li checked his watch so many times today, we were all worried we might get an emergency come in.”

“I wasn’t looking to seeing him frown, if that would have happened.”

“He shows his feelings so easily now, when it comes to you all.”

It’s hard to fight the heat in your cheeks, but its true. He has softened so much, especially recently.

Another drink is put down, “For Tara.” Raffy says, “This one for Simone.”

You watch as Yvonne nods, picking them up and wandering off.

“You’ve gained bar staff.” You speak, watching as Raffy puts his mixers down, finished with his orders for now, you assume. “What a successful little bar, our fishie is running.”

He preens, fangs peeking out with his smile, “I’m good at everything I do cutie.”

“Where did you even learn?” Greyson asks, chewing one of the gummy bears.

Rafayel shrugs, “Just one of those things you pick up when you travel.”

Looking at him, you want to ask follow up questions… but Raffy won’t share if he doesn’t want to, there’s always a feeling like looking through murky water with him. There’s always something there, lurking under the surface, but so hard to make out. You have to wait for it to surface, wait for it to come to you.

Better than trying to fish it out, and hurting it.

“I’ll take some water bottles around to everyone in a little while.” You look over at where Tara, Simone, and now Yvonne, are singing to a song playing throughout the park. As Nero nods his head absently, sipping some water. “Though your drinks are certainly popular.”

“Gotta greet the new day in style, cutie.” His head plops down into his hand, elbow on the bar, as he watches you. Beautiful eyes narrowing. Reading every little detail, every change.

Being stared at by Rafayel is a sensation that makes your back straighten.

When he puts his focus on something, he’s picking it apart, seeing every part of it, so he can paint it. In the way his eyes see the world. As art, as a wonder, as something worth protecting.

Your fingers reach out, shaking slightly, without even being aware of it, and brush the hair, that’s fallen right in front of his eyes, back. His skin paints red further, spreading down his neck, and his eyes sparkle. You wish you could paint, you wish more than anything that this beautiful man was kept in a portrait to stare at every moment of the day.

It’s hard to not believe in gods, when someone as beautiful as him sits there, staring at you. Like you make the waves crash against the shores.

He turns his head to kiss the tips of your fingers, before placing the pulse point of your wrist against his cheek again. “It’s a good day to celebrate.” He breathes out.

The laugh to your side pulls you out of your stupor, as Greyson nods in agreement. You pull back a little, though Rafayel doesn’t release your hand, keeping it in his lap as the two of you turn to your companion.

“Is Zayne doing ok?” You ask Rafayel.

“He debated drinking, then remembered how many people would be here, and changed his mind.”

“He’s a stickler for being a good example.” Greyson adds, stirring his drink.

You wonder if it’s really that, and the big snowman is not just stewing and fearing his control. Tightly wound and kept under lock and key, just in case. Always watchful.

At the very least, as you look over at him reading instructions on a firework box, you think he is having fun at least. You can’t say the same for Jeremiah, who is hovering by the photobooth, looking through the album next to it.

Raffy kisses your hand again, smiling at you, “Go be your nosy self, cutie. We’ll be here when you get back.”

“Or we’ll be playing spin the bottle much to Dr Li’s disappointment.”

You almost bark a laugh at Greyson, the mental image of Zayne playing spin the bottle or truth or dare, is such an image, you want to see it. Desperately. Pressing a kiss to the top of Raffy’s head as you stand, you wave at them both and head off.

“Sooo.” You poke your head over Jeremiah’s shoulder, who jumps. Looking at you like you’re a ghost. “Are you alright? Looking for any particular prop?”

It takes a moment before you think his brain starts working again, and he smiles… but its not a smile you’re used to seeing on Jeremiah’s face. You’ve seen it on Xavier’s face though. Sorrow lurking at the edges. Tired.

Maybe the passing of years for them both has a weight you’ll never understand.

“I’m alright, just… a lot of people. I haven’t been around this many in a long time.” He forces a laugh, “Silly right?”

You shake your head. You might have different reasons for struggling with crowds, but you refuse to let any of the people you’ve brought into your heart, think you are not a safe space for their concerns. “Not the first time I’ve heard that today. You’re fine.”

He’s got the album open on a photo of you, him and Xavier outside of Philos. Holding flowers in your arms.

It’s… a realisation that you’ve never seen Jeremiah with another person than Xavier. Like he’s become an island, with only Philos as his port.

So you change the page on the album, to some of Yvonne and Greyson. During the preparation for Zayne’s birthday. “We’ve taken so many photos this year.” It settles in your chest again, that thanks to your loved ones… you now have full albums, and many more to fill. “You should talk to Greyson, he likes sunflowers a lot.”

Jeremiah laughs, looking at you like you’re too obvious, “He’s a little drunk for that now.”

“When he sobers up then.” You huff, pushing the album into his arms, straightening the page out.

“I… I’ll try. It’s odd, seeing Xavier like this.”

“You can do it too, you know?”

There’s doubt in the mans eyes, you don’t want to look too close. It gives you a feeling like a fire that’s burned too long.

“Or you can just take some really stupid photos with me, wearing the worst hats we can find, and see how many we can take in under a minute.” It’s hard to look too close at someone’s emotions, you feel. Looking into someones eyes is painful, there are times you can manage it, and times you can’t.

You find some people’s gaze holds yours against your will, not violently, but powerfully. Rafayel and Sylus have eyes that pulling away from feels like tearing part of yourself out. Xavier and Zayne feel like staring into a tranquil pond, losing yourself.

Jeremiah’s right now are wavering on the edge of something, and you can’t keep looking at them, turning your head a little to look at the props on the table. You reach out, carefully picking up a pair of bunny ears, and place them carefully on his head.

“If you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to… but if you’re scared and still want to try, then stay, and build bridges.”

You think about the men you’ve made your home, and the fear of overcoming the need to flee from them.

The house in ashes and cinders. The number that never texts you back anymore.

“As grumpy as Xavier asks, he’s there if you need him. Me too.”

Jeremiah reaches up to touch the bunny ears on his head, and smiles weakly, “I do need to get a drink.”

You nudge him, hand gently pushing the man forwards towards where Raffy is now spinning a mixer around his finger, to the thrilled cheers of Greyson and Tara, “Go on then, make it a good one.”

As he walks away, he waves at you a little, but is soon pulled to sitting down by a drunk doctor, and a happy hunter.

Your final stop is the fireworks, as Thomas and Zayne set them up somewhere safe. You’re glad its Zayne setting them up, as you worry Raffy would get excited and set them off too early.

If there’s a flame to put out, better the snowman, than the fish.

As you approach, Zayne looks up, and his forest eyes soften at the vision of you. Smile quirking cool lips. “Darling, have you enjoyed yourself?”

He’s warm, and familiar, and safe. Like a hearth. The irony of the cold skin, versus how heated he makes you feel, is something. As you take his extended hand, thumb brushing over your skin, you settle against his side while Thomas finishes up.

“It’s nice, seeing everyone.” You offer, “Seeing everyone moving forwards for the new year.” You trace the skin under his eyes with your fingertip, down to his mouth. He gasps a little, a puff of breath against the cool metal, before taking your wandering fingers in his own.

“Seeing some of you relaxed, is also quite pleasant.” You tease, bumping him with your hip. His laugh is a soft noise, that settles in your chest. Cool around your frantic heart.

“Our little family has behaved themselves, I haven’t had to put out any fires. It’s allowed for the relaxation.”

“You mother hen.”

Thomas stands up, brushing his hands on his trousers and grinning over at you, “Hey Mx Bodyguard. We’re all done here finally. Has Rafayel gotten everyone drunk yet?”

“He’s trying, I think his plan is going well, while we’re all unconscious he’ll achieve world domination.”

Zayne tenses, releasing your metal hand to rub at the space between his eyes, “The feeling of dread has returned.”

“I’m sure he’ll find some place for us in his new kingdom.”

“You’d make a good jester, Zayne.”

“It’s getting worse.” Your doctor frowns, tugging at your hand to glare unserious eyes at you as you fight the urge to laugh, the quirk to your lips too obvious to him.

Thomas extends the box of sparklers to you, “We can use these later, after watching the show.”

Zayne looks down at what they’ve worked on as the three of you move away, back to the party. He’s often hard to read, but you can see the nerves in him, the worry he hasn’t done it right. So you squeeze his cold hand in your warmer one, and lean against his shoulder, “It’ll be great. Even if the fireworks sputter, we’ll have memories.”

His worries soothe, and he smiles, “Have to take some photos for that album of yours.”

“‘Newdawn Day, we watched some very sad fireworks, then played games for hours’.” You poke him in the side using your joined hands.

“You’ll have to sleep at some point.”

Thomas laughs, “You’re just as bad as Rafayel then?”

“I am not.”

“When did you last get a full 7 hours, darling?” Zayne raises his brow, you want to grumble and argue, but he knows you too well. You rarely sleep well. You rarely get a good amount of sleep.

The nightmares are getting a little better, a little, but there’s never enough time to get rest in-between all the other things you need to do.

“No wonder whenever I check on you two in the studio, you look like two feral cats.”

“Hey, don’t let Raffy hear you call him a cat, he’ll sulk again.”

Zayne’s hand in yours, entwines your fingers, squeezing, loosening, squeezing again. Over and over again. Like he’s using your hand as a stim toy. Or perhaps he’s offering you a grounding physical sensation.

Either way, you squeeze back.

It’s dark now, and there are lanterns set around the area. It’s a vision. Everyone has gathered back in the centre, drinks in hands, sitting in the grass, staring up at the sky.

You can hear laughter, chatter and the occasional too loud voice calling out excitedly.

Jeremiah sits with Greyson, drinking, and chatting, while Yvonne, Tara and Simone have begun clinking glasses together before each sip. Nero is lay down next to the three pointing out stars to them, while Xavier adds additional trivia about the constellations. Thomas walks ahead to sit near where the twins are throwing food into each others mouths, and occasionally at the back of Sylus’ head. Who is holding back the urge to pick them up with his EVOL.

Raffy’s cheeks are bright red, but resting his head in Sylus’ lap, trying not to spill his drink down himself. Xavier is lay next to him, an eye-mask pushed to the top of his head, but now that his work is done, he looks close to drifting off.

Zayne hands you the little remote, that controls the final event of the evening, “When you’re ready.”

You tug his hand, pulling him with you into the little gathering of your partners and friends. Shoving yourself against the heat of Sylus’ side, who chuckles and wraps an arm around your shoulder, to flick a bit of Zayne’s hair out of his eyes. Before pulling you closer.

Then tug the doctor down next to you. You think you’re smiling. You’re pretty sure you are.

It’s more familiar on your face than it ever used to be, and it’s something you hope becomes as familiar as the heart stuttering in your chest.

“Ready?” You call out, to a cheer of assent, and with a single press of the button, and love surrounding you. The sky is lit up with blossoming flowers.

“Happy Newdawn day!”

There’s a moment of quiet, when you step away from the party, a sparkler in your hand. You spell out names as you walk further out, not too far that you can’t hear everyone, but far enough that no one needs to see the tears lurking in your eyes.

Newdawn reminds you of everything you’ve gained, and everything you’ve lost…

Pulling your phone out, you open his messages. Unread messages fill the screen. Reminding you he’s not there…

Still, you can’t help but send him another one. Maybe, somewhere he’ll hear you.

Maybe wherever he is, he’s happy.

When your sparkler is dead, and your messages sent, you take in a deep inhale. Clearing the shadows from your heart, and turn back to where twinkling lights summon you home. Eyes are turned to you, green, red, blue and pink, and you feel their gazes pulling you back. Where you belong, where you’re safe, no matter what else comes after you.

So you follow their call, like they’re a siren song, willingly and joyfully. Ready to follow them to the depths of the ocean if you have to.

And as you do, for a small moment, you feel the phone in your pocket vibrate.

🍎 partner in crime 🍎: Hey Pipsqueak. Happy Newdawn day.

[boredpotate]

Happier Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own Arcane or any links. I only own the concept idea to this story and the story itself.

Concept: Isekai Fem Reader turns back time to fix her timeline, but it has unforeseen consequences.

Reader Pov

"MMMMPPPHHH!!!" I let out a muffled yell of pain. One of my kidnappers stomping on my braced leg; the leg brace being broken a while ago with some of the parts being bent or broken off.

I tried to escape, I really did, but that blow to the head really isn't me doing me any favors. They snuck me back down here to the deep end of the Undercity and once far enough away, they started their "payback" in some fucking dead end alleyway. Taking turns punching, kicking, slapping and just overall beating me to a pulp.

"Hey! Remember not to mess her up too much. We won't get paid if you break the merchandise" The woman who I determined as the boss of the rest of the group.

"Oh c'mon! We did this to get payback didn't we!?" one guy says as he kicks me on the ground as a heave for breathe.

"Yes, we did. We also all want to make an actual pay from this right?," their boss says and I can only guess the others agree, "Then we can't fucking kill her! We fuck her up, let her have what has been coming for a long time and then get paid. After that we can start making big moves down here, especially after this bitch is stuck in recovery." she says as she grabs my hair and lifts my head up to show them my state before throwing me back into the dirty alleyway floor.

"Fine. Still gonna have our fun though." Someone says kicking me in the back, the bruises that were already beginning to form from earlier assaults making the pain much worse.

I feel emotions rising again, but I don't shed tears for them. That would just make them happy. Instead I hold out and hope for this to be over soon; for the pain to just stop already. But a part that I try to bury down still sticks to my mind. A part of me that fears that this won't end, that they won't stop, they'll get carried away or change there minds.

'What if I die here?' the thought runs through my head as someone else decides to join in and get their hits in. The pain not getting any better, and only escalating as I scream out from behind my bindings.

"AAAAMMMMMPPPHHH!!!"

Powder Pov

"So what is it you wanted to talk about?" Ekko asks as we dance together as the music plays and people party and mingle around us.

"Two things. First, Y/n and I talked and she said some things that really touched me and open something up in me. So, I want to present the power cell with you. As partners, like you said you wanted to; before I walked off on you like a bitch. Sorry about that by the way." I say, feeling a little guilty now that I think back on when Ekko first asked me and I got upset at him.

"Really!? That's great! And you don't have to apologize for being upset. You were going through some things. We all do. But are you sure? You really want to do this with me?" he asks which makes me smile.

"Yes. I really do. I-I don't want to be stuck. I was scared of messing it all up and screwing things up for you too. I thought I would fail at it all..... but then Y/n talked to me. I'm still scared, but if I fail, I want to work through it. I wanna push forward and keep trying. I want to do that with you, Ekko." I admit, and he smiles and we lean into each other and have an intimate moment together on the dance floor.

Ignoring a random whistle and comment towards us from someone who is probably drunk as shit, even though the party just started.

We pull apart and continue dancing; holding each other close and I feel a weight be lifted off my shoulders. Finally feeling..... free.

"You don't know just how happy that makes me Powder. I promise you won't regret it," he says with determination in hus voice making me smile at his steeled resolve, "And the second thing?" He asks, making me a little nervouse.

"Right. So y'know how we said we would talk about our "thing" with Y/n tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Why?" he asks as he furrows his brows.

"Well when Y/n talked with me she said some things that were really touching and meaningful and then something inside me was just like 'Oh shit. I love her,' sooooo I may have kiiiiiiisssed heeer" I say as I shrink back slightly, afraid that he will be mad.

"......Okay." he says casually which makes me stunned and we stop dancing.

"Wha?"

"Okay. Surprisingly, I'm not mad."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Usually I would, but this is Y/n we're talking about. We both know we have a "thing" for her, and I honestly don't mind," he explains making me relax more as I hold his hands, "Is that weird?" He asks and I take a moment to genuinely think on it before answering.

"No, at least, I don't think it is. Even if it were the other way around, I don't think I would be mad either. As long as it's her," I say as I think back on those beautiful words that Y/n let spill from her lips. Her soft lips, "She makes me feel a certain way. Just like you. She brings something out of me that I didn't know was there." I say, and I hear Ekko chuckle.

"I know. She's also kind." "Caring too." "Loves Isha." "Always wants to help." "Cute too." "More like hot as fuck."

We bounce off of each other as we list the things we have grown to love about Y/n in just a month of knowing her. I smile and think back fondly on all the times we spent with Y/n and Isha. Just living life happily together.

"I love her, Ekko."

"I love her too." He says and we both stand there, two idiots in love with someone and wanting to bring her into our lives.

"You think.... You think she might feel the same way?" I ask him with hope in my voice.

"I don't know. You're the one who kissed her. You tell me." he says with a laugh.

"Well she didn't push me away, but she also didn't kiss back, although I think that's mostly because she was in shock. You should have seen her face."

"I got a glimpse of it when you two came back. Looked like her brain was fried" he says and we both laugh a little at that, "Since we're on the topic; how was it? The kiss?"

"It wa-"

"Hey you two!" I am interrupted by being pulled into a tight hug by none other than my sister Vi.

"Hey sis." I say in a strained voice.

"Happy you made it." Ekko says, his voice also strained and I see Cait shaking her head over Vi's shoulder.

"Of course we made it! This is a big night! Sevika's here too, but she went straight to the bar for a drink." Vi says as she somehow squeezes us tighter.

"Sweetie, you're gonna kill them if you hold them any tighter," Cait says, making Vi let go and take a step back, "You two looked like you were in a good mood. I'm guessing the energy cell was a success?" Cait asks.

"You know it. I already have it on display and ready for Powder and I to present to investors and the judges." Ekko says, making Vi perk up at the mention of my name.

"Together?" Vi asks, and both she and Cait look towards me expectantly so I give them a nod, making them both brighten up more, "That's great! Amazing! So are you two are going into this as partners?" Vi says excitedly making me smile at her encouragement.

"Of course. It's like what Y/n said. We're gonna rattle the stars." I say as I think back on those beautiful words that reached and touched such a deep part of me.

Suddenly I feel something ram into my lower back, almost throwing me off balance, begore quickly turning aroundto see Isha in a new frilly dress. Looking very happy.

"Isha! Look at you! When did you become royalty?" I ask as I kneel down to get a better look at her and she does a twirl to show off her dress to us.

"I didn't know Isha was a princess. Cupcake, why didn't you say anything?" Vi says jokingly and get's a pinch on her arm.

"I'm not a princess, and my family isn't royalty. We just collected a lot of influence over all of the years." Cait defends herself.

"So, basically royalty then." Ekko says, making the rest of us chuckle as I pick up Isha, and Caut sighs in defeat.

"Ekko! Powder! There you guys are, I've been looking for you two," I hear and turn to see Mylo and he does a double take at Vi and Cait, "Oh, hey! Good to see you two made it."

"What did you need?" I ask.

"Just wanted to let you know there's already some high profile looking people eyeing your energy cell, if you wanted to leave some early impressions on some investor's before the competition. Claggor is already showing off our plant. See?." he says as he points in a direction and we see Claggor showing off their invention to some people.

"Shouldn't you be with him?" Ekko asks and Mylo burshes it off and blows a rasberry.

"That's more of Claggor's thing. I'm better off mingling with the ladies." he says smugly and obviously eyeing at Gert on stage.

"You're such an idiot" I say as I shake my head, before feeling Ekko grab my hand as Vi tries to give him some advice on what not to do with women.

"Wanna make an impression?" Ekko asks and I look at Isha who nods her head happily.

"That looks like a yes. But first; hey sis! Cait!," I call to them and grab their attention, "Can you ask Y/n to meet us at Ekko's display? She helped us make it too, so I want her to be there when we show it off. That's fine, right?" I ask Ekko and get a nod.

"No problem! Where is she amyway? You four Are usually always hanging out together." she says with implication in her voice.

"She was sitting at the bar the last time we saw her. She should still be there," I say before adding on more thing, "And if she looks like she's in shock or contemplating something. That's fine. Just send her our way." I say we start walking away to where I would presume Ekko's display is.

"Don't worry, we'll find her." Cait says reassuringly before we start heading to the power cell; it already having people inspecting it.

"You ready?" Ekko asks me and I nod.

"Always."

Caitlyn Pov

"Can you believe it, Cupcake? Powder is gonna present with Ekko! She's finally gonna get out there and show off to the world." Vi says excitedly. Which I understand completely considering all the times I've heard about Powder holding herself back.

"She looked happy. I wonder what made her so confident to try now?"

"I'm willin' to bet it's her and Ekko's latest eye candy," Vi says with a smirk, "Those two are lovesick if you ask me." she says as we look for the girl in question around the bar area.

'Who would've thought an investigation would lead to a new addition of our family and friends.' I think back to just a month ago when we first met Y/n in this bar. I was slightly scared of her then, but afterwards she showed a much mofe gentle side of her. One that cared and laughed.

"Vi! Cait! It's good to see you two made it!" Vander calls out as he finishes serving a handful of people.

"Of course we made it. We wouln't miss such a big night." Vi says as we approach the counter.

"I saw you two lookin' around the bar. Somethin' wrong?" he asks sounding concerned.

"Nothing at all. We were just looking for Y/n. Powder and Ekko want her there with them to present their power cell, and said she should be here. Probably in an unusual state too, but Powder said that's fine." I explain to get rid of his worries.

"Oh, good. Don't need trouble on such a goon night. Last I saw she looked freaked out about somethin' before going out the back door for a breather. Though I don't know where she went afterwards, Silco and I got busy once the party started kickin' up."

"Thank you. We'll go check to see if she's still out there." I say as I glancs at Vi and nod towards the door, before making our way there.

Once outside and in the alleyway that the door leads to, we do a quick scan around to see if she's here.

"Damn. Not here either. You don't think she got drunk and wandered off do you?" Vi asks me with some worry in her voice.

"No. Vander would have told us if she drank. I also don't think he would have let her out here on her own is she was drunk."

"That's true. He wouldn't risk that on any of us." She says as she goes deeper into the alley to see if she might be nearby, and I head the opposite way towards the main street.

As I walk, I suddenly hear a small wet sound when I take a step.

'It didn't rain today.'

I take a step back and look down before kneeling to get a closer look. My eyes widen slightly at what I knew was blood. My shoe making a print of it and some drops of it surrounding the area I stepped

"You got something over there Cupcake?" Vi asks, but I don't respond. Trying not to panic.

'It could be from anything.' I thought before spotting something familiar laying near a trash bin.

"Cupcake? You okay?" Vi asks now behind me, but I get up and quickly walk towards the object and pick it up. My eyes widening.

Y/n's helmet. No doubt about it with the bunny ears Isha drew on it. It's dented in the back and I turn back to Vi, her now leaning down inspecting the blood before looking up at me and her eyes widen in fear just like my own at the helmet before looking into my eyes. We have a wordless conversation through our eyes before rushing back inside.

Y/n was in danger.

Powder Pov

"With this, it should produce a much more effecient power cell. Both for long-term use and energy efficiency. We...." Ekko continues to explain to people that have shown interest in the energy cell. It's been going great. Isha seemed to like the attention when we mentioned how she along with Y/n helped us with putting it together. Speaking of.

'Where is she?'

It shouln't be taking this long for Vi and Cait to find her. Unless Y/n herself didn't want to come, but they would have told us if Y/n refused.

I take a glance around the bar and try to see if I can spot her when I see Vi and Cait rushing in through the back door, not caring to close it. I see them rush over to the bar and immediately grabbing Dad, Silco, Sevika and Benzo's attention, as I see fear on their faces. My heart starts beating faster at their expressions and only get's worse when I see the other three's expressions go from shocked to fear.

I hold Isha closer at that and tighten my hold on Ekko's hand and give it a tug to the side.

"Um, could you give us one second?," Ekko asks them before stepping aside with Isha and I, "Powder, what's wrong?" he asks and I only nod towards the bar and he looks to see what I see. Isha noticing as well.

We move forward to try and get a better look at what's happening through the crowd, and I spot something in Cait's hands. Something I recognize immediately as we get a better angle.

"Y/n's helmet." Ekko says for me with with worry in his voice.

I see a dent in the back of it and look up and see that Cait has spotted us. She doesn't need to say anything for me to know what happened. I can see it in her eyes.

Y/n was attacked, and by her absence took also her.

'Someone kidnapped Y/n.'

Something inside me awakens at that thought. I don't care. Y/n was taken away. We need to get her back.

I need her.

We need her.

Reader Pov

How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? I don't know. All I feel is pain and exhaustion as I lay limp in a dirty alley. I tried to grt away from it all and dissasociate, but the pain is too much. My throat feels strained from all the yelling and screaming.

"Alright! I think that's enough. We gotta move before someone finds us here," Their boss says, but I feel a foot apply weight on my braced leg. I only groan in pain as I am too tired and in too much pain to scream, "I said enough! Anymore and you'll kill her."

"And!? This bitch has had this coming for a long time!" The man from earlier yells out.

"Because then we can't get paid, remember? We got our payback; now we get paid." Their boss says again.

"I say we off her here and now. Bitch deserves it." A different woman says and I hear some murmurs of agreement from the others.

"Are you guys crazy!? We do that and the enforcers will come down on us harder than they already are now!" Their boss says, trying to regain authority, but it doesn't sound like it's going well.

"She's the reason why they're hitting us as hard as they're in the first place! What happens after she recovers and comes for us!?" the other woman says, getting more murmurs of agreement.

"I say we send a message." I hear the guy from earlier say. I start panicking as I see someone hand him my shovel that was taken off of me and start walking towards me.

"Hey! This is not the plan!," Their boss tries to step in front of me to stop him, but is blocked by others and moved aside, "Are you guys serious!? If you do this we're fucked!"

I try to get up to run or fight. To at least do something, but I'm too tired and in too much pain. I can only hardly push myself up with my arms before being stomped on my back.

'This is it? Dead in a fucking alleyway?,' I thought as I am kicked to roll over on my back. The others all cheering the man on as he steps over me, 'Maybe this is the cost? Time letting me face the consequences of my actions,' I barely stare up at the man as he lifts my shovel high over his head. Ready to bring it down onto me, 'As long as they live.' I try to accept, but then the memories come running back to me.

Talking with Vander, Silco and Benzo.

Listening to Heimerdinger play toons on the street.

Messing around with Claggor and Mylo.

Having tea with Cait and Vi.

Sevika showing her tough love.

Going out with Powder, Ekko and Isha.

Talking, laughing, caring and living.

'I want to live.'

I move my head last second and the shovel imapcts the ground next to my head and I use as much strength as I can muster curl up and kick him away. I use the force of the kick to roll over onto my feet and try to run in the confusion, but don't make it far. Someone manages to trip me and I fall down again.

"Damn! She still has some fight left in her! Not enough luck though!" The guy says with a laugh as I try to get up, but I get stomped on my leg.

"Stop! If you do this we're done for!" their boss, or maybe former boss, tries again to stop him but is stopped.

I can only look over my shoulder as the man with my shovel stands over me again and raises it high.

'At least I tri-'

*BANG*

"AAAGH Shit!" The man yells as he drops the shovel and blood spills from his hand. I look forward and see Cait and Vi there.

"Drop your weapons now! Or else!," Cait yells out orders, but no one moves. She shoots near one's head and only barely misses, "I'm not asking again! Drop! Them!," she commands them and they follow orders this time, "Back away from her to the end of the alley! Now!" she says and I glance back to see them continuing to follow orders.

I hear Cait and Vi get closer to me and I can only make brief eye contact with Vi before they move to stand between me any kidnappers. I hear people running from where Cait and Vi arrived and look forward again.

"Cait! Vi! What happ-......" I feel a wave of relief go through me as I hear Powder's voice and see Ekko next to her with Claggor and Mylo behind her.

They rush over and untie my restraints before gently turning me over after seeing my state. Powder gently lifts my head to lay it on her lap instead of the cold floor and brushes some hair from my face. I can't help but let tears fall now and cry. I turn myself into her and she holds me close; not too tight because of my bruised body.

"Someone get her gun." Vi says and Ekko is quick to respond and get's it from the floor and brings it back to Powder and I. Handing it to Powder to hold onto.

"Kids! What's goin' on!?," I hear Vander's voice now, rushing towards us and I peak out from my embrace with Powder to see him, Silco and Sevika. Vander is wearing his old gauntlets. They give me concerned looks before staring down the alley at the thugs on the other end, "What happened." Vander says, sounding more like a command than a question.

"They were going to kill her. We got here right before that guy was about to cave her head in." Vi answers and I feel Powder stiffen at that. I feel her hold on me only tighten a little. Not too much to hurt me, but just to have me closer.

"Ekko." She says and no other words are exchanged. He looks over at the thugs, specifically at the one bleeding from his hand before he picks up my shovel from the floor.

He walks forward and before the guy can step back Ekko swings the shovel at him, knocking him to the ground; the others backing away from the sudden outburst.

"Wait! Wai-" he's cut off as Ekko doesn't stop. He keeps beating on the guy on the ground. No one tries to stop him. Not even Cait; who keeps her rifle aimed at the other thugs.

"Wait, he doesn't ha-" I try to protest through a strained voice, but Powder just cradles my head closer to not see what's happening.

"Shhh. It's okay. Don't worry about it. Everythings okay now." she says as I hear the guy's yells and screams and Ekko beating him senseless. I hear bones break, blood leaking and more screams.

"Stop! He's had enough!," I hear their boss say, but Ekko doesn't stop. He ignores her and keeps going. I feel one of Powder's arm loosen and peak out to see the woman go step forward to grab Ekko, "Sto-" *BANG*

I hear a familiar gunshot. Not from Cait. Powder's arm with my gun in hand is extended out towards the woman. Powder shot her. The woman drops dead and I stare in shock at her corpse, before Powder wraps her arm around me to hold me close again. Ekko continuing to beat a man to death; his screams and yells getting weaker. I hear the breaking of bones and blood being spilled. No one stops him.

"Wh- Why did you....."

"It's fine. They deserve it." she says in a certain tone that sounds too familiar. Too much like Jinx.

I'm overwhelmed by emotions. Too much happening for me to know what to do. Eventually Ekko finally stops and I can hear his labored breathes.

"We-We won't resist arrest. We'll go to Stillwater!" I hear a thug says and getting no protests from the others.

"Vander. Y'know what needs to happen right?" I hear Silco ask, "They hurt one of ours. They were going to kill her." he continues in that cold tone I know all too well.

A few seconds goes by before I hear Vander's heavy footsteps walk forward towards where I know Ekko is.

"You're done here, Ekko. Kids! Take her home."

"What!? Dad, they were going to kill her! If Cait and I di-"

"There might be others who might try something Vi. Take her home," Vander says again as Ekko walks over Powder and I, "We'll handle the rest."

"What!? We'll turn ourselves in! We won't bother he-" the voice is cut off by a loud impact.

'What are they doing!?'

"Come on, let's go home." Ekko says as he picks me up gently and I can only get a peak over his shoulder at what is happening. I see another dead body in front of Vander, there head looking like it was caved in. Powder runs a hand through my hair before gently coaxing my head to lean into Ekko.

"Don't worry about them Y/n. Get rest." she says as if there isn't a massacre about to happen.

As we leave Vander, Slico and Sevika in the alley with the rest of the thugs, I can feel my exhaustion taking over. The screams and yells being left in the distance. My eyelids grow heavy before I have no choice but to sleep. Too tired and hurt to fully process anything that is happening.

"It's okay. You're safe now. Just rest. Isha is waiting for you back home." Powder says softly before I finally drift off into sleep.

Hope you enjoyed. And hopefully 2025 is a good year for everyone. Sorry for any grammar mistakes.

[k0yaz]

I saw that you were wanting requests for Mizu, so hiii, I have one! :)

What about one where fem! Reader takes care of Mizu when she’s injured or just back from a long day (stitching wounds, massaging hands and stuff when she’s sore, preparing her favorite meals, etc.)?

And then when she finally convinces Mizu to come to bed for the night, Reader holds her to her chest and just lets her focus on her heartbeat while she helps her relax and fall asleep.

Just overall fluff, y’know?

Hope this request is okay!

remnants of firewood and steel.

Pairings: mizu x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, descriptions of wounds idfk, girls kissing oh no, wlw, shy mizu my beloved, uhm idk she gets naked but not in a sexual way you little grabby hand freaks, obv lemme put that more formally lol, nudity, mizu being my lil cutie patootie blinded by revenge, someone send me back to 1657 please I need to hold this woman so bad, ik this has nothing to do with him but can I beat the fuck out of mikio thanks, number one mikio hater and number one mizu lover, not proofread.

A/N: ok so I do have a mizu fic saved with this exact banner if the author of the fic finds this I DIDNT STEAL UR BANNER I FOUND IT ON PINTEREST PLS DONT EXECUTE ME anyway FIRST FIC OF 2025 YAY mizu deserves the world pleasee i remembered in ep 5 when mikio’s fugly ass said that she liked dried mackerel and I can’t stop thinking about that she’s so cute I’m sobbing🕯️

A quiet hiss sizzled through the tense push of Mizu’s teeth grit together as your fingertips grazed the seeping wound gashed along her forearm. Carefully examining the split ends of skin patterned down to halt at her wrist, the cool air pelting against the wood of the door to your shared home spilled through a small crevice cracked open in exposure to the interior warmth.

Each sweep of the frigid breeze fanning against your flesh only served to ease the discomfort wrenching in you upon hearing your girlfriend’s strained sounds of agony from the sunken wound embedded into her arm, followed by a sharp exhales expelled from her lungs each time she withstood the pain of you stitching each wound slit across her body closed. Mizu only groaned in response to your futile effort to minimize the sting of the needle protruding through her flesh, as the string threaded across the reddened opening searing the exposed muscle.

“Mizu, what did I tell you? You can’t keep being reckless and get hurt like this.” You scolded her firmly as you closed up the scarring of her stitched wound, trying your best to shut your mind and disregard her pained expression. It already hurt you enough seeing the wounds adorned across her skin as a grim reminder of every battle, every ache twisted into her chest in the gruesome state of her physical and emotional fights, lingering along with the tainting stains of her past betrayal.

Only a defeated hum vibrated against the bandages circled around her throat, your hand momentarily rising to carefully tug at the plastering utilized to mask her lack of an adam’s apple. Your irises, now harboring a softer, more hazed flicker outlined around them in a sense of tenderness tilted up to meet Mizu’s own, silently inquiring her permission to tug off the bandages. The ripples of air continued to draw inward like a disruption cutting the warmth of your home, inducing an odd tranquility within the thick atmosphere clouding the air in a mix with the trailing smoke.

“How did you get hurt this badly again?” You muttered in a gentler tone than before, eyes locked onto her unfeeling expression as you carefully unwrapped the bandages tightened against her skin. Your hands trailed down to the base of her neck as they cascaded down onto the floor, carefully kneading her skin in a heartfelt massage.

“Just got ambushed by what I assume to be someone sent by Fowler again.” She sighs, allowing the bandages to fall loosely down her chest and pool onto the floor, similarly to a downpour of blood spilling from an enemy’s throat. You drew in a breath as you nodded in response, carefully pushing aside the bandages curled up onto the wooden floorboards while you rested the ridge of your palm against Mizu’s sweat-laced throat. “Still won’t get off your ass?”

Mizu huffed out a quiet laugh, folding up the orange tinted glasses between her fingertips as she set them atop the pool of bandages tucked away to the side. Reaching up, you proceeded to caress the side of her face smoothly, palm running along her defined cheekbones while she tilted her head to lean into the gesture of clinging attachment, tugging at the center of both of your hearts in a loving connection that wordlessly tied you two together at the shoulder.

You beckoned her to lay back comfortably rather than to strain herself by kneeling before you, her knees likely aching as the chafed against the hard wooden floors. With a benign push to her shoulder, Mizu leisurely reclined down onto her discarded kimono sprawled out below her, her back weighing against the pressure applied to the freshly closed wounds slashed along her spine as well. Her eyes narrowed in the meantime while you kept away from her for a short while, fixing a beverage off to the side while she was flat against her back, shoulders relaxed and lowered to press onto the hard lined wood.

The simple home she shared with you, isolated from the whereabouts of large urban areas around Japan, fostered the calming, homely serenity of where she had grown up with Master Eiji. Close to, yet distanced from Kohama. Remnants of the familiar scent of burning firewood and steel seemed to float around in a ghostly sense, despite the charcoal fueled shadow of metal remaining nowhere to be seen in your home.

On top of the racing memories swirling around her thoughts, replaying echo after echo of her past recounting her life up to this point, she always found refuge within the grasp of your arms whenever you held her close to your chest, heartbeat thudding against the shell of her ear in rhythmic, yet soft knocks. Not only did the gesture soothe her with an audible memoir of her lover’s presence, reminding her that she was currently loved and held in the grasp of the woman she cared for most…

It also reminded her that you were still alive.

The remnants of firewood and steel, the salty odor of fish on occasions when you cooked it, even the smoke floating from the dim lighting of the candle alongside your presence was the heartfelt reminder that you were still there with her. And she swore to protect you to her limit, or die trying.

A mellow aroma began to waft through the air in a snaking path of steam, dispersing across the enclosed space to induce a rush soothing Mizu’s tense muscles and your own cluttered thoughts. Her eyes flickered down to the sight of your hands held out as they curled inward in a cusp, carefully grasping the porcelain teacup you spent a fortune on from the time you had visited Edo.

Steam continued to arise from the hot tea rippling in a pattern of emanating rings expanding from the center and dissolving around the edges while you kept blowing away the steam fogging up your line of sight. Mizu shakily elevated herself from the kimono bedding her back, hand shielding her wound to avoid any possible risk of the flesh tearing open again.

Now half dressed—left in nothing but her harem pants and chest binding, she slowly parted her lips to taste the aroma for a brief moment, clamping them back shut as you knelt before her to extend your arms in her direction. She couldn’t help it. There was something about seeing you face to face which enveloped her whole body in an intoxicating warmth she didn’t want to escape from. The burning urge to cup your face and press a solid kiss directly onto your lips right in that moment.

A shame she had to restrain herself to suppress that humanity she craves that she could wallow in. She couldn’t cling to that sliver of hope that she could live normally…not when she was so dead set on killing the remaining three.

Mizu greatfully accepted the cup in both hands, allowing the sleek porcelain to slip between her palms as she brought the steaming rim to her lower lip. You watched intently as she sipped the tea, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she savored the flavor of the hot beverage. Clearing her throat, Mizu commented on the taste, albeit a bit hesitantly as you could tell by the embarrassment which you learned to pick up on throughout the course of your relationship.

“…could you make it sweeter..?”

“I thought someone so coldly powerful and unfeeling preferred a more bitter note in her tea?”

“Please, (Name)…do you get off on assuming these things while im on here unable to swallow without it hurting?”

“Ah- right. Your injuries…sorry, love.” you mused, taking the cup back to add the hint of saccharine the samurai oh-so-desperately wanted. “While you’re at it…take everything off while you sleep. I don’t want you to feel constricted by any clothing—especially those bindings on your chest. It’s not good for your breathing.” You added while fixing her tea, earning a subtle nod from Mizu as she tugged at the waistband of her pants, pointer finger testing the elasticity.

While she disrobed, another pungent smell stung her nostrils sharply, yet it didn’t take long for her to pick up on the familar scent of a snack she quite enjoyed. Salty. A metallic yet earthy odor clinging to the back of her throat as she took in the smell.

“Dried mackerel?”

You smiled at her question, giving her a brisk nod before setting the cup back down before her now fully bare frame. Mizu’s toned arms gleamed a gentle gold from the faint candlelight, her slender yet muscular form encompassed in the captivating glow of orange gold. She could only manage a weak smile in response as you handed her a bowl of the dried fish she secretly adored, alongside the newly sweetened tea, basking in the gentle fuzzy feeling overtaking you upon seeing your usually stoic girlfriend genuinely happy.

—

“Was there a need for you to take everything off too…? You’re not injured, (Name).”

You simply shrugged as you rolled over beside her on the heaping futon, noticing her gaze avert from yours bashfully. Cupping her cheek, you firmly turn her head towards you, yet lacking any forceful action, allowing her head to turn along with the motions of your hand guiding her. Those bright blue eyes boring into you with a heightened intensity—cutting through the flesh and bone spiritually and ingraining into your very soul as it burrowed deep within the wisp of your heart.

A symbol of her impurity and ‘filth ridden’ origins that outcasted her from the rest of society, kicking her off to the side like some stray. Yet to you, they were only a beauty to behold. An impurity you yearned and longed for, the metal of a sword that required a hammering that retained some of that impurity. The fire in her edge was almost perfect, despite the monstrosity she saw in herself everytime she looked.

The monstrosity in which you wished you help her see was perfect.

You exhaled a gentle breath as you pressed your shoulder to Mizu’s, the skin to skin contact emitting a sort of raw affection ignited between the two of you as you sought more of the gentle heat. Her fingers hesitantly crept up between yours as your hand rested between your chest and hers, your own fingers quickly clasping her hand tightly as you laced your own fingers without a second thought.

Mizu blinked, breath catching in her throat as you brought your joined hands to your left breast, resting the back of your knuckles against your skin comfortably. Your heart. Her hand was on your heart. Thousands of questions began to conjure up in her supposedly resting mind, not being able to believe the sight before her as she took notice of your steady breaths.

That wasn’t enough proof.

Was your heart still beating..? She couldn’t feel it through your palm…

You noticed the change in her demeanor in a matter of seconds, your head lifting from the edge of the futon to pay attention to her seemingly frozen self.

“Mizu..? Is something-?”

“Your…heartbeat.” She breathed out, fighting back the quivering tension plaguing her throat. You were all to familar with when she got like this, so exhausted to the point where she believed that everything around her was playing tricks, the one time she was left especially vulnerable in need of your support.

You nodded, leaning over to capture her lips in a slow, languid kiss as you attempted to ease her stress. Hand traveling to her nape, you brushed away her now loose hair, flowing past her shoulders whenever she undid the bunched up topknot. In a nurturing embrace, you slowly guided Mizu’s head down to your bare chest, illuminated by the filtered moonlight as the blown out candle’s smoke continued to float through the air.

Gentle breaths accompanied the steady thuds of your heart pushing against your chest with each pulse, slowly relaxing the built up anxiety raging throughout Mizu’s mind. The vibrations of your heart pulsating within your chest rang along her ear as well, gradually lulling her to sleep in comfortable solace, knowing that you’re still alive.

You were still alive. You were with Mizu, and loved her with all you had.

A/N: I was supposed to post this on January 1st absolutely not lmfaoooo but shh anyway I have no authors note other than I’m in love with mizu agagagaga sorry guys leaked the script for the end of the show she actually marries me

AND DONT YOU DARE ANY OF YOU TRY FIGHTING ME ON THAT SAYINF “uhm no it’s actually me!! SHUT UP I GET IT NOW LEAVE ME ALONE AND STOP REFUTING MY CLAIM WE CAN SHARE OUR BELOVED SAMURAI DONT BE GREEDY

someone get her brown contacts for those baby blues I’m shaking

[daveth-isnt-dead]

Coalescence part 2/3

Part One

Summary:

She’s so nervous that her breath catches in her lungs and doesn’t come back out, from her side she can hear Viktor’s foot tapping a frantic rhythm against the tiles. Without even thinking it through, her hand finds his and grabs it tight. He doesn’t pull back, if anything he holds hers even tighter. The question rises once again, unbidden. What are we? AKA: She works with Viktor for seven years, she is in love with him for five of them.

Contains: she/her pronouns, supremely slow burn, sharing a bed, canon typical illness stuff.

Word Count: 12,181

Read on AO3

The next year feels a lot slower than the last few had, without the relentless push from the council to get the Hexgates finished, work stagnates as the three of them try to figure out what to make next. A few months in she gets sick of sitting on the other side of the room and goes through the arduous process of rearranging the furniture. She has to move Jayce’s desk first and then the blackboard and then she finally has enough room to squeeze herself in, the fact that the only available spot is next to Viktor’s desk is only serendipitous, at least that’s what she tells herself. Jayce seems pretty excited about the change when he comes in, that maybe the rearrangement might be enough to finally get all their synapses firing. 

Viktor, by comparison, sits quietly next to her and doesn't even acknowledge the change for the first few hours, just scoffs when she asks to borrow his ink for her pen, “If you’ve only moved your desk next to mine for access to my stationary then I’ll be very upset.” despite his words, he slides it over to her desk, “You’re lucky I’m so accommodating.” 

She wants to say something about how his stationary is the last thing on her mind, but instead, she just laughs and replies, “Very lucky, thank you.”

A few weeks after her impromptu rearrangement, she comes into the lab to find a new desk sitting where hers once was and more surprisingly, a person sitting at the desk. Shocked, she lurks in the doorway while trying to figure out what to say, only for the visitor to notice her and immediately jump up from her chair and rush over to greet her. 

“Hi! I’m Sky! It’s so great to meet you!” She says, grabbing one of her hands between two of her own, “I’m the new lab assistant! Viktor hired me!” She blinks for a moment, trying to find a way to reply that doesn't make her seem utterly repellant, “I thought I was the lab assistant…” is what came out, and it wasn't the energy she had been aiming for. 

Sky laughs, “You’re funny. It’s nice to know you three have a sense of humour.” she finally releases her hand before readjusting her glasses, “If you ever need anything, I’ll either be here or in the botany lab down the hall. I’m going to study as much as I can while I have the chance, but I’ll always be nearby.”

When Viktor eventually arrives and sits at his desk, she scoots her chair a little closer to his and whispers, “Why’d you hire another assistant?” “Sky’s an old friend and we’re going to need the help-” he pauses a moment and then spins his chair to face her, “Why did you say another assistant?” “Because I’m your assistant.” Viktor lets out a disbelieving laugh, “ You haven’t been our assistant in a very long time.”

Her heart thrums nervously in her chest, and all she can let out is a weak little, “...huh?”

“You’re a partner.” Viktor clarifies as he rests his hand on her forearm, “A friend .” a beat, his thumb lightly rubbing against her bare skin, “and you always made terrible coffee, it was time to let you off the hook”

She laughs and playfully slaps his hand away.

It’s only a month after that when Jayce has the idea that changes the trajectory of their research for the foreseeable future. They had all been sitting at their desks, doing barely any work. It was still just under a year before the next progress day and without an active request from the council, there wasn’t all that much pressure for them to create something. She had been entertaining herself with a paper ball that she was tossing up into the air, Jayce was flicking paperclips into an empty crate on the other side of the room, and even Viktor had been absently spinning around in his chair for the past hour, which was definitely out of the ordinary for him. 

“Maybe we need a change of scenery?” Jayce suggests, hanging his head low when he finishes his last box of paperclips. 

She scoffs, tossing the paper ball in the air once again, “It’s not like we can take the research outside with us.”

“Even if we could, it would be far too dangerous to take any of the crystals out of the lab.” Viktor supplies, completing another rotation on his chair, “They are too volatile.”

Jayce sighs, “I didn’t literally mean moving the lab equipment outside, guys. I just thought we could take a walk and-” 

When the paper ball finishes its most recent arc into the air, she doesn’t bother catching it again, instead pointing a finger in Jayce’s direction, “That’s your idea face! You have an idea!”

Viktor freezes mid-spin, quickly rotating himself to face Jayce whose eyebrows are drawn tight. After another moment just sitting there and staring straight forward, Jayce leaps up from his chair and starts frantically pacing back and forth. 

“Oh yes!” Viktor says enthusiastically, turning to look at her over his shoulder, “He definitely has an idea.”

Jayce laughs breathlessly and then stalls in the middle of the room, erupting into a passionate and wildly gesticulated speech about finally being able to bring Hextech to the people instead of just serving the whims of the council, about working on smaller devices that could be mass-produced and (importantly) would have a far shorter development time than something as large scale as the Hexgates. As he spoke, she couldn’t resist shifting her gaze to Viktor, leaning forward on her desk to get a better angle on his face and nearly melting at the impassioned warmth in his eyes, the delectably sweet tug of his lips. 

“Before we get ahead of ourselves,” Viktor begins, trying not to seem as exhilarated as he clearly is, “We need to figure out a way to stabilise the crystals, then we can focus on utility.” “God, I’ve missed this,” She says with a warm smile dancing around her mouth, “When can we start?”

***

It’s full steam ahead in the lab for the next few months, literally, to some degree. Before fully joining the Hextech team she had spent a brief portion of time studying glass-blowing and shaping and while she was only half joking when she suggested that they should try tempering the crystals, it ended up being the first step to the final solution. While a collision with physical objects causes a volatile reaction in the crystals, standing about twenty feet back in the Talis family forge, they learned that heat did not cause the same problem. Tempering Hextech crystals turned out to be a much more exhaustive process than tempering glass though, and every step of the way they were worried about causing some sort of disaster in the forge. 

Sky became an invaluable resource and her contagious energy meant that she also very quickly became a friend. While she wasn’t able to commit her full time to the lab because she had her own studies to worry about, she was always around to help copy down notes when everyone else had full hands or to provide encouragement whenever it started to feel like the next hurdle was impossible. Viktor was also right, Sky made a much better coffee than she ever could. 

“Damn.” She mutters, sipping gingerly on the very hot coffee, “How do you stop it from tasting so watery?” Sky laughed, expertly working the coffee machine in the small tearoom in the sciences wing of the academy, “I worked at a coffee shop in the undercity for a few years, all muscle memory.” she explained, popping a lid on Jayce’s coffee and then scooping one spoonful of sugar into the final vacant cup. 

“Viktor takes two sugars.” She says quickly, probably too quickly. 

Sky gives her an odd look, and then chuckles, “I was about to add another one, but thanks for the help.” She suddenly finds her own reflection in the cup of coffee very interesting.

While the work on finding a way to stabilise the crystals took almost all of their time, it was impossible to stop herself from peering in Viktor’s direction whenever she had a spare moment. He had lied about the leg brace just being for the gala, he didn't wear it every day and on the days that he did he claimed to have plans to take a walk out in the city when they wrapped up in the lab, but she usually caught him walking straight back to his dorm as always. She and Jayce would often share a worried look on days that he showed up wearing it but both could sense he didn't want any attention being drawn to it. There were other changes too, smaller ones, that might have gone unnoticed by anyone from outside the lab. His breath quickened and the hours he used to spend working out calculations and formulas on the blackboard were now spent at his desk instead, his angles sharpened and his face slowly began to lose its softness. 

“Just tired.” He responds, whenever she asks how he is feeling. 

Her eyebrows pinch, an insidious fear taking up residence behind her ribs, “You're tired a lot.” 

He sighs, and she is standing close enough that he can rest his head on the swell of her hip, “I am”

She wraps her arm around his shoulders to hold him against her, aching with the weight of a familiar question.

While he moves slower, he doesn't stop moving. When she and Jayce try to untangle just how to temper the crystals, Viktor sits on a chair nearby taking furious notes and offering suggestions. He sits at his desk with Sky as the two of them start sketching potential designs for smaller-scale Hextech projects. Viktor is, of course, there on the day that they manage to create their first successful gemstone. The crystals temper a lot stronger than glass does and were (so far as they could tell) completely resistant to shattering. The final test happens back in the forge where this process all began, with her and Viktor waiting impatiently on the other side of a wrought iron metal door with only a small glass window to watch through as Jayce bravely performs the final test of the gemstone’s durability. 

Jayce waves at them both, though they can barely see his face under the full set of protective armour he is wearing just in case they were off with their calculations. Despite all the preliminary testing and Viktor’s absolute belief in the gemstone’s structural integrity, she still nervously chews on her thumbnail as she watches Jayce set it down on the anvil. Though she doesn’t express her nervousness, Viktor still notices, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Jayce will be fine.” He says confidently, “We’re ready.” She lets out a shaky sigh, the orange firelight from inside the forge washes gently across Viktor’s face at sets his eyes ablaze. His posture is more lopsided than it used to be, his left shoulder kicked up where he is putting almost all of his standing weight on his cane. Her feelings are discombobulating, a dizzying mixture of fear and denial with an overlarge dash of something aching and desperate that she is still too afraid to give a name despite so many years of feeling it.

“Knowing you think so makes me feel a lot better.” She replies, turning her gaze back to the tiny window, “I envy your optimism.” 

“I wouldn’t call it optimism .” He says, wrapping an arm around her shaking shoulders and resting his cheek on the top of her head, “Determination, maybe?” 

She softens against him, his touch is familiar by now and while it no longer sends her awash with nerves to feel it, a warmth still settles in her stomach that she is unable to do away with. Her arm slides around his waist and clutches him tight, breath high in her chest as she watches Jayce take a few cautious steps towards the gemstone, clutching an oversised smithing hammer in his hands. Just as he raises it in the air, she’s so panicked that she can’t bear to watch and spins to bury her face in Viktor’s chest. She swears she hears his breath catch, and while he stumbles a little to adjust for the new weight, it only takes him a moment to regain his footing. From behind her closed eyes, she hears the echoing boom of the hammer making impact and then a ringing silence where an explosion would have been, if there was going to be one. 

Viktor lets out a breathless, overjoyed laugh, his hand rubbing enthusiastic circles between her shoulder blades, “We’re going to be able to do some real good now.” He says, “I can feel it.”

The leadup to the next progress day is a stressful one, a great deal of their time was spent tempering enough gemstones for testing purposes and the process was hard enough to replicate that they didn't feel comfortable letting anyone other than her or Jayce near the forge. Even Viktor found it a bit intimidating in there and preferred to sit back while the two of them worked. So while she was spending months and months writing detailed instructions for the tempering methods in preparation for the day that smallscale Hextech devices went public, for now, it was still safer to handle that part themselves. Once they finally have enough gemstones for the prototyping stage, they leave the forge behind for the far more familiar walls of the lab. She continues working to transcribe all the notes they have on the process of refining Hextech gemstones, while Viktor, Jayce and occasionally Sky toss ideas back and forth. 

It takes a lot of late nights glowering at the blackboard and throwing out hundreds of ideas before Viktor finally has the idea to find a way to improve working conditions for miners in the fissures. She can tell that it’s a personal mission for him, the way he talks about what conditions were like when he was still living in the Undercity and she, Jayce and Sky all agree with the idea wholeheartedly. They have far less time before progress day than they would like, but after narrowing the scope of Viktor’s idea to a maximum of two projects for now, it feels doable. Viktor has a bit of his pep back, which also helps to soothe her worries. While he isn't moving around as much as she remembers, his enthusiasm surrounding their new project can be heard in every word, seen in every exaggerated gesticulation. 

One day she is completely lost watching him with wrapt attention as he and Jayce discuss what kind of metal would best be suited for the final version of the devices. Utterly absorbed in each and every minute movement of his lovely hands, in the bright vibrancy of his eyes. 

“He was like this as a kid too,” Sky says, snapping her out of her stupor. 

“What, sorry?”

Sky laughs and inclines her head in his direction, “Viktor. We grew up in the same neighbourhood if you could call it that. He was always tinkering with something instead of playing with the other kids.” She shrugs a shoulder, “He always inspired me, still does, maybe even more so.” 

“Yeah.” She replies wistfully, watching as Viktor excitedly gestures to an equation on the blackboard, causing Jayce to pick up the chalk and start making edits, “He’s certainly inspiring.”

***

With only two months left before progress day, the prototypes still aren’t in any sort of state to show the public even though they are almost complete. Especially since the gauntlet keeps insisting that it wants to remain clenched in a fist no matter how hard they try to convince it otherwise. It’s that terrible part of development, where all the brainstorming and assembly is completed and all that’s left is struggling to figure out the last remaining kinks. Despite not being able to make much progress, the four of them are in the lab from sunrise to sunset almost every day. Sky often wears the gauntlet for hours straight as they all take turns trying to diagnose the issue and Jayce almost loses a finger to the Hexclaw when he gets a little impatient in getting it out of the way and forgets to disengage the gemstone. 

She’s tired. They all are. Sky at some point admits that she can’t keep up these hours when she has her own studies to work on and returns to only dropping by when they need help, but the main Hextech team persists, pulling allnighters and sometimes even falling asleep on the floor of the lab in a big pile. At the very least they endure the stress together. With the initial excitement of development over and the growing sleep deprivation, Viktor starts looking worse again. His already pale skin turns papery ashen and the bags under his eyes are purple like a permanent bruise. One day he shows up with a crutch instead of his cane. He doesn’t even try to create an excuse for it, just sits at his desk and starts working before either she or Jayce can ask questions. That’s when they quickly make the decision to insist that all three of them stop spending so much time in the lab, enforcing a cut-off time where, regardless of progress made, the three of them would all head back to their dorms for the evening. While he seems a little irritated by the idea at first, Viktor does agree. None of them are getting any good work done and a proper sleep schedule might be just the thing to change that.

It’s not a perfect system though. Some nights she sneaks work home with her and knows that Viktor is doing the same, but at the very least he’s more likely to fall asleep in his bed that way. Other nights she is still so anxious about their upcoming deadline that she can’t force herself to sleep, even as the time ticks through until the AM. 

One such night, she dashes her way back to the lab well past 2:00 am. She had been planning to tire herself out by reading the book she had rented from the academy library, but she had left it on her desk in her rush to get home that evening. It’s cold when the sun goes down, so she wraps her arms around herself to avoid the chill as she finally draws closer to the lab. The academy can be a little spooky at night, especially alone. It looks a lot different without the usual warm lighting, and the sound of her feet echoes off the tiles and the whole way down the hall. When the door comes into view, she doubles her pace in the hopes of being back in her bed as soon as possible. 

She wipes her eyes and lets out a yawn as she unlocks the door, only to freeze at the entrance of the lab when the cool blue light of a Hextech gemstone still shines brightly from Viktor’s desk. It’s concerning, because they're usually very careful to lock them away when no one is inside. That's when she notices Viktor slumped on the desk, head resting atop his folded arms, he's still, he's so still that it makes an ice-cold panic start rushing through her veins. She calls his name out, walking towards him, and then again when he doesn't answer, hurrying her pace to reach him as soon as she can, her breath coming hard and fast and desperate as she reaches out and grabs him by the shoulder. 

At her touch, he startles immediately, inhaling a shocked and wheezy breath. 

“Thank god.” She exhales, wrapping her arms around him and burying her head in the join between his neck and shoulder. He's still only half awake, one of his large hands coming to rest on her forearm.

“I fell asleep.” He whispers 

“Yeah.” She replies quietly, trying to calm the adrenaline still racing through her, “You did.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” He clarifies slowly, trying to take stock of where he is, “And I came back here thinking that maybe I could solve our problems with the gauntlets before tomorrow morning.” He lets out a breathless laugh and runs a shaky hand through his hair, “My exhaustion must have caught up with me, I apologise.” She doesn’t move, her arms still clutch tightly around him when she lets out a shaky little breath against the skin of his neck. He was just tired, overworked just like her and Jayce. It’s not the first time he’s fallen asleep at his desk, not the first time any of them have. Her heart slowly calms at the feeling of him between her arms, the slow brush of his hand against her bare forearm. She almost wants to laugh, what had she even been thinking? That he had- 

No . There’s no point in even thinking it. He’s fine, she was worrying for nothing. 

“C’mon.” She says, unwrapping her arms from around his shoulders and smiling down at him, “You need to get to bed” He smiles weakly, and she watches with pain in her chest as he puts all of his weight on his crutch to pull himself up from the chair, “Don’t you need to get to bed too?” he asks, giving her just a glimpse of that mischievous smile she loves so much.

“I'll walk you back first.” She replies, heart in her throat, “Your room is closer anyway.”

Viktor looks at her curiously for a moment, and then replies, “Yes, I suppose it is.”

It isn't, they both know it, but the lie is comfortable and the fact that Viktor is willing to go along with it sends a dizzying rush down to her fingertips. They walk in comfortable silence, it reminds her of their first walk together on the way to the music wing, though a lot slower. His crutch makes more of a thunk than the click that his cane used to, but the sound is still good at helping her keep pace with him. The last thing she wants is for him to think that he’s slowing her down. He isn’t, he couldn't, a longer walk is akin to a gift for her, there's so little time for them to meet outside the lab these days that even this minuscule moment is enough for a syrupy warmth to spread through her veins. 

“Do you want to come inside?” Viktor asks when they reach his door. His voice is thick and his tone uncertain, she catches the way his free hand clenches nervously at his side. 

She nods, “Just for a second. It’ll be nice to warm up.” His smile is warm and his eyes shine like amber, “Yes.” He begins, quickly unlocking his door and stepping to the side to let her in first,  “It is cold, isn't it?” It isn’t, but the lie is comfortable. 

“Freezing.” She replies, smiling up at him and walking through the doorway.

This is hardly the first time she’s visited his dorm, though it’s usually during the day to pick something up or drop something off, once or twice to deliver lunch when she suspected that he forgot to eat and on one notable occasion, for a cup of coffee while she struggled through translating his notes into something comprehensible for the council. It looks much the same as she remembers it, very cluttered but still neat. He has stacks of books and piles of notes all over the room and a corkboard with so many overlapping sketches, notes and blueprints that its impossible to see the cork underneath. The floor is clear, though, all his frantic scientific mess is left across desks or bookshelves, a hard divide been his work life and home life. 

Viktor shuts the door behind himself and starts making his way across the space to where she can only assume his bedroom is. He looks at her over his shoulder and says, “You’ll have to give me a minute. Make yourself at home, I won’t be long.” “Oh, okay. No worries.” She replies, wondering what he has to do back there. He might just want to change into something more comfortable for the evening, which is completely reasonable, even if it makes her cheeks warm to think about. Now that she’s actually standing alone in the middle of his sitting room does she finally remember that she’s wearing her pyjamas. They aren’t at all scandalous, thankfully, but she does feel underdressed. After a moment, she sits tentatively on his couch, trying to find the perfect balance between comfortable but not too comfortable for when he comes back out. She drums her fingers against her thigh, trying to ignore just how much it smells like Viktor in here when she hears him call her name. 

She leaps up from the couch, “Yes? Are you okay?” There’s a moment of silence, and then he replies, “I’m fine, I just-” he’s muffled on the other side of the door, but she hears what sounds like a foreign expletive, “I’d appreciate your help, if you’re willing.”

She would be willing to do anything for him, so she walks towards the closed door and then says, “I am.” she swallows nervously, “Can I come in?” “Please.” He replies quietly. 

Her heart races as she opens the door, this part of his dorm she has never seen before. He has a few plants that seem to be in various stages of deceased, a completely full bookshelf, a large wooden dresser and a second, smaller desk that is covered in just as many notes as the one out in the sitting room. His crutch leans against the wall and the man himself sits on the edge of his bed, looking like he’d prefer if she didn't even notice him. “How can I help?” She asks. He looks up at her and then sighs, “The clasps at my ankle.” he says, inclining his head towards his brace, “I’m stiff today I-” “It’s okay.” She replies, already lowering to her knees, “I can do it, don’t even worry about it.” It’s clear that he is still worrying about it, even with her insistence not to. The muscles in his jaw are tight and he turns to face the wall, unwilling to meet her eyes. She doesn’t take any offence, she can tell this is humiliating for him, even though she feels nothing but adoration as her fingers meet the metal clasp at the base of his brace. Luckily the mechanism is intuitive and she doesn’t need any help in undoing it, though her trembling hands make it harder. She is not unaware of the suggestive nature of her positioning, on her knees, between his thighs, but she manages to push past the cloyingly thick implication because more than anything she just wants to help him. 

“Thank you.” He says quietly, when his ankle is loose, “I can reach the rest myself if you’d like to return to the couch for now.” Despite his tired expression, he looks very pretty above her like this, his hair is tousled and hanging slightly in his eyes and the dim lighting in the room catches on all his sharp edges in the perfect way. She sucks a shaky breath in through her nose and then suggests, “I might as well do the rest.” her smile is shaky with nerves, and her voice wavers when she adds, “It just makes sense. I’m already down here after all.” The room feels quieter without the sound of Viktor’s wheezing breath, that’s the only way she realises he’s holding it, “I, ah-” he clears his throat, “Yes. I suppose it only makes sense.” Her next smile is stronger, and more confident as she begins to undo the rest of the clasps and buckles. Viktor has to help her with a few of them, the one at his knee is particularly tricky and he’s insistent that she ask if his leg needs to be moved instead of manoeuvring it herself. Not that he needed to tell her, she would never dare do anything that could hurt him. She has to sit up on her knees to undo the final buckle at his thigh, and he rests a hand on the top of her head as she does so. The feeling of his hand has another smile jumping its way across her face and she quietly asks him to straighten his leg a little so she can slide the brace off completely. 

“All done.” She whispers when it hits the floor. 

He looks down at her for a moment, his gaze so soft that she feels herself beginning to melt in it, “Thank you.” “Do you, um, need help with anything else?”

The muscles in his jaw tighten again and he goes back to staring at the wall, “Well, yes, but-” he shakes his head, “I can do it myself, you’ve done plenty.” “No. I want to help.” She replies, “Please, let me.” Viktor sighs, “I have a back brace too, I can undo it myself, but it takes some effort.” Though there was no real way for her to have known until now, a painful churning begins in her stomach at the thought of her never noticing, not paying enough attention. She pushes the fury with herself down, something to deal with later and instead gives Viktor what she hopes is a comforting smile, “You might have to guide me through it, is that okay?” He looks relieved, as if he was half expecting her to get cold feet, “That would be fine. Thank you.” He adjusts himself on the bed so he’s facing away from her and slowly starts undoing the buttons on his shirt. 

She sucks in a nervous breath and watches as the fabric slides down his shoulders. There’s a mole on the back of his neck that she wants to kiss so badly she can barely stand it. It’s alarming how much his shoulder blades arch against the papery confines of his skin, the way his posture slopes up to the left, the result of an overcorrection for his limp. She swallows thickly at the sight of his brace, layers of overlapping leather and metal splints that seem directly affixed to his spine. 

Viktor takes a deep breath, she sees his shoulders move, “There are clasps on either side of my spine.” He says, voice quivering. One of his hands reaches behind himself in an attempt to point out one of the clasps for her, “It’s very tight, it will be easier if you start at the top and bottom and then work your way to the middle.” “Alright.” She whispers, trying to conceal the incessant way her heart patters behind her ribs, “Let me know if do something wrong, okay?”

He nods but otherwise doesn’t say anything. It takes her a moment to figure out how the clasp undoes at first, it’s quite a complex piece of machinery and she’s shocked to find that her first assertion was entirely correct. The central portion of the brace is affixed to his spine with a series of bolts the whole way down. Her hands shake as she moves to the same clasp on the opposite side, “How, um, how long have you had this?” she asks weakly. 

“A few years.” She clenches her teeth. How did she never notice? “Just to correct my posture.” He clarifies, sensing her tensing up behind him, “It doesn’t hurt.” 

“But you didn’t tell me.” 

He shrugs a shoulder, “You didn’t need to know.” “I would have liked to.” “Yes, well you know now,” he replies tersely and she immediately regrets pushing the matter. 

He stays silent as she works her way through the rest of the clasps. There’s a window on the wall opposite the bed and the curtains are open just enough for a beam of moonlight to reach in and wrap around the bony protrusion of his shoulder, all the way down the length of his back. She feels lost, caught and tangled up in the sharp angles of him. Her hands continue slowly undoing the brace, but her mind is tumbling and grasping for him before he slips through her fingers. The back of his neck is very pretty, the bumps of his spine that aren't covered by the splints are delicate and heartbreakingly sharp and his breathing is quiet and even for the moment, though she has grown used to hearing it like a chesty wheeze. When she finally undoes the last two clasps in the centre of the brace, he lets out a sigh of relief and when she presses a palm beside his spine, she can feel his heartbeat. Without speaking, he slips his arm through the strap that wraps up and around his left shoulder and her heart aches at the red welts left behind where the brace was pulled tight against his skin, the one on his shoulder is particularly deep and she finds herself leaning in to press a kiss to it before she can even think. Viktor sucks in a breath at the feeling of her lips against him but otherwise makes no acknowledgement of it happening.

“Would you like me to go?” She asks quietly, “You’ll probably just want to sleep now.” He looks at her over his shoulder, eyes wide and vulnerable, “No.” he says quickly, “No- it’s, it’s dark. You shouldn’t walk back alone.” A smile tugs at her lips, “It is dangerous in the hallways of the academy at night, isn't it?”

It isn’t, but the lie is comfortable. 

“It is.” He replies and his smile is a soft, heart-melting curl. After a lapse of almost excruciating silence, he shuffles himself to the side of the bed and stands shakily, resting most of his weight on a dresser in front of him, “Could you turn around a moment?” He asks

It clicks that the dresser must be where he keeps his clothes, “Oh! Yep!” He chuckles, “You can get in the bed if you’d like, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She does as he suggests, facing the wall away from him and crawling in under the covers. It feels strange, the academy bedsheets are exactly the same as the ones in her own room, yet it’s impossible to shake the significance of them being distinctly not hers, “You know I won’t let you do that, right?” she says quietly. 

A drawer opens behind her, and there’s some rustling of fabric, “I’ve slept places far worse than my couch, you even caught me doing so this evening.”

She sighs and pulls the sheets up to her chin, clutching desperately at the fabric, “C’mon, Viktor.” she almost pleads, “It’s just me, I don’t bite.” He scoffs behind her and the bed sinks when he sits on the edge of it. There’s more rustling and she can only assume it's easier for him to change in and out of his trousers when seated, “That isn’t what I'm concerned about.” “Then what are you concerned about?” Viktor goes completely still, she can only hear the sounds of his breathing and she struggles to keep her own breath even as she worries that she may have overstepped. The moment hangs in the air like a pendulum above her and her fingers dig tightly into the blankets. 

“Alright, you win,” Viktor says, and the weight is lifted. He shifts a little, and she feels the blankets lift on his side of the bed as he climbs in. Then she hears a click, and the only light source in the room goes out. 

What are we? She wonders, body stiff and uncomfortable as she lies in the darkness. She’s so close to the edge of the bed that her bent knee hangs off it, too afraid of accidentally touching him because of just how much she wants to. It’s been years of aching and wishing and she’s starting to get the sense that she’s running out of time, that if she doesn't find the right words for what they are, he will be gone before she can express them. She squeezes her eyes shut tight and tries to push the thoughts away, once again forcing herself to believe that Viktor is fine and to ignore all evidence to the contrary. 

Then, she feels Viktor shift on the other side of the mattress and he whispers, “It’s cold tonight, isn't it?” Her heart stops in her chest and she tentatively rolls over to find he’s already facing her. He looks pretty, the light of the moon is eclipsed by the back of his head, leaving him backlit in a soft white light, “Freezing.” she replies, remembering their lie from earlier in the evening. 

“There must be something we can do about that.” he breathes, shuffling in just a little closer. 

She feels like she is about to burst into tears or laughter or something equally immense as she ignores all pretence and all comfortable lies, instead moving straight towards him and wrapping her arms around his chest, tucking her head under his chin. One of his arms slowly slides around her waist to tug her closer against him and his good leg tucks in between both of hers. Something that feels suspiciously like a kiss presses to the top of her head, and as she listens to the gradual calming of his rapid heartbeat she wonders again, what are we?

___

Progress day doesn't go as planned for a lot of reasons. Sitting at the side of the stage, she and Viktor clutch hands the same way they always do. Though maybe a little tighter than normal as they watch Jayce give his first progress day address. She lets out a shocked gasp when Jayce goes off script, deciding not to unveil their newest projects even though the three of them spent so many sleepless nights working on them, even though they drove themselves to exhaustion trying to reach this deadline. Viktor is especially angry about it, seething almost, but everything is thrown into disarray by the attack from the Undercity before they even have a chance to talk it over.

Jayce is their spokesperson, as always, when the three of them are forced to address the council about the theft of one of their gemstones as if it was somehow their fault. They didn’t even have the decency to scrounge up a third chair for her, so she just stands awkwardly beside Viktor and nervously clutches his shoulder. It sometimes feels like the council would forget that she and Viktor even existed if Jayce didn’t keep reminding them. An argument breaks out among the councillors as Jayce begins suggesting a full suspension of Hextech production until the gemstone is located. Viktor also tenses under her hand at the suggestion and while she can understand his reservations, it’s hard for her to disagree with Jayce on this point at least. The last thing they need is someone doing something illegal with their technology, it would be a terrible look, and who knows how many people could get hurt. 

Then, things change so quickly that she can barely keep track. Councilor Medarda levies an attractive offer and before she can even wrap her head around what is taking place, the council issues a vote and suddenly it has eight members. Viktor’s hand shakes when it reaches up to grab her own where it rests on his shoulder, “This won't end well.” he mutters She swallows, filled with an anxious dread that doesn't leave her for the next three days, “Yeah.” She replies, “I have an awful feeling.”

When the two of them return to the lab, the room is filled with a thick and uncomfortable silence. Viktor sits at his desk and clutches his head in his hands, she on the other hand, can’t even bring herself to sit down, instead standing at the only open window in the room and resting her shaking hands on the windowsill. Her stomach twists itself into knots that will take hours to undo, any exhilaration from the the morning is completely gone, only replaced with a churning anxiety. Neither of them speaks until two hours later when Sky drops by, completely unaware of everything that transpired. Viktor explains it to her, his voice weak and exhausted. Sky is a smart girl, she can tell when there isn’t much she can do to help, she promises to let them know if she hears anything about Jayce’s whereabouts, but otherwise says she’ll be in her lab down the hall if they need her. 

With Sky gone, the room once again turns to heavy silence. She swallows and the feeling is thick in her throat, “He must still be with the council.” she says. 

“Yes.” Viktor replies, “He must.”

***

Jayce doesn’t come back that evening. While she’s certain that there is a lot that he needs to learn and probably some sort of extensive paperwork, when she looks over and sees the anxious curl of Viktor’s spine she wishes that Jayce would just tell the council to get fucked and come back to the lab where he belongs. Neither she nor Viktor manage to get any work done, neither of their prototypes are up for production and while there are improvements to be made, Heimerdinger’s insistence that the modifications would take a decade at minimum makes any attempt at progress feel utterly futile. 

Viktor does occasionally pull his pen out and make a few notes, but then he curses under his breath and lets the pen go after just a few minutes. Once she notices the sun has well set through their window and the moon is hanging high in the sky, she lets out a sigh. 

“We’re not going to get anything done, Viktor.” She says quietly, watching as he runs a desperate hand through his hair, “Do you want to get some sleep? Jayce will probably be back in the morning, then we can at least work out what we’re going to do from here.”

“I still don’t understand why he didn’t show the prototypes.” Viktor mutters, “Nothing today has made any sense.” “Yeah.” She replies, “It hasn't.” After a moment, Viktor sighs and grips tightly to his crutch to pull himself up from the chair, “Let’s just go.” he says, and then quieter, as if he doesn’t want her to hear it, “I’m tired.” They don’t talk at all on the walk over to his dorm, both exhausted emotionally and physically. Viktor is struggling to walk more now, she always finds him falling behind even though she is trying her best to keep in step with him, he must notice, even though she purposely doesn’t draw attention to it and she can only imagine how that makes him feel. He stands back as she unlocks the front door and she fondly remembers the morning when she found the spare key lying on his dresser when she woke up. He hadn’t told her that he was getting a copy made, he’d just left it for her when he headed to the lab for the day. It makes sense though, she spends more nights asleep in his bed than she does her own these days, trapped in a tangle of bony limbs that isn't necessarily comfortable but it is profoundly comforting . 

“Do you want tea?” She asks as she steps in through the doorway, holding the door open for him as he follows her inside. 

“No, thank you.” He says, moving to the bedroom and sitting down on the bed, “Help yourself, though.” She follows him into the bedroom, sitting down on the floor and going through the familiar routine of undoing his brace, “You know I was just being polite, I hate tea.” He laughs weakly, leaning back on his elbows as she moves to undo the clasps at his knee, “Don’t worry, it was very polite, thank you.” Her hands are quick now, familiar with each fastening the whole way up his leg, it only takes her a few seconds to have it undone. when she finishes She rests her head on his left thigh, peering up at him. Viktor sighs softly, brushing her hair away from her face. This isn’t a thing that friends do, she recognises, unable to resist leaning into his touch, but it is what they do. The fabric of his slacks is a little scratchy against her cheek and her legs are starting to go numb where they are curled under her, but the moment is so intimate and delicate that she can’t bear letting it shatter. 

“If Jayce isn’t in the lab tomorrow morning, I’ll see if I can find him in the council room,” Viktor says quietly, rubbing gentle circles over her temple with his thumb. 

“I can go instead, " she suggests, “if you want to get some work done in the lab.” “No.” He replies sternly, “I-” he sighs, hanging his head, “I need to talk to him.” “He’ll listen.”

Viktor lets his hand drop from her head, his face awash in painful uncertainty.

She raises herself up on her knees and reaches out to cup his cheek in her hand, “It’s Jayce.” She whispers, confidence proved only a mimicry by the way her voice shakes. Her thumb traces the sharp line of his cheekbone and her voice is more sincere when she adds, “He always listens.”

***

Whatever conversation Viktor and Jayce have doesn’t seem to help all that much. Jayce does seem apologetic at the very least, but for the next few days, Viktor is decidedly prickly. He sets himself up at one of their workstations and starts wordlessly assembling a new project that neither she nor Jayce has heard anything about until now. While he works, she mostly just sits at her own desk and goes back to trying to fix the issues with the hexclaw with the hopes of getting it to a more finished state before the next investor meeting in a few months. Something has changed in Viktor, she notices. A more pointed determination, something almost dangerously single-minded. He works on his new project all hours of the day and it’s harder than ever for her to pull him away for meals, or to convince him to leave the lab with her in the evenings. 

His cough is getting worse too, worse enough that it’s impossible for her to pretend that everything is fine, no matter how much he tries to convince her that it is just a cold or just allergies or just- 

She catches him once or twice, wiping the blood from his mouth on the back of his hand and she wants to scream or cry or do any number of things to force him to stop acting like everything is still fine. Jayce has noticed too, but he’s so busy with council business now that he only drops into the lab for a few hours a day. 

“I don’t know what to do.” He says, leaning against the wall just outside the lab. 

She leans there with him, not wanting to have this conversation in the same room as Viktor, “Me either.” “He is sleeping, right?” She nods, “Not as much as I’d like, but I'm getting him to bed every night.” “That’s good.” Jayce replies, hanging his head, “I should be in there with the two of you but-” he sighs, “Everyone’s still worried about the attack and that missing gemstone, until that’s sorted I don’t know how much time I’ll be able to spend in the lab.” “I know.” She replies, because she does know, even if the facts make her angry, they are still just the facts. She wrings her hands together and turns to face Jayce, his brows are pulled tight and he’s chewing hard on his bottom lip. 

“Hey, Jayce?” He turns his head to look at her, exhaustion visible under his eyes, “Yeah?” “Do you-” her breath escapes her in a hiccuping sob, “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

“Sure he will.” Jayce says, though his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “If anyone can get himself out of a bind, it’s gonna be Viktor, you know?”

***

She visits her father for dinner the night after. They have a long standing arrangement where she stops by within a week of progress day to debrief him. For the first time though, she spends the whole time just itching to get back to the academy, nervously checking the clock with each passing hour and barely managing to eat any of her dinner. 

Her father laughs, “I know I’m not a proper chef or anything, but my food can’t be that bad, can it?” “No, it’s good, I’m sorry.” She says quietly, pushing her food around the plate with her fork, “Still just discombobulated after-” she waves her hand around vaguely, “You know.” “The attack?” He asks softly. 

“Yeah, the attack.” she lies

“Your friends are alright, aren’t they? The Talis boy and uh-” “Viktor.” She supplies. Suddenly even less interested in eating her dinner. 

The new project Viktor is working on consumes him. He’s started calling it the Hexcore and says that he aims to find out whether or not Hextech can learn , if like she discovered so many years ago, they were missing a fundamental and human component. While all of their current creations resonated at a G4, who’s to say that there aren't other effects that could be unlocked by teaching it how to resonate at another, or by giving it an unlimited combination of runes to cast with? He sits at the workstation for hours, constantly manipulating and twisting the rune matrix around. At all moments the room is filled with the rapid click of plates realigning or the humming of the gemstone within them. The only break comes when he takes a moment to update blueprints or write down new notes. She still managed to get him to bed the past few nights, though it only becomes more difficult each time. With Sky’s help, she’s able to keep him eating, even if it’s little more than a sandwich or one bite of an apple. 

She did tell Viktor that she was going to be out tonight and that she’d likely see him in bed. Sky will be staying late at the academy because she has an assignment due tomorrow morning and she promised to keep an eye on him as best she could. Jayce has a meeting with councillor Medarda (though he called her Mel ) and will try and find time to stop by the lab on his way back just in case. It doesn't matter though, there’s a terrible, awful feeling sitting in the pit of her stomach that she can’t do away with. 

“I should get to meet those boys someday, you know?” Her father says, snapping her back to the present, “I know you’re probably embarrassed about our little house on the fringes, but it cleans up nice!” She laughs weakly, remembering that Jayce and Viktor technically already visited years ago, “Sorry, Dad. We’re all really busy right now, and Viktor-” she bites her lower lip to stop the words from coming out, “He’s tired, we’re all tired.”

“Well, maybe I’ll stop by your lab sometime.” He replies, leaning back in his chair with a warm smile on his face, “You can do experiments on me, I’m tough.”

That gets a proper laugh out of her and she’s grateful for it, “I think we’d all like that.” she says, “You could meet our assistant Sky, too. She does work with plants, which is probably a little more up your alley than our stuff.”

“Speaking of plants, did you see the hydrangea on the doorstep? She’s looking a lot better, isn’t she?”

“Doesn’t look one foot in the grave anymore, at least.” She says and then lets out a sigh, “Look, I’m sorry I still haven't been able to get you a seat in the main hall for progress day. Mrs Talis said you could both share a seat next year if they deny my request again.” Her father barks a laugh, “Good sense of humor, that woman. I like her.” he crosses his arms and a frown pulls his grey eyebrows together, “House Talis isn’t even that large, I don’t understand why she gets a seat every year and I don’t.” She shrugs a shoulder, “They’re still a house, Dad.” He huffs, “You’d think having a daughter who helped build that big whosawhatsit in the sky would count for something.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” She replies with a halfhearted smile. 

“When are you going to get your face on one of those mugs?” He grumbles, “I keep telling my clients that my brilliant daughter is doing all this amazing stuff and none of them ever believe me, but if i had a mug- ” Another laugh bubbles up and out of her, she shakes her head, “Hey, Viktor doesnt have a mug either. We just don’t have the faces for it.” She lies, Viktor has a face that should be carved out of marble, “Plus we’re not exactly socialites, I don’t know what Id do if people started recognising me when I went out for lunch.” Her father leans forward, taking one of her hands in two of his own, “You deserve some recognition though, pumpkin.” he waves his hand, “I guess that Viktor guy does too, but I don’t care about him.” Somewhere amidst her laughter it starts feeling like crying, she sniffles and quickly wipes her eyes, “Be nice to Viktor, he isn’t here to defend himself.” “Maybe i’d care about him more if i got to meet him.” “Okay, okay.” She says with a watery smile, “I’ll see how we’re doing next month, maybe we can find time for you to visit the lab. You just won’t be able to touch anything, alright?” He lifts his hands up in the air, “Fully hands off, no worries, kiddo.”

***

It’s well past midnight when she finally leaves. Despite the sense of urgency burrowing into the marrow of her bones, her father still makes great company and it was difficult to leave him, but as she finally makes her way back to the academy dorms the urgency has begun an evolution into terror. Viktor’s dorm is eerily silent when she opens the door, even when he’s sleeping she can usually hear the rasp of his breath. Her heart beats so wildly in her chest that she can feel it down to her fingers as she rounds the corner and finds no crutch leaning against the wall of his bedroom and not a single disturbance in the perfectly made sheets. 

The bad feeling rises in her like bile. Desperation gnaws as she drops her handbag, grabs her keys and kicks off her shoes before sprinting from the dorms all the way to the lab on the other side of the building. Her breath is ragged in her chest and her heart is racing in a panic that only increases in metre as she runs. The tiles are cold under her bare feet and she is aware that anyone still awake must hear her barreling down the halls, but she couldn't care about anything less. When she finally turns the corner to their hallway, it feels like it stretches and stretches, mocking her as she tries to get to the door, faster faster . Her breath comes out in an aching sob when she finally makes it, hoping and praying to be proved wrong as the door unlocks. 

But the feeling had been right. 

Viktor’s Hexcore still pulses on the workstation, pitch shifting from G4 to A4 like it’s laughing at her, spinning quietly as she crosses the room. Watching. Her heart stops completely when she sees him slumped on the floor, there’s a disconnect between her brain and her legs, she can’t make them move, she just stares and inhales gulp after gulp of air that never seems to satisfy. Her feet shuffle slowly, like she isn’t quite awake, like it might all just be a dream. She drops to her knees and reaches out for him.

“Viktor?” she tries, shaking him by the shoulder, and then again, panicked, “ Viktor?”

He doesn't stir. She inhales a breath through her nose, biting back tears, “Okay. Okay. ” she whispers to herself, trying to calm her breathing despite the aching sobs that still lurk in the back of her throat. When the sounds of her own breath are finally quiet enough, she lowers her head to his chest, pressing her ear to his sternum. A heartbeat. Barely there. Her own heart starts racing again and tears of relief start rushing down her cheeks. He’s still alive, but she has to keep him that way. While he certainly can’t weigh all that much he’s still a lot taller than her and completely unconscious so there is no way she can carry him. 

“Okay.” She says, more to Viktor than to herself, “I’m going to get Jayce.” she hiccups another sob and presses a hand to his cheek, nodding to herself, “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

The academy has a capsule pipeline system to send information between wings. She knows (thanks to Jayce’s complaining about it) that there is also a system that connects directly to each individual counciller room. Most folk can’t get a letter through to them directly, but Jayce left her and Viktor with a couple of special capsules that get immediate access without needing to go through verification first. Just in case. Her handwriting is very messy as she scrawls out two letters, barely a sentence on each. She also writes another one for the hospital, but she knows they’re further away than Jayce is. Her shaky hand smudges the ink and the paper must be covered in tears, it’s hard to see what she’s doing with only the ominous light of the Hexcore for illumination, but she never even considers turning a light on. 

Clutching the capsules she avoids taking another look at Viktor, because she might not be able to leave the room if she does, and runs down to the station that sends and receives capsules for the science department. She sends the one for the hospital first because they have a direct line she doesnt need to input an address for. Then she inputs the address for Jayce’s room, sends the capsule and collapses to her knees beside the machine. It’s loud, when a capsule arrives, at least that’s what Jayce says, loud enough to wake him up. She sits on her knees for what must only be five minutes, but even that feels like an hour. There’s a thunk when a capsule arrives in the tube and she opens it with a panicked vigor. 

It’s the hospital, they’re on their way, but it’s going to be an hour. 

She presses her forehead to the cool wall, gritting her teeth. Jayce should have heard it, she has another capsule just in case he didn’t, but he should have, unless he isn’t in his room. Her eyes snap open and she rises up on her knees, hand shaking as she inputs the address for Councillor Medarda’s room instead and sends the second capsule. 

Sitting there on the floor, clutching her knees up to her chest. She can’t stop thinking about Viktor, how she wishes she could do something instead of just sitting here and waiting. She buries her head in her knees and lets out a wail, not even bothering to keep quiet should someone overhear. If she hadn’t gone out tonight, if she just told her father that she needed to postpone, she could have stopped this. It’s all her fault. Just as she feels a scream building in her chest, there’s another thunk . 

This capsule is from Councillor Medarda’s room. The letter inside is Jayce’s handwriting. 

Coming now. 

___

What are we? She wonders, sitting for the fifth hour beside Viktor’s bed in the hospital. She holds his hand tight, tracing the bumps of his knuckles with her thumb and just waiting . It’s been long enough that the orange light of the morning sun is pouring into the room, trying its best to bring some colour to the sterile white hospital room. She’s so tired after an evening spent crying and screaming and running back and forth that her head leans uncomfortably against the unforgiving wall behind her because she can’t manage to hold it up anymore. Jayce is tired too, but he still has enough energy to argue with the doctors, apparently. She can hear them from across the hall.   

It only took him ten minutes to show up after his letter arrived. She was slumped against the wall of the lab with Viktor’s head in her lap when he came scrambling into the room. She’d cried so much that she could barely even move, completely weak with emotional and physical exhaustion and when Jayce finally came in through the door all she could do was start crying all over again. Jayce tried his best to stay calm, though his breath was heaving after running all the way over and his eyes were watery and panicked. She remembers the way he forced a smile. 

“It’s going to be okay.” He’d said, the wavering in his voice betraying his cool exterior, “We’ll get him to the hospital, c’mon.”

He’d pressed his forehead to hers for just a moment and then lifted Viktor from her lap and into his arms. She barely managed to tell him that the hospital already knew they were coming, all her words came in juts and stutters between hiccuping sobs. Jayce tried to convince her to stay behind, but even with her exhausted body and shaking limbs, it was impossible for him to change her mind. The rest of the night is a blur, lots of sprinting, arguing, crying and waiting, so much fucking waiting . 

She sits up straight when Jayce slams the door open. He has his hand clasped over the lower half of his face and his eyes are wild. She just watches as he crosses the room and all but collapses in the chair beside her. She sniffles and tries to smile, “Didn’t change anything, did it?” Jayce buries his face in his hands and she tentatively wraps the arm that isn’t areadly occupied by Viktor’s hand around his shoulder. He isn’t quite crying, but it sounds like he could start at any moment, “No.” he says gravely, “The results for the second round of tests were the same as the first.” a humourless laugh escapes him, “and they said there’s no point doing a third.” She bites her lower lip to hold back a sob, “You didn’t need to yell at them.” She says quietly, “It’s not their fault.” “I know.” Jayce says, his voice breaking, “I just-” he doesnt finish, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes and sucking a desperate breath in through his teeth “Yeah.” she replies, resting her head on his shoulder, “Me too.”

***

Jayce forces her to go home after four more hours. Promising to stay at the hospital until Viktor wakes up. She tries to argue, but unlike her, Jayce had managed a few hours of sleep the night before while she was running completely on empty. For a moment she considers going back to Viktor’s dorm instead of her own and curling up on his empty bed, but logic settles in when she realises Jayce will need to know where to find her if something happens. So she sleeps alone in her own bed and spends the whole time wishing she was somewhere else. 

Even when laying in the bed and clutching her knees to her chest she can still hear the rush of her heartbeat in her ears. Her chest hurts from so many hours of painful sobbing and her eyes sting whenever she blinks them open. Her dreams are restless and disquieting. Unfamiliar images flash behind her eyelids that make little to no sense, Viktor is in all of them, Jayce is there often, Sky too. The only sound she hears is the ominous humming laugh of the Hexcore, as if it has sequestered itself inside her grey matter. The dreams start and end in rapid fire. Nothing good ever happens. 

She doesn’t have any sense of what the time is when a knock at her door has her waking with a panicked gasp. Sun streams in through her open window, so it must still be at least the late afternoon, but other than that she has no idea. She stumbles to her door, still dressed in her nice blouse and skirt from the evening before but terribly rumpled for all her tossing and turning. It takes a moment for her to unlock the door, her hands don’t seem to want to obey her anymore. 

“He’s awake.” Jayce says in a rush, when the door swings open. 

Her heart jumps back into gear, all aching lethargy suddenly replaced with a jittering anxiety, “We have to go back now!” she says, moving to push past him.

“Wait!” He exclaims, grabbing her by the shoulders before she can start running, “I- I wish i could, but Mel doesn’t even know where I am and-” “Oh.” She says quietly, Jayce looks just as tired as she feels. The Councillor Medarda situation notwithstanding, he needs to rest, she can tell. She lifts up onto her toes and pulls him into a hug, breathing shakily, “It’s okay, I understand.” she buries her face in his shoulder, “Did you at least get to talk to him?”

Jayce returns the hug, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her tight, “Yeah, for just under an hour. I know you wanted to see him straight away but,” he laughs a little, “He wanted me to let you sleep.” Her eyes start beading with tears again, at the thought of him asking Jayce to make sure she gets some rest as if he wasn’t the one who almost died the night before. Sucking in a shaky breath, she releases Jayce and gives him a tired smile, “I’ll see you later then, I guess.” 

He nods, “Let me know if you’ll need me. I’ll be in my room all night.”

“Will do.” She replies, stepping past Jayce and closing her door behind her, “We will talk about you and Councillor Medarda later, though. I want details.” Jayce laughs and they both head their separate ways. 

***

Viktor is at least sitting upright when she finally makes it back to his hospital room. His breath is an aching, painful wheeze and despite being open, his eyes seem glassy and inattentive. They do dart to her face when she enters and something like the first inclination of a smile tugs at the very corners of his mouth. She wants to start crying again, to hold him tight and never let go. She doesn't. Instead, she lurks in the doorway, wringing her hands together.

“I hear you saved me.” He says quietly, his accent and the rasp of his voice makes the words difficult to discern. 

She swallows thickly, “I tried to.” Viktor sighs, then. Turning away from her to face the window. The sun's light makes his skin seem less ashen, but the hollows of his cheeks look even deeper, “I take it you were here with Jayce for my diagnosis, then.” “I-” she starts, voice catching on the word, “I’m sorry.”

He laughs bitterly, “Don’t do that to me, don’t apologise.” 

She doesn’t know what to do but apologise. So instead she keeps her mouth shut and forces herself to return to the chair she had been sitting in for all those hours. Wordlessly, she shuffles the chair forward so she can rest her head on the edge of the mattress, peering up at him. She grabs his hand again, holding it tight the same way she had been when he was asleep. 

“I wouldn’t judge you wrongly.” He says quietly, his other hand moving to cup the back of her head, “If you decided to put a stop to-” he closes his eyes and then says the last word like a secret, “-this.” There’s no specification, no clarification. But she knows, she knows what this is, she’s known it for years. This is the only thing she’s ever wanted, this has taken up residence behind her ribs and any removal would have to be surgical. They’d have to rip this from her, out of her and even then she would kick and scream the entire time. This is what they are. 

“I don’t want to.” She breathes.

“Milackú” he whispers achingly. A word she has never heard before, but instantly recognises it as being for her, “I’m dying .”

It hurts to hear him say it, more than when the doctors did. 

“You’ll figure something out.” She says, “I know you will and if- well if you don’t, I-” she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to force back her tears, “I’m still not going anywhere okay? Neither is Jayce, or Sky. Okay? ” she somehow manages to let out a weak little laugh, “and my father wants to meet you, so you have to stick around for a little while.”

Viktor laughs, though it's more of a rasp, “You talked about me?” he asks quietly.

“Always do.” She replies.

It looks like Viktor wants to say something and it looks that way for quite some time. He lets out a shaky breath instead and just keeps looking down at her, whatever words had been dancing on the edge of his tongue are long gone. Usually, she would be curious as to what they were, but at this moment she's just glad to have him, even in silence. It's hard to remember the precise moment when even looking at Viktor became an exercise in restraint, if it was the day they first held hands in the council room, or even before that. She always wants to reach out, to touch, for her skin and his to coalesce into something evangelical.

After some time, she attempts to readjust her head, frowning when she can't manage to find a position that doesn't put a crick in her neck.

“That cannot be comfortable,” Viktor says quietly, rubbing light circles on the back of her head. 

“It isn’t, my neck hurts,” she answers truthfully. He huffs in faux irritation and shuffles himself to the far side of the bed, “Just get in.” he says, “Before you hurt yourself.”

The hospital bed is a lot smaller than the one in his dorm and while the sheets are starchy and uncomfortable, they do smell like him, so she is more than happy to climb in. The single bed leaves them pressed together from collarbone down to knee and the only comfortable place for her head ends up being his chest. He doesn't seem to mind, his arm curls around her and holds her even tighter against him. She wraps an arm around his middle and buries her face in his hospital gown to hide the new tears beading in her eyes. 

“I love this.” She whispers, a close enough approximation, but its utterance feels less dangerous than the truth. 

Viktor kisses the crown of her head, and he breathes, “So do I.”

He falls asleep first, probably less than an hour after she joins him in the bed. First the first time in a long while his breath sounds steady, though it’s probably because he’s still on oxygen. The rhythmic sound of his heart beneath her ear has her biting her lip to keep herself from sobbing, remembering how quiet it had been all those hours ago. How much it hurt to think he had died, how much it hurts still to know that he will . 

She stays awake as the sun begins to set outside the window, once again painting the hospital walls in hues of orange, watching the shafts of light slowly shift with time. This is what they are. It’s not something that can so easily be named, it’s a feeling, a sob building up behind her ribs, his arm around her and the aching dread of something terrible on the horizon. She feels inseparable from him, a very real sense that if he were to die, she would be soon to follow. It takes another hour for her to fall asleep, hand clutched tight to the bedsheets at Viktor’s waist, leg tucked over the top of his own. She isn’t going anywhere, the universe itself couldn’t make her. 

[star-farer]

retribution

Summary: Ware the consequences of your actions Taglist: @kybercrystals94 @fionas-frenzy @padawancat97 @margindoodles2407 @dreamsight73 @groguandthebadbatch @sskim-milkk @leapingbadger

Author's note: The author does not condone revenge for Vengeance belongs to the Lord. Also, this is my New Year's gift!

“Ciddarin Scaleback.”

Her jaw drops open at the sight of a bespectacled clone in her seat. He’s scarred, there’s blood dripping down his temple, a red patch glistening in his hair, and the grin on his face reminds her of a predator baring his teeth. His eyes are dark as shadows behind the yellow-tinted goggles. She breaks out in a cold sweat.

“Goggles?!”

A blaster rises with a characteristic languidness, a cold dispassionate rage in the way his hand keeps it steady, aiming right between her eyes. She counts her days between each beat of her heart. They aren't many, and they aren't long.

“Tech,” says the wounded clone easily, almost flippantly, save for the slight strain in his tone, the slight anger that bleeds into his matter-of-fact voice, “My name is Tech, and it would bode you well to address me as such." He inclines his head thoughtfully. "Unless you wish to die a painful death.”

She swallows thickly, but shifts her hand down to the weapon concealed in her thigh holster and beneath layers of clothing.

One moment, she’s trying to work her way out of this predicament, trying to understand how this clone is alive when she’d seen the others mourn his loss with a ferocity that had rendered her speechless.

The next, she’s collapsing to the floor, her leg giving way to a searing hot pain in her thigh. It tears a scream out of her throat, raw and sharp, and she gives in to her growing anxiety. Her thoughts tangle into an indiscernible mess, and she loses herself to a fear that wraps like a noose around her throat.

He tuts, shaking his head in disappointment as he makes his way around the table, the barrel of his blaster smoking tendrils. Towering over her, he regards her like filth, mouth twisted in a smirk that borders on a hateful sneer, hooded eyes glinting.

“And here I’d made the mistake of believing you cleverer than what you appear to be.” His chuckle sends shivers down her spine, as if trying to counteract the sticky heat from the hole in her thigh. “I ought to have known your capabilities extend only to petty manipulation.”

A short bark of laughter that sounds more derisive than humorous escapes him, so clear and accented, it batters against her eardrums, making them ring like a knell. “Millegi knew,” he hums, even if it’s through gritted teeth and curled lips, “He warned us about you after we had rescued you. A warning I should have given heed to.”

“But,” he dips his chin, “That is in the past. Those are matters I have lost control over. There is nothing I can do to change them.”

Dropping to a crouch a few inches in front of her, he pushes the blaster muzzle up her chin, and her heartbeat screams so loudly she can barely hear his words. She doesn’t want to die. She can’t die, not when she’s just started living a comfortable life. Not when she’s gotten her business finally settled under the Empire.

It is this fear that finally gives voice to the words stuck in her throat. “What do you want? I—I’ll give it, I’ll do it. Whatever you need, I’ll get it done, I swear. Just— just please. Please, let me go. Don’t kill me. Please.”

His grin grows even wider, grows feral; there’s blood staining his gleaming teeth. “I want you dead,” he purrs, and she knows the blaster will leave a mark on her leathery skin where it’s being pressed, “I want you to hurt, to die a slow, torturous death.”

For one terrible, cruel, long moment of silence, she waits for his judgement, equal parts despair and resignation. She watches his jaw clench, hears his gloved grip on the blaster tighten, sees his pupils shrink to pinpricks as a snarl rises in the back of his throat.

But the spell is broken when he sighs softly and stands up, features dull and disinterested once more, frosty in the way his gaze rests on her bleeding form. “Consider yourself fortunate it is only I and not one of my brothers. They would never hesitate as I do.”

He frowns down at the blaster in his hand, a thought glittering in his eyes. She stiffens, trying to drag herself away from the maniac that has replaced the clever clone she knew.

“Then again,” he smiles, “Perhaps your luck has ran out after all.”

It’s the last thing she hears before a bolt of red sears through her uninjured leg. And his face, dark and terrible, a smirk so similar to Omega’s splicing his face in two, is the last thing she sees before a blue ring envelopes her vision to a darkness she will not remember.

[turtleblogatlast]

[ cw: death mention / strangulation mention / stabbing mention / blood mention / self-sacrifice / codependency mention in tags / ]

I think a lot about how common it is for Raph to be the one to have direct focus put on him when Leo gets into all his near death experiences.

Like, when Leo is thrown off a building, it’s Raph who’s right there jumping after him, not even thinking about the consequences to himself when he does. When Leo almost gets skewered by the Krang, Raph’s right there to take the blow and send Leo to safety without a second thought. When Leo’s being strangled to near death, it’s a Krangified Raph doing the job, doing exactly what Raph would never, ever want to do. When Leo is telling Casey Jr to close the portal, it’s Raph who tries desperately to convince Leo otherwise.

Likewise, Leo is consistently very single minded when Raph gets forcibly separated from them. Both when in the sewers and by the Krang, Leo is dead set on finding Raph first and foremost.

I also think it’s interesting that during each of Leo’s near death experiences, the lightheartedness of his words during them goes directly hand in hand with both how close Raph is to him physically and how much danger Raph is also in in that moment. From a literal “I told you so” as Leo’s falling away from Raph to a soft joke about how “hero moves” are Raph’s style - both of these are on the more morbidly carefree side and both of these notably take Leo farther away from Raph and, in turn, have Raph not in immediate danger.

On the other side of things is the apology from Leo, heedless of the danger he himself is in as he seriously and genuinely speaks to a Krangified Raph face to face. Then there’s Leo’s freezing and desperation as Raph takes a hit meant for him and sends just Leo to safety, leaving Raph himself behind. Both of these involve much closer proximity and Raph being directly harmed - these together make Leo much more vulnerable in his words and actions, something not even the threat of death can make him.

These two care about each other so much, and they’re way too much alike for their own good.

[skrunksthatwunk]

idk if i've discussed it before (i have certainly THOUGHT about it) but someone on my kuwa suffering ep 89 comp mentioned it and i just had to go off about it like. ok. sensui tells yusuke something along the lines of "you heard itsuki" when itsuki's inside the uraotoko, implying that not only can sensui hear those inside the uraotoko, but that he expects yusuke to be able to as well. which means that yusuke Almost Certainly Heard And Kind Of Ignored kuwabara's prolonged mental breakdown and wailing about how much he needs yusuke to live etc. which. guHHH i hate him yusuke you ass but also listen.

the only acknowledgement yusuke gives to this (if any) is when he says something like "sensui you're sooo fucking cooked this plan's going perfectly (my friends are going to get strong and kill you when i die)." he's trash talking to sensui, ignoring the others because, i think, he doesn't want to acknowledge what he's doing to them.

yusuke is explicitly recreating the experience he had with kuwabara's "death" at the hands of toguro, complete with the announcement of intent (and power) to kill, the inability to impede the threat in any way (barring a power-breakthrough), and the target in some way racing towards/volunteering for their death. yusuke learns through doing, and through tough love-style approaches. it's only effective if it hurts. watching kuwabara die like that was devastating to yusuke, but it sure as hell fucking worked. he beat toguro because of that maneuver. so even if he has to (re-)traumatize his friends in the process, this method will make his friends stronger, and he feels confident in that. but he never had to live with the consequences of kuwabara's death, not really. that's something hiei makes clear before they enter the cave as well, that there are no fake-outs ready to make him or anyone else stronger. the only deaths here will be real. the only power gained will come at a high, permanent cost. hiei's warning is an attempt to keep everyone alive, to keep yusuke from being stupid. and then yusuke decides to take that fatality into his own hands, but it's kind of his friends who would pay the price. he's going to make them live through the days, months, years without him, the actual permanency of loss (assuming they survive for that long), something he never experienced with kuwabara (a new facet of that traumatic scenario), AND he's escaping the emotional fallout of this choice through death. he doesn't have to see them mourn, won't get yelled at, won't watch them fail to move on. he's tapping out and choosing to believe they'll be fine.

but i think he feels guilty. just a little. i mean, yusuke couldn't even believe that people cared about him enough to want him alive in episode one. he's staked everything on his friends, which means he still kind of... doesn't value his own life, at least not compared to theirs. but he believes his friends love him and want him around, and we know that because he has to, or else he wouldn't make a plan that depends entirely on that love. he is actively leveraging the care he doesn't think he deserves, trying to hurt them in a way he is intimately familiar with (only worse), for.... what, exactly?

this is kind of my sticking point tbh. i don't think the answer is... super clear, but let's start with what it's not.

yusuke is not doing this because it is the most practical way to save all of humanity; that would be the mafukan, which he stopped. it could be a gamble to save all of his friends? the mafukan strategy would guarantee koenma's death/eternal imprisonment, whereas this strategy gambles all of humanity on the chance that his friends come out of the Easy Break Oven strong enough to avert the end of the world. if the sacrifice of even one friend is completely intolerable, perhaps he'd accept those slim odds and their steep consequences. yusuke tends to take risks like that, especially when he's got fight-induced tunnel vision. he doesn't think things through too much; his schemes are usually dependent on surprising his enemy enough to oneshot them. truthfully, i think this is the closest we'll get to an answer, and it's a more conventional one for this kind of story. but there is another layer i haven't been able to get from my mind.

i think yusuke is gifting each of his friends an honorable warrior's death.

so, in case it needs saying, yusuke, kuwabara, kurama, and hiei all (at least once, if not several times) exhibit a desire to die in combat in a way they deem noble to give their lives purpose (usually by self-sacrifice, but sometimes by another metric of honor, like hiei's duel with shigure and his desire to die in mutual defeat against an evenly matched opponent; or even kurama's decision to fight shigure in his human form, displaying a sort of passive suicidality via placing being true to himself in this (somewhat symbolic/inconsequential) way over survival). they need to make their lives count for something, because they feel guilty for being alive (kurama and hiei feel guilty for their past actions (hiei's is most evident in his distance from yukina, though that's not its primary reason), hiei, kuwabara, and yusuke have all been ostracized and made to feel like burdens on/unwanted by their caregivers and general society; all four of them have felt profound isolation even from their loved ones (yusuke and hiei are rather obvious; kurama can never tell his mother about the majority of his life nor what she truly means to him in the context of it; and kuwabara is separated from his peers for his spiritual awareness and his "stupidity" (plus his parents aren't around? and he is Desperate to define manhood/manliness through a broader pop cultural one which includes the warrior sacrifice thing bc he has no male role models BUT that's for another post) (i will admit kuwa's the most tenuous one here irt isolation)). they want to die for a cause so badly it's actually physically painful to me. it is passive suicidality, and they define their lives and identities by their relation to, engagement with, and skill at doing violence, etc. they live to die by the sword. anyway. nobody talks about it but i think it's very important to understanding what yusuke's doing here.

because i think he knows that about himself and his friends. they're kindred spirits. at the very least he knows this about kuwabara, who literally made a speech about this before diving into toguro's fingers In The Event That He Is Recreating Explicitly. he is dying nobly like they all want to on the chance that they'll get to break out and fight sensui rather than dying without even getting to take a swing. it's about his pride and theirs. but i don't think yusuke necessarily believes they'll win. he knows better than anyone how strong sensui is, and how wide the gap is between sensui and team urameshi. his stated position that humanity is doomed and that he doesn't care about its fate is, i think, not completely genuine, but if we take it at face value, he's not killing himself so that his friends can survive the end of the world. something's going to come around and kill them eventually. he's doing it so they can survive long enough to fight sensui. he needs them (specifically kuwabara) to be strong enough to free themselves to begin round two. but he's given up on their side winning, on humanity surviving, on his own victory---why should he think his friends are capable of winning? this could be another case of yusuke's fight-blinders. it could be another gamble, more blind faith put in his friends. but honestly it reads more to me that yusuke's giving them a chance to die together on the battlefield. them winning would be great, but it's not his goal. it's a pipe dream.

he knows he's going to be killed. they're probably going to be killed, too. but to make it so they last a little longer against sensui, to make the odds a little more even, so they are killed not like livestock, but like worthy fighters, he'd die a little faster. it's the best kind of death someone like them can have; and he'll deprive himself of it just to make their ends a little sweeter. even if the road to that is far more bitter.

but it's not like yusuke's friends know what he's thinking or agree to it, and he can't exactly make his case for it in the moment. he's making that choice for them. whatever his intentions, whatever odds he thinks they have of beating sensui, he's kind of sealing all of their fates. so how the hell is he supposed to acknowledge kuwabara screaming at him not to die, trying desperately to express what yusuke means to him in what could be their final moments together? this plan is going to hurt his friends terribly. it is already doing so, and he can hear it. his choices to stop koenma from using the mafukan and to die for his friends' strength are both selfish in some way, no matter how you read the scene. if yusuke comforts kuwabara, he might not get strong enough. if he twists the knife, well... how could he forgive himself? and either way by responding he would have to face them all and say yes, i'm doing this regardless of your feelings (with the intention of hurting you). so i think he does what he often does. he avoids it. he lets that emotion glance off him and his bravado and his one-liners so he doesn't have to deal with the fact that he's hurting people, that he's scared and guilty and unsure of himself. that he's about to die again, about to put kuwabara through the grief he saw at his wake again, only worse; about to put his quieter friends through something similar.

yusuke is confronted with the responsibility one has to the people who care for them, and he runs from it in an attempt to give them some small peace. just like when he died before and thought hey, at least my mom and keiko won't be burdened by me anymore. because the only thing he can really do for them is die.

[pucksandpower]

Thicker Than Blood

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc’s Ex!Reader

Summary: you didn’t think things could get worse after your long-time (ex) boyfriend chose his team over you … until you see those two pink lines, but little do you know that his rival will soon prove that a found family can be thicker than blood

Warnings: includes depictions of labor complications and Jos Verstappen

Based on this request

“Charles, this isn’t funny.”

You’re half-smiling, half-laughing, like you’re expecting him to crack any second and say something ridiculous, something that would make you roll your eyes and shake your head at his poor attempt at a joke.

But he doesn’t. He just stands there, his eyes fixed on you with a seriousness that makes your stomach twist.

“Charles,” you repeat, the laugh in your voice now entirely gone. “What are you talking about?”

He runs a hand through his hair, the way he does when he’s trying to find the right words, but they’re all jumbled up in his head. You know this Charles. This is the Charles who struggles when things aren’t easy, when he has to explain something he doesn’t want to. But this … this is different.

“We need to break up.” The words come out so softly, so carefully, like he’s afraid of them. But they hit you hard, a punch in the gut that leaves you breathless.

You blink, trying to process what he’s just said, but it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fit. You and Charles are solid. You’ve been through everything together — the highs, the lows, the uncertain days before he was anything more than just another young driver trying to make it in the big leagues. And now, after all this time, after everything, he’s telling you this?

You shake your head. “No. No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do,” he says, his voice firmer now, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.

“Charles, no,” you say, your voice rising, a mixture of panic and disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about? Where is this coming from?”

He sighs, a long, weary sound, and looks away from you, his gaze falling to the floor as if he can’t bear to meet your eyes. “It’s not what I want,” he says quietly.

“Then why?” You demand, stepping closer to him, trying to catch his eye, to pull him back to you. “Why are you saying this? We’re fine, Charles. We’re good. What’s going on?”

He finally looks at you, and the pain in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat. “It’s not about us,” he says, his voice almost breaking. “It’s … it’s the team. Ferrari.”

“What?” You say, blinking in confusion. “What does Ferrari have to do with us?”

“They … they think it’s better if I’m single,” he says, each word forced out like it’s costing him something. “For my image. For the brand.”

You stare at him, your mouth open, but no words come out. You’re frozen, your mind struggling to catch up to the words he’s just said, to the reality he’s trying to force on you. “You’re breaking up with me … because of Ferrari?”

He nods slowly, miserably, like he hates himself for it. “It’s complicated,” he says, trying to make it sound like it’s not the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard.

“No, it’s not,” you shoot back, the anger finally starting to break through the shock. “This isn’t complicated, Charles. This is insane. You can’t seriously be telling me that you’re ending things because some PR team thinks it’ll be better for your career.”

“They’re not just some PR team,” he says, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. “They know what they’re doing. They’ve seen the numbers and the trends. They know what’s best for the brand … for me.”

“And what about us?” You ask, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “What about everything we’ve been through? Everything we’ve built together? You’re just going to throw that away because someone told you to?”

He winces, like your words are physically hurting him, but he doesn’t back down. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like? Because from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like you’re choosing your career over me.”

His silence is deafening. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he’s struggling with what he’s saying, but he’s not fighting it. He’s not fighting for you, and that realization hits you harder than anything else.

“Why now?” You ask, your voice softer now, the fight starting to drain out of you. “Why are you doing this now?”

“It’s just … it’s the timing,” he says, fumbling for an explanation that makes sense. “The season’s starting, there’s so much pressure. They think it’ll be easier if I’m not-”

“If you’re not what? Tied down?” You snap, the words laced with bitterness. “Is that what they told you? That you’ll be better off without me weighing you down?”

“That’s not how they put it,” he says, but there’s no conviction in his voice.

You feel tears pricking at your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let them fall. You won’t cry. Not now. Not here. “Charles, we’ve been together for years,” you say, your voice trembling. “We’ve been through everything together. And now you’re telling me that none of that matters? That all of that gets erased because it doesn’t fit with Ferrari’s brand?”

“I don’t want to do this,” he says, his voice breaking, his eyes pleading with you to understand.

“Then don’t,” you plead back, stepping closer to him, reaching out to take his hand, but he pulls away, and the rejection stings.

“I have to,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

You shake your head, trying to make sense of the senseless. “How can you say that? How can you just … give up on us like this?”

“I’m not giving up,” he insists, but it sounds hollow, even to him. “It’s just … it’s not forever. It’s just for now, just to get through the season. Then we can figure things out, we can-”

“You can’t be serious,” you interrupt, the tears finally spilling over despite your best efforts. “You think I’m just going to wait around for you to decide when it’s convenient for you to be with me again? You think that’s how this works?”

He doesn’t respond, just looks at you with that same pained expression, and it’s enough to break your heart all over again.

“Charles, please,” you whisper, one last attempt to reach him, to get him to see reason, to see you. “Don’t do this. We can figure something out. We always do.”

But he’s already shaking his head, and you know, deep down, that he’s already made up his mind. “I’m sorry,” he says, and you can hear the finality in his voice, the way he’s closing the door on this, on you.

You stare at him, the boy you’ve known for so long, the man you’ve loved for years, and it feels like he’s slipping away from you, like he’s already gone. “You really think this is what’s best for you?” You ask, your voice hollow, defeated.

“It’s not about what’s best for me,” he says, and you almost laugh at the irony of it.

“Then what is it about, Charles?” you ask, but you’re not sure you even want to know the answer.

“It’s about … what’s best for everyone,” he says, but even he doesn’t sound convinced.

You take a step back, the distance between you growing, and it feels like a chasm opening up, one you can’t cross. “I never thought you’d be someone who’d let other people decide what’s best for you,” you say quietly.

He flinches at that, and for a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him, that he’ll take it back, that he’ll realize how ridiculous this all is. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, looking at you with those sad eyes, and you know it’s over.

“Goodbye, Charles,” you say, your voice breaking on the last syllable.

“Goodbye,” he whispers back, but it’s lost in the sound of your footsteps as you turn and walk away, leaving him — and everything you’ve built together — behind.

***

The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a soft, golden light over the room, but it does nothing to warm the cold knot in your stomach. You’ve been feeling off for days now — nauseous, tired, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that sleep doesn’t seem to touch.

And the vomiting. It started a few days ago, just once or twice, but now it’s every morning, like clockwork.

You sit up slowly, careful not to move too fast, but it’s too late. The wave of nausea hits, and you barely make it to the bathroom before you’re hunched over the toilet, retching until there’s nothing left. You stay there for a moment, gripping the edge of the sink, trying to steady your breathing, trying to make sense of what’s happening to you.

It’s just stress, you tell yourself. The breakup, the uncertainty of everything, it’s all finally catching up to you. But even as you think it, you know it’s not true. This is different. This is something else.

You rinse your mouth, the taste of bile lingering, and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look pale, drawn, like you haven’t slept in days. Your eyes are dull, shadows lurking beneath them, and there’s a tightness around your mouth that wasn’t there before. You almost don’t recognize the person staring back at you.

As you leave the bathroom, your mind races through the possibilities, trying to find some logical explanation. Maybe it’s a bug, something you ate. Maybe it’s …

You stop in your tracks, the thought slamming into you with all the subtlety of a freight train. No. It can’t be. It’s impossible. But as you think back, counting the days in your head, you realize it’s not impossible. In fact, it’s very possible.

You sink onto the edge of the bed, your heart pounding in your chest. It’s been weeks since … since Charles broke up with you. Since you last … Oh God.

The realization leaves you cold, your skin prickling with fear. There’s only one way to know for sure, but the very thought of it makes your throat tighten, your heart race even faster.

You can’t. You can’t be.

But there’s a part of you — a small, terrified part — that knows you need to find out. You can’t just ignore this, hope it goes away. You need to know. Now.

The walk to the pharmacy is a blur. You barely register the people around you, the sun beating down on your back as you make your way through the streets. It feels like everyone is looking at you, like they know what you’re about to do, but you push the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.

Inside, the air is cool, the fluorescent lights harsh as you make your way to the back, where the pregnancy tests are lined up in neat rows. You stand there for what feels like forever, your eyes scanning the shelves, your hand hovering over the different options, but you can’t bring yourself to reach out and grab one.

“Can I help you with something?”

The voice startles you, and you turn to see a woman in a white pharmacy coat standing beside you, her expression polite but curious.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “No, I’m fine. Just … looking.”

She nods, but doesn’t move away, and you feel a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. You need to do this, and you need to do it now.

Taking a deep breath, you grab the first box you see, then another, then a third, just to be sure. You avoid the woman’s gaze as you make your way to the register, your heart hammering in your chest as you hand over the boxes, praying she doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t. She just rings you up, sliding the tests into a small paper bag before handing it to you with a neutral smile. “Good luck,” she says, and you can’t tell if she means it or if it’s just something she says to everyone.

“Thanks,” you mumble, grabbing the bag and hurrying out of the store, the door chiming as you leave.

Back in your apartment, the silence is deafening. The tests sit on the counter, staring up at you, and you can’t bring yourself to move, to do what needs to be done. But you know you have to. You can’t put this off any longer.

Finally, you reach for the bag, pulling out one of the boxes, your hands trembling as you tear it open. The instructions are simple enough — pee on the stick, wait three minutes, then check the result. But as you hold the test in your hand, you realize those three minutes are going to be the longest of your life.

You follow the instructions, then set the test on the counter, stepping back like it’s something dangerous, something that could hurt you if you get too close. You glance at the clock, the seconds ticking by at an excruciatingly slow pace, and you force yourself to breathe, to stay calm.

But calm is impossible. Your mind is racing, a thousand thoughts and fears tumbling over each other in a chaotic mess. What if it’s positive? What if it’s not? What will you do? How will you handle this? You’re alone now — Charles is gone, and he’s not coming back. You’re on your own.

The minutes crawl by, and finally, you can’t wait any longer. You step forward, your heart in your throat, and pick up the test, your eyes locking onto the small window where the result will appear.

Two lines.

Positive.

You stare at it, uncomprehending, your mind struggling to process what you’re seeing. You pick up the second test, the third, repeating the process with shaking hands, hoping against hope that the first was a mistake, a fluke. But the results are the same. Two lines. Positive.

You’re pregnant.

The realization crashes over you like a wave, and you sink to the floor, the tests clattering out of your hands as you press your palms to your stomach, feeling the beginnings of a life growing inside you. A baby. Charles’ baby.

Tears blur your vision, and you don’t know if they’re from fear, from shock, or from something else entirely. You never thought you’d be here — sitting on your bathroom floor, alone, pregnant, and terrified of what comes next.

This isn’t how it was supposed to be. You were supposed to have Charles by your side, holding your hand, telling you everything would be okay.

But he’s not here. And now, you have to figure out what to do next. You have to figure out how to take care of yourself, how to take care of this baby.

You drag yourself to your feet, your legs weak, and stumble into the living room, collapsing onto the couch as the weight of it all presses down on you. How did this happen? How did you end up here, in this mess, with no one to turn to?

Your mind drifts back to the day Charles convinced you to quit your job. He’d said it was for the best, that you didn’t need to work, that he’d take care of you. He wanted you with him at the races, wanted you by his side, supporting him, and you’d agreed, because of course you did. You loved him. You trusted him.

And now … now you have nothing. No job, no income, no safety net. Just a positive pregnancy test and a future that feels terrifyingly uncertain.

You wipe at your eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. You can’t afford to fall apart. Not now. You have to be strong, for yourself, for the baby. You need to figure out what to do next.

You reach for your phone, your fingers trembling as you pull up a job search website. There has to be something — anything — that can get you back on your feet. But as you scroll through the listings, your heart sinks. You’re overqualified for some, underqualified for others. You haven’t worked in years, and the gaps in your resume feel like gaping wounds that no employer would overlook.

Finally, something catches your eye—an ad for a cleaning agency. It’s not glamorous, it’s not what you imagined for yourself, but it’s work. It’s a start. And right now, that’s all you need.

You tap the number on the screen, your heart racing as you bring the phone to your ear. It rings once, twice, three times, and you start to think no one will pick up. But then, a voice crackles through the line.

“Hello, CleanSweep Agency. How can I help you?”

You swallow hard, your voice trembling as you reply. “Hi, I … I’m calling about the job listing. The cleaning position.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and you hold your breath, waiting.

“Yes, of course. Are you available for an interview tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” you repeat, your mind racing. “Yes. Yes, I can do that.”

“Great. We’ll see you at 10 AM. Our office is on Rue de la Paix. Just bring your resume and any references you might have.”

“Thank you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as the call ends.

You stare at the phone in your hand, the reality of what you’ve just done settling over you. You’ve taken the first step. It’s not much, but it’s something. It’s a start.

But as you sit there, the weight of everything presses down on you again. You’re pregnant. You’re alone. And the path ahead feels impossibly daunting.

You place your phone on the coffee table, staring at it like it might offer you some kind of solution, some way out of this mess. But it’s just a phone, and the reality of your situation doesn’t change.

The room is too quiet, the kind of quiet that seeps into your bones and amplifies every fear, every doubt. You wish you could call someone, talk to someone, but who? Your friends? They’d be supportive, sure, but they wouldn’t really understand. Your parents? The thought of telling them is too overwhelming to even consider right now.

Charles? The name echoes in your mind, but you shake your head. He’s the last person you should be calling. He made his choice, and you need to respect that. Besides, what would you even say? That you’re pregnant? That his decision to break up with you for the sake of his image has left you in a situation neither of you ever expected?

No. You can’t go there. Not now.

You push yourself off the couch, pacing the small living room, trying to clear your mind. You have a job interview tomorrow. It’s not much, but it’s something. You can’t afford to think beyond that right now. You need to focus on getting through the next day, the next hour.

The baby. The thought is like a knife in your chest, sharp and painful. You press a hand to your stomach, trying to imagine what comes next, how you’ll navigate this new, terrifying reality. But the truth is, you have no idea. You’re scared, more scared than you’ve ever been, and the future feels like a black hole, pulling you in with no clear way out.

But you have to keep going. For yourself. For the baby.

You head to the bedroom, opening the closet to find something suitable for the interview. Your clothes feel foreign, relics from a past life that doesn’t quite fit anymore. You settle on something simple, professional, trying to ignore the gnawing fear that none of this will be enough.

You sit on the edge of the bed, the clothes laid out beside you, and take a deep breath. Tomorrow is a new day. A new start. You don’t know what’s coming, but you do know one thing: you’re not going to give up. Not now, not ever.

And as the night settles in around you, you cling to that thought like a lifeline, hoping it will be enough to carry you through whatever comes next.

***

Max pushes open the door to his Monaco apartment, dropping his keys on the console table with a tired sigh. The morning training session has left his muscles aching, and all he can think about is a long, hot shower and maybe a quick nap before the next round of meetings and commitments.

As he steps inside, he’s greeted by the familiar scent of cleaning supplies — a smell that’s become synonymous with Tuesdays, the day his cleaner comes to tidy up.

He doesn’t usually pay much attention to her, exchanging only a few polite words if their paths cross. She’s efficient, quiet, never in the way. But today, something feels different the moment he steps into the living room. The sound of soft scrubbing reaches his ears, and he glances toward the source — his gaze falling on a figure kneeling by the coffee table, wiping down the glass surface.

It takes him a second to register what he’s seeing, but when he does, he freezes, his breath catching in his throat. It’s not just any cleaner — it’s you. And you’re pregnant. Very pregnant.

“Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath, the shock rolling over him in waves. For a moment, he wonders if he’s seeing things, if the exhaustion has finally caught up with him and he’s imagining things. But no — there’s no mistaking it. It’s you, and you’re here, in his apartment, on your hands and knees, cleaning.

You look up at the sound of his voice, your eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, neither of you says anything, both too stunned to speak. Then, slowly, you rise to your feet, one hand resting protectively on your rounded belly as you try to compose yourself.

“Max,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, like you can’t quite believe he’s standing there.

“What … what the hell are you doing here?” He asks, his voice rough with confusion and something else — something darker, angrier, that he can’t quite put into words yet.

You blink, looking down at the rag in your hand as if seeing it for the first time. “I … I work here,” you say quietly, your tone laced with embarrassment.

“Work here?” Max repeats, his mind racing to catch up. “What do you mean, work here? You’re … you’re pregnant! Why the hell are you cleaning my apartment?”

You flinch at his words, and he immediately regrets the sharpness in his tone, but the sight of you — pregnant, exhausted, and clearly struggling — ignites a fury in him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. “What the fuck is Charles doing, making you work like this?”

At the mention of Charles, something in you seems to break. Your face crumples, and before Max can process what’s happening, you’re crying — really crying, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Max says quickly, closing the distance between you and reaching out to steady you. “I didn’t mean to — look, just sit down, okay? You shouldn’t be on your feet like this.”

You let him guide you to the couch, your tears falling freely now, and Max feels a pang of guilt deep in his chest. He’s never been good with tears, but seeing you like this, so vulnerable and hurt, stirs something protective in him.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs, your hands covering your face as if trying to hide your pain. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.”

Max sits beside you, his mind spinning as he tries to make sense of what’s happening. This is all wrong. You shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be working some labor-intensive job, not in your condition. And where the hell is Charles in all of this? How could he let you get to this point?

“What’s going on?” Max asks gently, reaching for a box of tissues and handing it to you. “Why are you working here? What happened with Charles?”

You take a tissue, dabbing at your eyes, but the tears keep coming, and Max’s concern deepens. He’s never seen you like this before — so defeated, so broken.

“It’s … it’s over,” you manage to say, your voice trembling. “Charles and I… we broke up. Seven months ago.”

Max’s heart drops at your words, and a sick feeling churns in his stomach. He’d heard rumors, of course — whispers in the paddock, speculation in the media — but he’d never imagined it was true. He’d seen how much Charles loved you, how much you meant to him. But now, seeing you like this, the reality of it hits him like a punch to the gut.

“Why?” He asks, though he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “He said … he said it was for the best. That the team thought he’d be more marketable if he was single. That it would be better for his image.”

Max feels a surge of anger flare up inside him, hot and fierce. “He broke up with you because of PR? Are you kidding me?”

You nod, and Max can see the pain in your eyes, the betrayal that still lingers there. “I didn’t know what to do. I … I didn’t have a job. I quit when we started traveling together, and now … now I’m on my own. I have to take care of myself, and …” You glance down at your belly, your voice breaking again. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Max runs a hand through his hair, trying to process everything you’ve just told him. Charles left you — pregnant and alone — all because of some bullshit advice from his team? The thought makes his blood boil. He’s known Charles for years, seen him under pressure, seen him at his best and his worst, but this … this is something else entirely.

“Does he even know?” Max asks, his voice low, trying to keep his temper in check. “Does he know you’re pregnant?”

You shake your head, fresh tears spilling over. “I haven’t told him. I couldn’t … I couldn’t face him. And I don’t want to force him into something he doesn’t want. He made his choice.”

Max sits back, stunned. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. You’ve been going through this all on your own, with no support, no help. And now you’re cleaning apartments just to make ends meet? It’s too much. He can’t let this go on.

“Listen,” Max says, his voice firm, though he softens it when he sees the way you’re looking at him, like you’re about to fall apart. “You’re not doing this alone, okay? You shouldn’t have to.”

You look at him, eyes wide, searching his face as if trying to figure out if he means it. “Max, I don’t want to be a burden-”

“You’re not,” he interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re not a burden. You’re my friend. And you’re … you’re carrying a child. That’s not something you should be dealing with on your own.”

“But what about Charles?” You ask, your voice small, uncertain.

“Fuck Charles,” Max snaps, then immediately regrets it when he sees the look on your face. “I mean … look, I know this is complicated. But right now, you need to take care of yourself and the baby. That’s the priority. And if Charles isn’t going to step up, then I will. Whatever you need, I’m here, okay?”

You’re silent for a moment, and Max can see the conflict in your eyes — the fear, the doubt, the overwhelming sense of helplessness. He wishes he could do more, that he could take away the pain, the uncertainty, but all he can do is be there for you, in whatever way you’ll let him.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I … I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Max says gently. “Just … promise me you won’t try to do this on your own anymore. You’re not alone, okay? Not as long as I’m around.”

You nod, but Max can see the hesitation still lingering in your eyes. He knows this isn’t going to be easy for you — to accept help, to let someone else in — but he’s determined to be there for you, to make sure you don’t have to face this alone.

“Come on,” he says, standing up and holding out a hand to you. “Let’s get you something to eat. You need to take care of yourself, and that means no more scrubbing floors, okay?”

You take his hand, allowing him to help you to your feet, and for the first time since he walked through the door, Max sees a faint glimmer of hope in your eyes. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

As he leads you to the kitchen, Max’s mind races with everything he needs to do, everything he needs to figure out. But one thing is clear — he’s not going to let you go through this alone.

***

Max sets a plate in front of you — a simple sandwich, some fruit on the side. He’s not exactly a chef, but it’s something, and he watches as you take a bite, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. You look exhausted, and Max wonders how long you’ve been running on empty like this.

He pulls out the chair across from you and sits down, his eyes never leaving your face. “So,” he begins, trying to keep his tone light, “tell me everything. What’s been going on since … since Charles, you know …”

You pause, swallowing the bite of sandwich, and Max can see the flicker of pain in your eyes at the mention of Charles. It’s like you’re bracing yourself to tell the story, and Max hates that it’s something you even have to relive.

“It’s been … hard,” you admit, setting the sandwich down. “After we broke up, I didn’t know what to do. I had some savings, but it wasn’t enough to keep living in Monaco. So I had to move.”

“Move?” Max echoes, his brows furrowing. He hadn’t heard anything about this, hadn’t realized things had gotten so bad for you. “Where did you go?”

You hesitate, as if ashamed to tell him, but then you sigh, the words spilling out in a rush. “I found a small place in France. It’s about an hour away. A tiny village. I couldn’t afford to stay here, not without a steady income.”

Max feels a pang of guilt, like he should have known, should have done something sooner. “You’re commuting to Monaco every day for work? That’s crazy.”

You shrug, a faint, humorless smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not ideal, but it’s what I had to do. I tried looking for jobs closer to home, but nothing paid enough. And I didn’t have many options, not with the baby coming.”

Max leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. The thought of you struggling like this, traveling back and forth every day, working a physically demanding job while pregnant — it’s almost too much to bear.

He wishes he could just write you a check, cover all your expenses, but he knows you too well. You’d never accept it, not without a fight. You’re proud, stubborn, and fiercely independent — qualities Max admires but wishes you’d set aside just this once.

“You shouldn’t have to do this alone,” Max says softly, his voice filled with concern. “I know you’re strong, but you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Especially not now.”

You meet his gaze, your eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. “I know, but … I need to be able to take care of myself, Max. I need to know I can do this, for me and the baby.”

Max nods, understanding even though it frustrates him. You’ve always been this way — determined to stand on your own two feet, no matter what. But that doesn’t mean he’s just going to stand by and watch you struggle. There has to be a way to help you without making you feel like a charity case.

Then, an idea starts to form in his mind, something he remembers from the past, from the days when you were always by Charles��� side, supporting him in ways most people never even saw. “You know,” Max starts, leaning forward, “I remember how you used to help Charles with his social media. His accounts were always engaging, relatable … fans loved it. That was you, wasn’t it?”

A small smile flickers across your face, the first genuine one he’s seen since he got home. “Yeah, that was me. Charles never really cared about social media, so I took it over. It was fun, in a way, creating content that connected with people.”

Max’s heart lifts at your smile, at the spark of something familiar in your eyes. This could work. This could be exactly what you need.

“Well, I’ve got an idea,” Max says, trying to sound casual even though his heart is pounding in his chest. “Right now, Red Bull’s PR team handles all of my social media. I’ve never really been into it, you know? But honestly, they’re pretty … corporate. The posts are fine, but they don’t really have that personal touch. Not like what you did for Charles.”

You’re watching him now, curiosity piqued, and Max takes that as a good sign.

“What if,” Max continues, “you took over my social media? I mean, I’ve seen what you can do. The fans love that kind of content. You could work from home, set your own hours … it wouldn’t be physically demanding, and I’d pay you well. I mean, really well.”

Your eyes widen at his offer, and for a moment, you just stare at him, like you’re trying to figure out if he’s serious. “I don’t know … I’ve never done that professionally. It was just something I did to help Charles.”

“And you did it better than most professionals,” Max insists. “Look, I’m not asking you to do anything crazy. Just … think about it. You’d be helping me out too, you know? I could really use someone who gets what the fans want, who can make my social media feel more … real.”

You bite your lip, clearly torn. “I don’t know, Max. It’s a lot to take in.”

“I get that,” Max says quickly, not wanting to push too hard but also not wanting to let this go. “Just … think about it, okay? You’d be great at it. And it would mean you don’t have to keep doing jobs that are hard on your body. You could focus on the baby, on yourself. It’s just an idea, but I think it could work.”

You’re silent for a long moment, your gaze dropping to the plate in front of you as you consider his offer. Max waits, his heart pounding in his chest, hoping he hasn’t overstepped, hoping you’ll see this for what it is — a chance, an opportunity to take some of the weight off your shoulders.

Finally, you look up, and Max can see the conflict in your eyes. “I appreciate it, Max. Really, I do. It’s just … it’s a big change, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for it.”

“I get that,” Max says, his voice gentle. “But you don’t have to decide right now. Take some time, think it over. I just want you to know that the offer’s there. No pressure, no strings attached. Just … a way to make things a little easier for you.”

You nod slowly, your fingers toying with the edge of the napkin on the table. “I’ll think about it,” you finally say, your voice soft but sincere. “I really will.”

Max feels a rush of relief at your words, and he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. “That’s all I ask. And, in the meantime, you can stay here tonight. No more commuting back and forth, okay?”

You start to protest, but Max cuts you off before you can even get the words out. “No arguments. You’re staying here. I’ve got plenty of room, and you shouldn’t be traveling so much. Just … stay, and we’ll figure things out together.”

You open your mouth to argue, but something in Max’s expression must convince you otherwise, because you close it again and nod. “Okay,” you agree, though you still look a little uncertain.

Max stands up, picking up the empty plates from the table. “Good. Now, you get some rest, and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

As he carries the plates to the sink, he feels a strange mix of emotions swirling in his chest. Anger at Charles for putting you in this situation, frustration that you’re too proud to accept help, and something else — something deeper, a fierce determination to make sure you and the baby are taken care of, no matter what.

He doesn’t know what the future holds, doesn’t know how things will play out between you and Charles, but one thing is certain: he’s not going to let you go through this alone. You’ve been there for him in the past, supporting Charles, cheering Max on from the sidelines, and now it’s his turn to be there for you.

As he turns off the kitchen light and heads to his room, he makes a silent vow to himself. Whatever it takes, he’s going to make sure you’re okay. He’s going to be the friend you need, the support you deserve, and he’s not going to let you down. Not now, not ever.

***

Max enters his apartment, the familiar sounds of his footsteps echoing softly against the hardwood floor. He’s looking forward to a quiet evening, maybe some time with his cats before bed. But when he steps into the living room, he stops in his tracks.

There you are, stretched out on his couch, resting. Jimmy and Sassy have claimed spots on either side of you. Jimmy’s large frame is draped over your legs, purring softly, while Sassy is curled up protectively near your stomach, her eyes half-closed but alert. The sight is so domestic, so peaceful, that it makes something tighten in Max’s chest. It’s a scene he’s never imagined but now, seeing it, it feels … right.

He’s struck by how well you fit here, in his home, in his life. The way you’ve naturally fallen into this space, as if you’ve always belonged. There’s something about the way you’re lying there, with Jimmy and Sassy close by, that tugs at his heart. He wonders if they sense the life growing inside you, if they somehow understand the significance of the new presence in the apartment.

Max approaches quietly, not wanting to disturb the serene moment. He can see now that you’ve fallen asleep, your breathing slow and steady, a slight smile playing on your lips. You look peaceful, more so than you have since you arrived. It’s a relief to see you like this, to know you’re finally resting.

He stands there for a moment, just watching. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there, time seems to stretch as he takes in the scene. There’s something intimate about it, something that makes him feel protective, like he’s responsible for making sure you and the baby are safe, comfortable. He’s not sure when that shift happened, when he started to care so deeply, but it’s undeniable now.

Carefully, Max leans down and gently scoops you into his arms, trying not to wake you. You stir slightly, mumbling something in your sleep, but then settle back down, your head resting against his chest. Max holds his breath, half-expecting you to wake up and question what he’s doing, but you remain blissfully unaware, lost in whatever dream you’re having.

He’s careful as he carries you down the hallway to the guest room, taking slow, measured steps so he doesn’t jostle you too much. It’s strange, carrying you like this. Not that you’re heavy — far from it — but the weight of responsibility he feels is almost overwhelming. You’re so vulnerable right now, so trusting, and it makes Max even more determined to make sure you’re okay.

When he reaches the guest room, Max pushes the door open with his foot, grateful that it’s already ajar. He steps inside, the soft light from the hallway spilling into the room. The bed is already made, and Max lowers you onto it gently, careful not to disturb your sleep.

He takes a moment to tuck the blanket around you, making sure you’re comfortable. You murmur something again, shifting slightly, and Max freezes, worried he might have woken you. But you just settle deeper into the bed, sighing contentedly, still fast asleep.

Max lingers for a moment, his hand hovering near your face. He’s not sure what compels him to do it, but he finds himself leaning down, pressing a soft, hesitant kiss to your forehead. It’s a simple gesture, one filled with a mix of affection, protectiveness, and something else he can’t quite put into words. He pulls back quickly, almost embarrassed by the tenderness of it, but you don’t wake.

He steps back, watching you for a moment longer. You look so peaceful, and Max feels a strange sense of contentment, like he’s done something right for once. The day’s exhaustion is starting to catch up with him, but he can’t quite bring himself to leave the room just yet.

There’s something about the way you’re sleeping, surrounded by warmth and comfort, that makes him feel … happy. It’s a feeling he’s not used to, but one he finds himself embracing more and more as time goes on.

Finally, Max turns and quietly leaves the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He heads back to the living room, where Jimmy and Sassy are still curled up on the couch, seemingly unbothered by the absence of their human pillow. Max sinks into the armchair across from them, running a hand through his hair as he tries to process everything that’s happened today.

He thinks back to the offer he made you earlier, wondering if you’ll actually take him up on it. Part of him worries that you’ll say no, that you’ll insist on doing everything yourself, but he hopes that maybe, just maybe, you’ll realize that accepting help doesn’t make you weak.

Max has never been good with words, but he meant everything he said. He wants to help you, to make things easier for you, and not just because he feels responsible. There’s something deeper at play here, something he can’t quite put his finger on, but it’s there all the same.

He’s never been in a situation like this before, never had someone depend on him in this way, and it’s both terrifying and exhilarating. Max isn’t sure what the future holds, but for the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s on the right path, like he’s doing something that actually matters.

As he sits there, the sounds of the city outside muted by the thick walls of the apartment, Max lets himself imagine what it would be like if this became a regular thing — if you stayed, if you became a part of his life, more than just a guest in his home. The thought sends a wave of warmth through him, a sense of belonging that he’s not sure he’s ever felt before.

But he pushes the thought aside, not wanting to get ahead of himself. One step at a time. First, he needs to make sure you’re okay, make sure you’re taken care of. Everything else can come later.

Max finally gets up from the armchair, heading to his own bedroom. The day’s events have left him drained, both physically and emotionally, and he knows he needs rest if he’s going to be any good to you tomorrow.

As he climbs into bed, pulling the covers over himself, Max’s thoughts drift back to you, sleeping soundly in the guest room just down the hall. He hopes you’re dreaming of something peaceful, something that takes your mind off all the worries you’ve been carrying.

And as he closes his eyes, the last image that flits through his mind is of you, smiling softly in your sleep, with Jimmy and Sassy curled up protectively around you. It’s a good image, one that brings a small, contented smile to his own lips as he finally drifts off to sleep.

Tonight, for the first time in a long time, Max feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

***

The smell of coffee fills the kitchen, mingling with the soft morning light that streams through the windows. Max is already at the table, scrolling through his phone, but he looks up as you enter, offering a small, warm smile. He’s still not quite used to this — having someone else here in his space, sharing these quiet moments — but it feels right in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Morning,” he says, his voice a little rough from sleep. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better,” you admit, reaching for the kettle to make your own cup of tea. “Thanks for … everything yesterday.”

Max waves it off, trying to seem nonchalant, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes — concern, maybe, or something deeper. “You needed it,” he says simply. “And it’s not over yet. We still need to talk about that job offer.”

You nod, pouring hot water over the tea bag and watching as the steam rises. “I’ve been thinking about it,” you start, your voice hesitant. “And … I think I want to accept it.”

Max feels a surge of relief, though he tries not to show it. “You sure? No pressure, if you’ve changed your mind.”

“No, I’m sure.” You take a seat across from him, your hands wrapped around the warm mug. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said. I need something … something to focus on that doesn’t involve cleaning floors or worrying about everything all the time. Plus, it’s something I know I can do. And I’ll be able to take care of myself, of the baby, without pushing myself too hard.”

Max nods, his relief turning into something warmer, almost like pride. “Good,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I’m glad you’re taking it. I think you’ll be great at it.”

There’s a pause, the two of you just sipping your drinks in comfortable silence. But Max can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this, that there’s something else you need but aren’t asking for.

“So,” he begins carefully, “where are you planning on staying? I mean, if you’re going to be working for me … you’re going to need somewhere closer than … wherever you’ve been staying.”

You look up, caught off guard. “I … I hadn’t thought about that yet. I was planning on going back to France and just-”

“Stay here,” Max interrupts, surprising even himself with how quickly the words come out. “I mean, it makes sense, right? You wouldn’t have to travel so far every day. Plus, it’s safer for you and the baby. You’ll have everything you need, and I’ll be around to help if you need anything.”

You hesitate, clearly torn. “I don’t want to be a burden, Max. You’ve already done so much-”

“You’re not a burden,” Max says firmly. “You’re my friend, and you need help. It’s that simple.”

There’s a long pause as you consider his words, weighing your options. Finally, you sigh, nodding slowly. “Okay. I’ll stay. But only until I figure things out.”

Max grins, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “Deal.”

There’s a moment of shared relief before Max’s mind drifts to a more practical matter. “Right, so … there��s one more thing,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t really have much in the fridge besides, like, trainer-approved meals and protein shakes. We’re gonna need to do some shopping.”

You laugh softly, the first genuine laugh he’s heard from you in what feels like forever. “Okay, I guess we should take care of that then.”

Max stands, grabbing his keys from the counter. “Let’s go before it gets too busy.”

***

The grocery store is bustling with the mid-morning crowd, but there’s something oddly comforting about the normalcy of it all. Max pushes the cart as you walk beside him, selecting fruits and vegetables, adding them to the growing pile.

Max watches you closely, noting the way your shoulders relax a little as you focus on the mundane task of picking out produce. He’s glad to see you like this — calm, in control. You seem to know exactly what you need, even as you pause occasionally to consider an item before adding it to the cart.

“Max,” you ask after a moment, turning to him with a slight frown, “do you even like any of this stuff, or am I just buying what I want?”

Max chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ll eat whatever, really. Just make sure there’s enough for you and the baby.” He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “You know more about this stuff than I do, anyway.”

You give him a small smile, but it’s clear that the reality of your situation is still weighing heavily on you. Max wants to say something reassuring, but before he can find the right words, someone else does it for him.

“Y/N?”

The voice comes from behind you, and you both turn to see Pascale Leclerc standing a few feet away, her eyes wide with shock. She looks between you and Max, her gaze lingering on your rounded belly before returning to your face. “I …I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. “Pascale,” you manage to say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Hi.”

Pascale takes a step closer, her expression shifting from surprise to concern. “You’re … pregnant?” she asks, her voice tinged with disbelief. “What happened? Charles said you broke up with him-”

You shake your head, your throat tightening. “No, Pascale. I didn’t break up with him. He … he broke up with me. Said it was because of the PR team at Ferrari. They thought he’d be more marketable if he was single.”

Pascale’s eyes widen in horror. “What? He told me … he told me it was mutual, that you both agreed it was for the best.”

Tears prick at your eyes as you shake your head again. “No, it wasn’t mutual. It wasn’t my choice.”

Max, who’s been standing silently beside you, finally speaks up, his voice filled with anger on your behalf. “Charles lied to you, Pascale. He left her, and he doesn’t even know she’s pregnant.”

Pascale’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes welling with tears. “Oh, mon Dieu,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I had no idea. Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Please, Pascale,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “please don’t tell Charles about the baby. I … I don’t want him to know.”

Pascale looks at you, torn, but eventually nods. “Okay. I won’t tell him,” she promises, her voice gentle but firm. “But …Y/N, I want to be a part of my grandchild’s life. I want to be there for you, for both of you.”

The sincerity in her voice breaks down the last of your defenses, and you find yourself nodding, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “Okay,” you manage to say, your voice choked with emotion. “I … I’d like that.”

Pascale steps forward, wrapping you in a gentle hug. “You’re not alone, ma chérie,” she whispers, her voice soothing. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

You cling to her for a moment, taking comfort in her words, before finally pulling back. “Thank you,” you say, wiping at your eyes. “Thank you so much.”

Max, who’s been watching the interaction with a mixture of relief and concern, gently places a hand on your back. “We should finish up,” he says softly, giving Pascale a nod. “Take care, Pascale.”

Pascale smiles through her own tears, giving Max a grateful look. “You too, Max. And Y/N … call me if you need anything. Anytime.”

You nod, giving her a small, shaky smile before turning back to the cart. As you and Max continue shopping, the weight of the encounter settles over you, leaving you emotionally drained. Max notices, his usual silence becoming a source of comfort as he quietly takes over, finishing up the shopping and paying for everything without another word.

***

The drive back to Max’s apartment is quiet, the earlier lightness of the morning replaced by a heavy, lingering tension. You stare out the window, lost in thought, replaying the encounter with Pascale over and over in your mind.

By the time you reach the apartment, you’re exhausted — physically and emotionally. Max parks the car and helps you carry the groceries inside, his movements careful and deliberate as if he’s trying to shield you from any further stress.

Once everything is put away, Max leads you to the living room, where you sink onto the couch, your body sagging with relief. He sits beside you, watching as you struggle to hold back tears, and finally, the dam breaks.

You bury your face in his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably, all the fear and uncertainty and pain you’ve been holding in finally spilling out. Max wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his hand gently rubbing your back as he whispers soothing words into your ear.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice steady and calm. “Let it out. I’m here.”

You cry until there are no tears left, until you’re too exhausted to do anything but lean against Max, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your sobs. Max doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just keeps holding you as if his presence alone can shield you from everything that’s gone wrong.

When you finally pull back, your eyes are red and puffy, your face wet with tears. “Sorry,” you mumble, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t apologize,” Max interrupts gently, his voice soft but firm. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re going through a lot, and you don’t have to hold it all in.”

You nod, still feeling raw and exposed, but there’s something comforting in the way Max is looking at you — like he’s not judging you, like he genuinely cares.

“Thanks,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Max offers you a small smile, his hand still resting on your back. “You don’t have to do it alone,” he says. “I’m here, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and Max watches as you slowly regain some of your composure.

“Do you want to rest?” He asks after a moment, his voice filled with concern. “You’ve had a long day.”

You shake your head, wiping the last of the tears from your face. “No, I’m okay. I think I just need to … distract myself.”

Max nods, understanding. “Okay,” he says, standing up and offering you his hand. “How about we make dinner? Something simple, but better than those pre-prepared meals.”

You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “Yeah,” you say, your voice steadier now. “That sounds good.”

***

Cooking with Max is surprisingly easy. He’s not much of a chef, but he’s attentive and eager to help, following your lead as you guide him through the steps of preparing a simple pasta dish. The kitchen fills with the comforting aroma of garlic and herbs, and for a while, you lose yourself in the routine of chopping vegetables and stirring sauces, the earlier tension easing with every moment.

Max watches you closely, noticing the way your movements become more relaxed as you focus on the task at hand. He’s relieved to see you like this — more at ease, more like yourself.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Max comments as he carefully stirs the pasta in the pot, a hint of admiration in his voice.

You shrug, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I used to cook a lot,” you say, your tone a little wistful. “Before everything got … complicated.”

Max doesn’t push for more, sensing that you’re not ready to delve into the past just yet. Instead, he focuses on the present, on the simple pleasure of cooking together, the warmth of the kitchen, the shared sense of purpose.

By the time dinner is ready, the earlier tension has all but disappeared, replaced by a quiet, comforting camaraderie. You and Max sit at the table, eating in companionable silence, the simple meal a balm for your frayed nerves.

After dinner, you help Max clean up, the two of you working together in easy harmony. There’s something oddly soothing about the domesticity of it all — like a glimpse of a life you hadn’t dared to hope for, a life where things could be simple, where you didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.

When everything is finally cleaned up, Max suggests watching a movie, and you agree, grateful for the chance to keep your mind occupied. You settle onto the couch with him, his cats Jimmy and Sassy immediately curling up beside you, their soft purring a comforting background noise.

Max flips through the options on his streaming service, eventually landing on an action movie. “This okay?” He asks, glancing at you.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “Something mindless sounds perfect right now.”

The movie starts, and for the next couple of hours, you lose yourself in the fast-paced action, the explosions and car chases providing a welcome distraction from the turmoil of your own life. Max is a solid, comforting presence beside you, and for a while, you let yourself believe that everything might actually be okay.

When the movie ends, you realize how exhausted you are, the emotional rollercoaster of the day finally catching up with you. Max notices too, and he turns to you with a concerned look.

“You should get some sleep,” he says, his voice gentle. “It’s been a long day.”

You nod, not having the energy to argue. “Yeah. I think I will.”

Max helps you to your feet, and you can feel his eyes on you as you make your way to the guest room. Before you can close the door behind you, he stops you with a soft, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You pause, looking back at him. “Goodnight, Max. And … thank you. For everything.”

Max smiles, a warmth in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “Just get some rest.”

You nod, giving him a small smile before closing the door behind you.

Once inside the guest room, you sink onto the bed, finally letting out a long breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The room is quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside.

You lie down, pulling the blankets over you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to relax, to let go of the constant worry and fear, if only for a little while.

As you drift off to sleep, the events of the day swirl in your mind — Pascale’s unexpected appearance, Max’s unwavering support, the strange comfort of being here, in this place that’s starting to feel like home.

And somewhere, deep in your heart, a tiny seed of hope begins to take root.

***

The apartment smells of freshly baked cake and anticipation. Max is in the kitchen, moving about with a nervous energy, double-checking everything — again. The cake is already on the counter, perfectly frosted, with a single pink and blue question mark piped on top. The knife lies beside it, waiting for the moment that feels almost too monumental to be happening in the cozy confines of his living room.

You’re sitting on the couch, absentmindedly stroking Jimmy and Sassy, who have taken up their usual positions on either side of you. Your hand rests protectively over your rounded belly, feeling the slight flutters of movement from the baby. Despite the warmth of the room, your fingers are cold, a mix of nerves and excitement pulsing through you.

“Everything’s ready,” Max says, breaking the silence. He’s trying to sound casual, but you can hear the edge in his voice.

You offer him a small smile, trying to steady yourself. “Thanks, Max. For everything.”

He just nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before turning back to the cake. There’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite read — something beyond just friendship and support. But before you can dwell on it, there’s a knock at the door.

Max visibly relaxes, glad for the distraction. “I’ll get it,” he says, moving to the door and pulling it open.

Pascale is the first to step inside, her smile warm as she takes in the sight of you. “Ma chérie,” she greets, leaning down to kiss both of your cheeks. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you reply, feeling a genuine warmth at seeing her. Pascale has been a rock for you since she found out about the pregnancy, offering support and reassurance in a way that makes you feel less alone.

Lorenzo and Arthur follow her in, both of them grinning widely as they approach you. “Hey,” Lorenzo says, giving you a quick hug. “Excited?”

“Nervous,” you admit, glancing over at the cake. “But excited too.”

Arthur chuckles, nudging his brother. “She’s having a girl, I can feel it. I’m gonna win the bet.”

Lorenzo rolls his eyes. “You always say that, but I’ve got a good feeling this time. I’m thinking boy.”

Max laughs, shaking his head as he closes the door behind them. “You two and your bets,” he says. “Let’s just focus on what’s important, yeah?”

Pascale gives him a knowing look, but doesn’t say anything, instead turning to you with a soft smile. “You look lovely, dear,” she says, reaching out to gently touch your arm. “And glowing.”

You feel a flush of warmth at her words, though part of you still feels a bit of that anxiety knotting in your stomach. This is Charles’ family, after all, and the weight of what’s unsaid lingers in the air between you.

Max clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to the cake. “Shall we?” He asks, looking at you with an encouraging smile.

You take a deep breath and nod, standing up and moving over to the counter. Max stands close beside you, his presence steady and reassuring. The others gather around, their faces expectant, and you feel the weight of the moment settle over you.

“Here we go,” you say softly, picking up the knife. Your hands tremble slightly, and Max’s hand comes to rest on yours, steadying it. You glance up at him, and he gives you a small nod.

You press the knife into the cake, cutting through the soft layers until you reach the center. The room holds its breath as you pull the slice away, revealing the color inside.

It’s pink.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Pascale lets out a delighted gasp, her hands flying to her mouth. “A girl!” She exclaims, her eyes shining with joy. “You’re having a little girl!”

Lorenzo and Arthur start laughing, both of them shaking their heads in mock disbelief. “I told you,” Arthur says, clapping his brother on the back. “Looks like you owe me fifty euros.”

But you barely register their words. Your eyes are fixed on the cake, on the pink filling that seems to glow with its own light. You’re having a daughter. The realization hits you like a wave, overwhelming and beautiful, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crying.

Max sees the tears and reacts instinctively. He turns toward you, his hands coming up to cradle your face. “Hey, hey,” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing away the tears. “It’s okay. It’s good news, right?”

You nod, laughing through the tears. “Yeah,” you say, your voice trembling. “It’s just …a lot.”

And then, before either of you can think, Max leans in and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft, hesitant, as if he’s not sure if he should be doing this. But then you kiss him back, and something shifts, deepening the moment. It feels like the world falls away, like it’s just the two of you, and everything else fades into the background.

When Max pulls back, his eyes wide with the realization of what he’s just done, he starts to apologize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

You shake your head, cutting him off. “Don’t,” you whisper, your voice soft but firm. “I liked it.”

Max searches your eyes, looking for any hint of doubt or regret, but all he sees is the truth in your words. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I liked it too,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

The moment between you is tender and full of unspoken feelings, but it’s broken by the sound of Pascale clearing her throat. You both turn to see her watching you, a knowing smile on her face.

“Ah,” she says, her tone gentle but teasing. “I see.”

You feel your cheeks heat up, but Pascale just smiles wider, moving closer to you. “Ma chérie,” she says, taking your hands in hers. “I want you and my granddaughter to be happy. That’s all I care about.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you squeeze her hands in return. “Thank you,” you manage to say, your voice thick with emotion.

Pascale nods, glancing over at Max. “And I can see that Max will stop at nothing to make sure that happens.”

Max looks a little embarrassed, but he meets Pascale’s gaze with a quiet determination. “I promise,” he says, his voice steady. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Lorenzo and Arthur exchange glances, both of them grinning like idiots. “Well, this just got interesting,” Lorenzo quips, earning a light smack on the arm from Pascale.

“Behave,” she admonishes, though there’s a twinkle in her eye. “This is a celebration.”

You can’t help but laugh, the tension that had been building in your chest finally breaking. It’s a strange, wonderful feeling, being surrounded by people who genuinely care, who want what’s best for you and your baby. And as you look around the room — at Max, at Pascale, at Lorenzo and Arthur — you realize that maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of laughter and conversation. Pascale insists on taking a thousand pictures of you with the cake, with Max, with everyone, and by the time she’s done, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Lorenzo and Arthur argue good-naturedly over baby names, each of them convinced they have the best suggestion, while Max listens with a bemused smile.

Eventually, the party winds down, and Lorenzo and Arthur say their goodbyes, promising to visit again soon. Pascale lingers a little longer, giving you one last hug before she leaves.

“Remember,” she says as she pulls back, her eyes warm and full of affection. “I’m always here for you, no matter what.”

You nod, feeling a swell of gratitude. “I know. Thank you.”

Pascale smiles and gives Max a quick hug as well before finally making her exit, leaving the two of you alone in the apartment.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Max turns to you, his expression softening. “How are you feeling?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day settle over you. “Tired,” you admit, but there’s a warmth in your chest that wasn’t there before. “But … happy.”

Max smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Good,” he says simply.

You look at him, at the man who has done so much for you in such a short amount of time, and you feel something shift inside you — something that scares you a little, but that also feels like hope.

“Max,” you begin, your voice uncertain. “About earlier-”

He cuts you off with a shake of his head. “You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “I just want you to be comfortable, to do what feels right for you.”

You nod, appreciating his understanding. “I just … I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit, your voice small. “But I know I don’t want to push you away.”

Max’s eyes soften, and he takes a step closer to you. “You won’t,” he says, his voice gentle but certain. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? We’ll figure this out together.”

You take comfort in his words, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You’ve been so used to handling everything on your own, and the thought of having someone beside you, someone who genuinely cares, feels like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.

“Okay,” you whisper, meeting his gaze. The air between you is charged, filled with the weight of unspoken possibilities.

Max reaches out, hesitating for a brief moment before gently cupping your cheek. His thumb brushes against your skin, and you lean into his touch, feeling a warmth spread through you. It’s as if time slows down, the world outside of Max’s apartment fading away until there’s only the two of you, standing close enough to share the same breath.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Max murmurs, his voice low and earnest. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you and the baby are safe, happy, and loved.”

You search his eyes, finding only honesty there, a depth of emotion that takes you by surprise. It’s been so long since you’ve felt this kind of connection, this certainty that you’re not alone.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

Max shakes his head slightly, as if to say there’s no need to thank him, but you know better. You know how much he’s done, how much he’s given, and you feel a rush of gratitude so powerful it almost overwhelms you.

Without thinking, you close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace. Max holds you just as tightly, his chin resting on top of your head, and for a moment, everything feels right. The world outside, the uncertainty of the future — it all fades away, leaving just the comfort of his arms around you.

After a few moments, you pull back slightly, looking up at him. There’s something in his eyes that makes your heart skip a beat, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you press a soft, tentative kiss to his lips.

This time, there’s no hesitation. Max kisses you back with a gentle intensity that sends a shiver down your spine, his hands cradling your face as if you’re something precious, something he’s afraid to break.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Max’s eyes are dark with emotion, and he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world.

“Stay,” he whispers, his voice rough with need. “Stay with me. Let me take care of you.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “Okay,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “I will.”

Max’s expression softens into a smile, one that lights up his entire face. He leans down and presses another kiss to your forehead, a promise in the simple gesture.

“Good,” he says, his voice full of quiet joy. “That’s good.”

You smile back at him, feeling a warmth in your chest that you haven’t felt in a long time. With Max by your side, it feels like maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay. As you both stand there, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around you like a cocoon, you realize that this — right here, right now — is the start of something new, something beautiful.

***

It’s early morning, the kind where the light hasn’t yet broken through the curtains, and the apartment is still wrapped in the quiet hush of dawn. You’re half-awake, swimming in that space between sleep and consciousness when you hear it — Max’s voice, low and soothing.

You keep your eyes closed, letting the sound wash over you, not wanting to break the spell. His words are soft, like he’s speaking to the most delicate thing in the world, and you realize he’s talking to your belly.

“Morning, little one,” Max whispers, his voice full of warmth. You feel the slight movement of his hand on your stomach, gentle and comforting. “Did you sleep well? I hope you’re taking it easy on your mama.”

You can’t help the small smile that curves your lips, but you stay still, wanting to hear more. There’s something so tender, so intimate about this moment, and you don’t want to interrupt it.

Max continues, his tone playful now. “You know, I’ve been thinking … you’re going to need a name for me, right? Something special. How about Maxie? Does that sound good to you?” He pauses, as if waiting for an answer. “Or maybe, one day, you’ll call me Papa. I’d really like that.”

Your heart swells, and you feel a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the blanket you’re curled under. Max’s words are like a promise, one that wraps around both you and the baby, binding you together in a way that feels unshakable.

He continues to talk, his voice filled with love and a hint of wonder, as if he still can’t quite believe this is real. “I can’t wait to meet you, you know. To see your little face, your tiny hands … I’m going to be right here, every step of the way. I promise. You and your mama … you’re my world now.”

You feel the gentle pressure of his lips as he presses a kiss to your stomach, and it sends a shiver through you, a mix of emotion that you can’t quite put into words. It’s the kind of feeling that settles deep in your chest, making you want to cry and smile at the same time.

Max shifts slightly, and you feel him lay his head next to your stomach, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll be here to teach you all the important things, like how to kick a football or how to drive really fast — though, your mama might not like that last one,” he chuckles softly, and you have to bite your lip to keep from giggling.

“And I’ll be here for the hard stuff too,” Max continues, his tone growing serious. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, and that you always know how loved you are. Because you’re already so loved, little one. So much.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your eyes sting with unshed tears. You can feel the depth of his commitment, the way he’s already made space in his heart for this child, and it’s overwhelming in the best possible way.

Max falls quiet for a moment, his hand still resting on your belly. You can feel his thumb tracing small circles over your skin, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling. “I know I’m not your real dad,” he says quietly, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “But I’m going to love you like you’re mine. And I’m going to love your mama with everything I have, because she deserves that. She deserves everything.”

Your heart clenches at his words, a rush of emotion so strong it nearly takes your breath away. You’ve never felt so cared for, so deeply cherished, and it’s all because of him — this man who has stepped into your life and turned it upside down in the most unexpected, wonderful way.

Max leans in closer, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I promise, I’ll always be here for you. For both of you. And I hope, one day, you’ll call me Papa. But even if you don’t, I’ll still be the luckiest man in the world, just to be here with you.”

You can’t keep your eyes closed any longer. They flutter open, and you glance down at him, your heart full to bursting. Max looks up, catching your gaze, and there’s a moment of quiet understanding between you — a recognition of the enormity of what he’s just said.

“Did I wake you?” He asks softly, his hand still resting on your belly.

You shake your head, your voice thick with emotion. “No … I was awake.”

Max studies your face, and you can see the concern in his eyes, the way he’s always so attuned to your feelings. “You okay?”

You nod, reaching out to brush a hand through his messy hair. “I’m more than okay.”

His lips curl into a soft smile, one that makes your chest ache with how much you care for him. Max shifts, pressing another kiss to your belly before moving to lay beside you, gathering you into his arms. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, letting it soothe you back into that half-asleep state.

“You’re going to be an amazing dad,” you murmur, your words slurred with sleep.

Max’s arms tighten around you, his lips brushing against the top of your head. “Only because I have you.”

His words wrap around you like a blanket, warm and secure. As you drift back into sleep, the last thing you hear is Max’s voice, soft and full of promise, whispering to your belly again. “I’ll always be here,” he says. “For both of you. Always.”

And with that, you let the sound of his voice carry you back into sleep, your heart filled with a deep, unshakable sense of peace.

***

The contractions start in the early hours of the morning, sharp and unyielding, ripping you out of a restless sleep. At first, you think it’s just another false alarm — your body playing tricks on you like it has for the past week. But this time, something feels different, more urgent. Max is beside you in an instant, his instincts kicking in the moment you clutch at the sheets, your breath hitching in pain.

“Are you okay?” His voice is full of concern, his hand already on your back, trying to soothe you through the discomfort.

You shake your head, biting your lip as another wave crashes over you. “It’s time,” you manage to gasp, your hand instinctively reaching for his. “Max, it’s time.”

Max’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t hesitate. He’s up, grabbing the hospital bag that’s been packed for weeks now, guiding you carefully out of bed. The ride to the hospital is a blur of pain and tension, Max’s knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel, driving with a focus that betrays his worry.

When you arrive, everything moves too quickly and too slowly all at once. Nurses and doctors swarm around you, getting you into a gown, checking your vitals, assessing the baby’s position. Max stays by your side through it all, his hand never leaving yours, his voice a steady presence in your ear as he tries to keep you calm.

Hours pass, the pain intensifying until it feels like your body is being split in two. But you’re not scared — not until the doctor’s expression changes, his calm professionalism slipping as he exchanges a glance with the nurse. It’s a look that sends a spike of fear through your heart, and suddenly, the room feels too small, the walls closing in.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, your voice shaking, trying to keep the panic at bay. Max’s hand tightens around yours, his eyes fixed on the doctor, demanding answers without saying a word.

The doctor clears his throat, his tone gentle but serious. “The baby is in distress. Her heart rate is dropping, and we’re concerned about a potential placental abruption.”

“What does that mean?” Max’s voice is hoarse, his face pale.

“It means,” the doctor says carefully, “we may have to make some difficult decisions. We’ll do everything we can, but in situations like this, there’s a chance we may have to prioritize-”

“No,” you interrupt, your voice rising in panic. The room starts to spin, your vision blurring as the reality of what he’s saying crashes over you. “No, no, no … you can’t do that. Save the baby. If it comes down to it, you have to save the baby.”

Max’s grip on your hand tightens to the point of pain, but it’s nothing compared to the anguish in his eyes. “Don’t say that,” he chokes out, his voice cracking. “Don’t you dare say that.”

The doctor nods, his expression somber. “We’re not there yet. We still have time to try and turn things around, but we need to act fast.”

You nod numbly, tears streaming down your face as the pain intensifies, the fear now mingling with the physical agony. Max leans in close, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged as he struggles to hold it together.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers, though his voice shakes with the weight of his own fear. “You hear me? Both of you. You’re both coming out of this. I need you to believe that.”

Your heart aches at the desperation in his voice, and you want to believe him, want to cling to the hope he’s trying so hard to give you. But the terror is overwhelming, and all you can do is nod, too afraid to speak, afraid that if you do, it will make everything too real.

Max pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression fierce despite the tears shining in his own. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice stronger now, a command wrapped in a plea. “You’re strong, okay? The strongest person I know. And she’s strong too. You’re both going to make it through this. You have to. I can’t-” His voice breaks, and he swallows hard, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “I can’t lose you. I can’t lose either of you.”

His words break something inside you, and you sob, clutching at him like he’s your lifeline, because right now, he is. The pain, the fear, the uncertainty — it’s all too much, and you bury your face in his chest, trying to draw strength from him.

The doctors and nurses are moving around you, the room filled with a flurry of activity, but all you can focus on is Max. He’s your anchor, the only thing keeping you tethered to reality as the world spins out of control. His hand never leaves yours, even as the contractions grow stronger, more intense, your screams echoing off the walls.

“I’m here,” Max keeps repeating, his voice a constant in the chaos. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

But then, the situation worsens. You hear the doctor call for an emergency C-section, and your heart plummets. The pain is unbearable, and you can’t breathe, can’t think. They’re wheeling you away, Max’s hand slipping from yours as they take you to the operating room. The last thing you see is his face, pale and stricken, his eyes wide with fear.

“I love you,” he calls out, his voice cracking with the weight of everything he can’t control. “I love you so much. Please — please be okay.”

The operating room is cold, the lights too bright, and all you can think about is the life inside you, the baby you’ve grown to love before she’s even taken her first breath. You can’t lose her. You can’t. But the fear is suffocating, and as they prepare you for surgery, you feel a wave of despair crash over you.

Max’s words echo in your mind, a desperate mantra that you cling to with everything you have. Both of you are making it out of this. You have to.

The anesthesia takes hold, and you feel yourself slipping away, the world fading around you. But before the darkness consumes you, you send up a silent prayer, a plea to whatever force might be listening.

Please. Please let us both make it out of this.

And then, there’s nothing but darkness.

***

Max paces the waiting room, his heart pounding so hard it feels like it might break through his chest. Every second that ticks by is torture, every minute without news a knife twisting in his gut. He’s never been this scared in his life, not even in the most dangerous moments on the track.

His hands are shaking, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He keeps replaying the last look you gave him, the fear in your eyes, the way you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. The thought of losing you, of losing the baby — it’s unbearable.

He can’t breathe, can’t think straight. All he can do is wait, and it’s driving him insane. He feels so helpless, like there’s nothing he can do to fix this, to protect you, and it’s killing him.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the doctor emerges from the operating room. Max rushes to him, his heart in his throat, fear choking him.

“Doctor, please — tell me, are they okay?” Max’s voice is raw, barely above a whisper, his eyes pleading.

The doctor looks tired, his face drawn, but there’s a small, reassuring smile on his lips. “The surgery was successful. It was touch and go for a while, but both your partner and the baby are stable.”

Max’s knees nearly buckle with relief, a sob escaping his throat as he covers his face with his hands. “Thank God … thank you,” he chokes out, his whole body trembling with the release of tension.

“You can see them soon,” the doctor adds gently, placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “She’s going to need a lot of rest, and we’ll be monitoring them both closely, but they’re out of danger for now.”

Max nods, unable to speak, his emotions too overwhelming to put into words. He’s ushered into a recovery room, where you’re lying on the bed, pale and exhausted, but alive. The sight of you sends a fresh wave of tears to his eyes.

“Hey,” you whisper weakly, your voice barely audible, but the sound of it is the most beautiful thing Max has ever heard.

“Hey,” he breathes, moving to your side and taking your hand in his. His other hand brushes the hair from your face, his touch reverent, as if he’s afraid you might break. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, tears welling up in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to … I just … I had to make sure she was okay.”

Max shakes his head, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, his tears mingling with yours. “Don’t apologize. You did it. You both made it. You’re both okay.”

You squeeze his hand, drawing strength from his presence. “I couldn’t have done it without you. I heard you, Max … I heard you telling me to hold on.”

Max pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “I meant every word. I’ll always be here, for both of you. I promise.”

A nurse enters. “Would you like to meet your daughter?” She asks.

The nurse wheels in the bassinet, and you can’t take your eyes off the tiny bundle wrapped in a pink blanket. Max looks at you, his heart in his throat, as the nurse gently lifts your daughter and places her in your arms. She’s so small, her eyes closed, her tiny fists curled up against her chest. The world narrows to this moment, the overwhelming surge of love crashing over you both as you stare down at her.

Max sits beside you, his arm around your shoulders as he looks at his daughter, his breath catching in his throat. “She’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “So beautiful.”

You smile through your tears, nodding as you trace a gentle finger over the baby’s soft cheek. “She is. I … I’ve been thinking about what to name her.”

Max looks at you, his heart pounding, waiting for you to speak.

“I want to name her Emilia,” you say softly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “After you. I want her to have a part of you with her always. You’ve done so much for us, Max. You’re a part of her, a part of us. It feels right.”

Max’s breath catches, and for a moment, he can’t speak. His middle name is something he’s never thought much about, but hearing you say it now, giving it to your daughter — it takes on a whole new meaning.

“Emilia,” he repeats softly, as if testing it out. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body as he wraps you both in his embrace. Emilia stirs in your arms, making a soft noise as she opens her eyes for the first time, looking up at you and Max with wide, curious eyes. It feels like time stands still, the three of you cocooned in this perfect moment.

“She’s going to be so loved,” Max whispers, his voice full of awe and determination. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You nod, knowing he means it with every fiber of his being. Max has already proven that he’ll do anything to protect you and Emilia. It’s in the way he looks at you, in the way he holds you both as if you’re the most precious things in the world.

As you sit there together, your new family, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you won’t be facing them alone. Max is here, by your side, and with him, you have all the strength you need.

“Welcome to the world, Emilia,” you whisper, kissing her tiny forehead. “We love you so much.”

Max kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering there as he closes his eyes, letting himself feel the full weight of the love he has for you both. This is what he’s been waiting for, what he didn’t even realize he needed until now.

“I’ll always be here,” he murmurs, his voice a promise. “For both of you.”

And as you hold your daughter close, you know that those words are true. Max will always be here, and together, you’ll face whatever comes next as a family.

***

Max carefully pulls the car up to the curb outside his Monaco apartment, his hands gripping the steering wheel just a little too tightly. He’s driven this route countless times, but today feels different — monumental. He glances over at you in the passenger seat, Emilia cradled in your arms, bundled up in a soft pink blanket. She’s asleep, her tiny mouth forming an ‘O’ as she breathes peacefully.

Max’s heart feels like it might burst from his chest as he watches you both. The love he feels is overwhelming, so much that it almost scares him. He’s not sure how to carry it all, but he knows he wants to try — no, he needs to.

“Ready?” He asks, his voice soft, not wanting to disturb Emilia.

You nod, smiling down at your daughter before looking up at him. “Ready.”

Max steps out of the car and hurries around to your side, opening the door for you and helping you out, his hand warm and steady on your arm. You both move carefully, as if the world might shatter if you’re too rough. Emilia stirs slightly as you adjust her in your arms, but she stays asleep, oblivious to the world outside.

The front door of the apartment clicks open, and you step inside, the familiar scent of home wrapping around you. Max closes the door behind you, and suddenly, the apartment feels different — more complete, more alive. He watches as you walk into the living room, a sense of awe filling him as he realizes that this is your home now, Emilia’s home.

Jimmy and Sassy are lounging on the couch when you enter. They lift their heads lazily, eyes narrowing with curiosity as they spot the new addition to the household. Max watches them closely, his heart racing slightly. He knows how territorial they can be, and the last thing he wants is for them to feel threatened by Emilia.

You lower yourself carefully onto the couch, cradling Emilia in your arms, and Max sits beside you, his arm around your shoulders. “Guys,” you whisper to the cats, your voice gentle, soothing. “Come say hi.”

Jimmy is the first to move, hopping down from the couch and approaching slowly, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight of the tiny human in your arms. He sniffs the air cautiously, his ears twitching, and then, to Max’s surprise, he rubs his head gently against Emilia’s leg, purring softly. Sassy follows suit, jumping up onto the armrest to get a better look, her green eyes curious and bright.

Max lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a smile spreading across his face. “Looks like they approve,” he says, his voice full of warmth.

You laugh softly, the sound like music to his ears. “I guess so. They’re so gentle with her.”

“Yeah,” Max agrees, his eyes never leaving Emilia’s face. “They know she’s important.”

For a while, the three of you just sit there, basking in the quiet joy of the moment. Emilia shifts in your arms, her tiny fingers flexing as she begins to wake up. Her eyes flutter open, and she lets out a small, contented sigh. Jimmy and Sassy watch intently, as if fascinated by this little creature that’s suddenly become the center of their world.

Max reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against Emilia’s cheek. She turns her head slightly, her eyes trying to focus on him, and Max feels a lump form in his throat. “Hi, meisje,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Welcome home.”

You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder, and for a moment, everything feels perfect. But then, as if the weight of the world suddenly returns, Max feels a pang of dread deep in his chest. He tries to push it away, but it lingers, gnawing at him.

You notice the change in him immediately, lifting your head to look at him, concern in your eyes. “Max? What’s wrong?”

He hesitates, not wanting to ruin the moment, but he knows he has to tell you. “I just … I’ve been thinking about the races,” he admits quietly. “I’m going to have to leave soon, and … I hate the thought of being away from you and Emilia. Especially now.”

Your expression softens, and you reach out to take his hand, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Max, it’s okay. I know how much racing means to you. We’ll be fine.”

He shakes his head, his eyes searching yours. “I know you will. It’s just … I don’t want to miss anything. I don’t want to miss her first smile, her first laugh, her first steps …”

“You won’t,” you assure him, squeezing his hand. “We’ll make it work. And when she’s old enough, we’ll come with you to as many races as we can.”

Max’s heart swells at the thought, but then another worry creeps in. He hesitates, glancing away for a moment before looking back at you. “But… what about Charles? I don’t want you to feel like you have to be in the same paddock as him. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his words, and then you shake your head, a determined look in your eyes. “Max, I’ve thought about it a lot, and I want to be there with you. Emilia and I will cheer you on, and Charles … well, he’s in the past. You’re our future. I want to support you, and I want Emilia to see how amazing her papa is.”

The relief that washes over Max is palpable. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that until now. “Are you sure?” He asks, his voice almost trembling. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“I’m sure,” you say firmly. “Besides, I want Emilia to grow up surrounded by people who love her. And that includes you, Max. You’re her papa.”

Max’s breath catches at the word, his chest tightening with a mix of love and fear. He’s been called many things in his life — champion, prodigy, competitor — but ‘papa’ is new. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“Papa,” he echoes softly, the word feeling both foreign and right on his tongue. “I like the sound of that.”

You smile, your eyes shining with warmth. “Me too.”

The rest of the day passes in a blur of small, beautiful moments. You and Max take turns holding Emilia, watching as she discovers the world around her with wide, curious eyes. Max can’t stop marveling at how tiny she is, how perfect. Every little coo, every small movement feels like a miracle to him.

When evening falls, you feed Emilia while Max busies himself in the kitchen, preparing something simple for dinner. He’s not much of a cook, but he’s determined to take care of you both in any way he can. As you sit at the table together, Emilia cradled in your arms, Max watches you with a sense of contentment he’s never felt before.

But as the night grows darker, that lingering dread creeps back in. Max knows he has to leave for the next race soon, and the thought of being away from you and Emilia feels unbearable. After dinner, he finds himself pacing the living room, his thoughts swirling.

You notice his restlessness and approach him, Emilia sleeping soundly in your arms. “Max,” you say gently, drawing his attention. “Talk to me.”

He stops, running a hand through his hair as he looks at you, his eyes filled with uncertainty. “I just … I don’t know how I’m going to leave you both. I hate it.”

You step closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “Max, I know it’s hard. But we’ll be okay. And you can call us anytime, video chat, whatever you need. We’ll make it work.”

Max nods, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I just don’t want to miss anything,” he repeats, his voice strained. “I want to be here for everything.”

“And you will be,” you promise, your voice firm. “We’ll figure it out together. We’re a team now, remember?”

Max lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Yeah,” he says softly, his voice filled with gratitude. “We are.”

You lean up to kiss him softly on the lips, a kiss that’s full of reassurance and love. When you pull back, Max looks at you with a mixture of awe and affection.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“For what?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.

“For being here. For being you,” he says simply, his eyes locking onto yours. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smile, your heart swelling with love for the man in front of you. “You’ll never have to find out.”

Max pulls you into a gentle embrace, careful not to disturb Emilia as he holds you both close. In that moment, he knows that no matter how many races he has to go to, no matter how far he has to travel, this is where his heart will always be — with you and Emilia.

And as you both stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Max makes a silent promise to himself: to always be there for you, no matter what. Because this — this little family you’ve created together — is the most important thing in the world.

***

The doorbell rings just as Max is finishing up with Emilia’s bottle. He glances at the clock — 10:30 a.m. Whoever it is, they’re too early for lunch, too late for breakfast, and entirely unexpected.

You’re in the kitchen, humming softly while packing away the groceries Max picked up this morning. Max smiles to himself as he looks down at Emilia, her tiny fingers wrapped around his thumb. It feels like everything in his life is finally in place.

But that sense of contentment shatters the moment he opens the door.

Jos stands there, his presence immediately filling the entryway with tension. The older man’s eyes flick to you in the kitchen, then back to Max, his mouth curling into a sneer.

“Max,” Jos says, stepping forward before Max can say a word. His voice is cold, sharp. The man doesn’t even bother with a greeting.

“Dad,” Max replies, swallowing hard as he shuts the door behind him. Jos is already walking into the apartment, his eyes scanning the place like he’s looking for something to criticize.

You turn around, startled by the sound of footsteps you weren’t expecting. The soft smile on your face fades when you see Jos. Max can see the recognition in your eyes, followed by a flash of concern. You know about Jos, the kind of man he is. Max’s jaw tightens.

“What are you doing here?” Max tries to keep his voice steady, but there’s an edge to it, a warning.

Jos ignores him. His gaze is fixed on you now, his expression unreadable but undeniably harsh. “So this is her, huh?” He waves a hand in your direction. “The one Charles tossed aside.”

You freeze, hands trembling as you instinctively clutch the counter behind you. Max’s blood runs cold.

“Don’t,” Max warns, stepping between you and his father. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

Jos scoffs. “Relax, Max. I’m just stating the obvious. She’s nothing more than your rival’s sloppy seconds. And you … you’re playing house with another man’s child.”

The air leaves the room. Max’s vision narrows, and all he can see is Jos — the man who made his childhood a battleground. The man who pushed him so hard he could barely breathe under the weight of his expectations. Now he’s here, trying to break apart the life Max has built for himself.

“That’s enough,” Max snaps, his voice rising in a way that’s unfamiliar, even to him. Emilia starts fussing in his arms, sensing the tension, and it only makes him angrier. “You don’t get to walk in here and insult my family.”

Jos raises an eyebrow. “Family? Don’t kid yourself, Max. This isn’t your family. This is Charles Leclerc’s leftovers. You’re raising another man’s child, and you think that makes you a father?”

Max feels like he’s been punched in the gut, but he doesn’t flinch. He’s not that scared little boy anymore, the one who craved his father’s approval more than anything in the world. He’s a man now — a father — and he won’t let Jos tear him down again.

“You don’t know anything about this,” Max says, his voice shaking with fury. “I love her. I love Emilia. She’s my daughter, and I’m her father, no matter what you think. And if you can’t respect that, then you don’t belong here.”

Jos’s eyes flash with something dark, something that Max recognizes all too well. But before he can say anything, you step forward, your voice trembling but determined. “Please, just go.”

Jos glances at you, then back at Max. For a moment, it looks like he might push further, but then he shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You’ve gone soft, Max. You’re making a mistake, and one day you’ll see it.”

Max tightens his grip on Emilia, who’s starting to cry now, her small voice cutting through the tension. He turns his back on Jos, cradling his daughter close to his chest, and says, “Get out.”

For a moment, there’s only silence. Then, with a huff of disdain, Jos turns on his heel and leaves, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound echoes through the apartment like a gunshot.

You rush to Max’s side, reaching out to touch his arm. “Max, I-”

“Don’t,” Max says, his voice cracking. He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch as he struggles to keep his composure. “Just … don’t.”

He doesn’t mean to snap at you, but the anger, the hurt, it’s all too much. You say nothing, just move closer, wrapping your arms around him and Emilia, holding them both as tightly as you can. Max can feel the tension melting away, replaced by a deep, bone-deep exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Max replies, shaking his head. “It’s … it’s just him. He’ll never change.”

You pull back slightly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “He’s wrong, Max. You are her father. You’re already everything she needs.”

Max looks down at Emilia, who’s slowly calming down in his arms. Her tiny hand grips his finger, and the simple, innocent gesture makes something in him break. He swallows hard, blinking back tears.

“I don’t care what he says,” Max whispers, more to himself than to you. “I’m not him. I’m never going to be him.”

You reach up, gently brushing a tear away from his cheek. “You’re not. You’re a good man and you’re already a great father.”

Max can’t find the words to respond, so he just leans down and kisses you, a slow, desperate kiss that says everything he can’t put into words. You kiss him back, your hands gently cradling his face, grounding him in the moment.

When you finally pull away, you smile at him, and it’s like the sun breaking through a stormy sky. “We’re going to be okay,” you say softly. “All three of us.”

Max nods, pressing his forehead against yours. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “We are.”

You both stand there in the quiet of the apartment, holding onto each other and to Emilia, who has finally fallen back asleep. The storm has passed, but Max knows there will be more to come. But as long as he has you and Emilia by his side, he knows he can face anything.

And for the first time in a long time, Max feels like he’s finally home.

***

The room is silent except for the soft hum of the baby monitor, its rhythmic buzz a constant backdrop to the night. The apartment is dark, save for a thin sliver of moonlight seeping in through the curtains, casting a pale glow over the room.

You stir, groggily reaching for the warmth of Max beside you, but find only cold sheets. Instantly, you’re more awake, your heart quickening as you sit up and squint into the darkness. It’s late, or maybe it’s early — time has blurred into an endless loop of feeding, changing, and trying to snatch sleep in between.

Max isn’t in bed, but you can see his silhouette across the room, standing over Emilia’s crib. His back is to you, his posture tense yet somehow fragile, as if he’s holding something inside that’s threatening to spill over. You watch him for a moment, the quiet of the night wrapping around you both like a blanket, before you gently call out his name.

“Max?”

He doesn’t turn immediately, and for a second, you think maybe he didn’t hear you. But then he shifts slightly, his shoulders dropping as if he’s finally exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice low and rough with emotion. “Did I wake you?”

You shake your head, though he’s not looking at you. “No. I just noticed you weren’t in bed.”

He glances back at you then, just briefly, his eyes shadowed and unreadable in the dim light. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admits, turning his gaze back to Emilia. “I kept thinking about … everything.”

There’s a heaviness in his tone that makes you push back the covers and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You stand up, crossing the room to where he’s standing. When you reach him, you place a hand on his arm, feeling the tension thrumming through his muscles.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” You ask softly, trying to meet his eyes.

For a moment, he’s quiet, staring down at Emilia with a look that’s a mix of awe and fear. Then he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. “I keep saying she’s mine. I’ve said it so many times, but … I don’t think it really hit me until just now. I’m her dad.”

He finally looks at you, his blue eyes shining with something raw and unguarded. “I’m her dad, and that means … everything. It means I’m the one who’s supposed to protect her, to make sure she’s safe and happy. I’m the one who’s supposed to teach her, to love her, to be there for every moment of her life.”

His voice cracks on the last word, and you feel your heart break for him, for the weight he’s been carrying. You squeeze his arm gently, encouraging him to continue.

“I’ve spent so much of my life trying to be what my dad wanted me to be,” Max continues, his eyes dropping back down to Emilia. “I pushed myself so hard because I thought that’s what I had to do, that I had to prove something to him, to everyone. But this … being her dad, it’s different. It’s not about proving anything. It’s just about being there for her, for you.”

You can hear the fear in his voice, the uncertainty, but also the determination. Max has always been a fighter, always pushing himself to the limit, but this is different. This is about love, about responsibility, about a future that’s no longer just his.

“I promise,” he says, his voice stronger now, more certain. “I promise I’ll always do the best for her, and for you. I’ll make mistakes, I know I will, but I’ll always try to do what’s right. I’ll always be here.”

His words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You step closer, sliding your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, a comforting rhythm that grounds you in the moment.

“You’re already doing it,” you whisper against his chest. “You’re already an amazing dad, Max. She’s so lucky to have you, and so am I.”

Max wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer. You feel the warmth of his body against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. It’s a simple, quiet moment, but it’s everything.

“I’m the lucky one,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I didn’t think … I never imagined this. Having a family. But now that I do, I can’t imagine life without it. Without you. Without her.”

You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes are soft, full of love and something else — something deeper, more profound. It’s the look of a man who’s found something he didn’t even know he was searching for.

“I love you,” you say, the words slipping out before you can even think about them. But they’re true, and you realize with a start that you’ve been feeling them for a while now.

Max’s breath catches, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he’s trying to memorize your face, your words, everything about this moment. Then he smiles — a real, genuine smile that lights up his entire face.

“I love you too,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

You lean in, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. It’s not the first kiss you’ve shared, but it feels like the most important. It’s a promise, a commitment, a beginning.

When you finally pull away, Max rests his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For everything. For trusting me, for being here, for giving me this family.”

You smile, reaching up to cup his cheek. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

He kisses you again, softer this time, a lingering brush of lips that sends warmth spiraling through you. Then he turns his attention back to Emilia, who’s still sound asleep in her crib, blissfully unaware of the world around her.

“She’s so perfect,” Max murmurs, his voice full of wonder. “I still can’t believe she’s ours.”

“She is,” you agree, leaning against him as you both watch your daughter sleep. “She’s everything.”

Max nods, his eyes never leaving Emilia. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure she has the best life possible. I don’t care what it takes. She’s my little girl.”

There’s a fierceness in his voice now, a protective instinct that you know will only grow stronger with time. It’s the kind of love that can’t be measured, the kind that changes everything.

“And you,” Max adds, looking down at you with a softness that makes your heart swell. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you’re happy too. That you never have to worry about anything.”

“I know you will,” you say, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. “But you don’t have to do it all on your own, Max. We’re in this together, okay? We’re a team.”

He nods, his expression serious. “Yeah. We are.”

You stand there in the quiet of the night, wrapped up in each other and in the future you’re building together. It’s a future that’s still uncertain, full of challenges and unknowns, but it’s yours. It’s yours, and it’s beautiful.

After a while, Max guides you back to bed, and you both climb under the covers, your bodies fitting together perfectly. He holds you close, his arms wrapped around you as you settle against his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart, feel the warmth of his skin against yours, and it lulls you into a peaceful sleep.

As you drift off, you hear Max’s voice one last time, a soft whisper in the darkness. “I’m never letting go of this. Of you. Of her. I promise.”

And with that, you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, feeling more loved and more secure than you ever have before.

***

Max is darting around the private jet, a man on a mission. He’s checking every corner, every surface, making sure it’s all baby-proofed, while you sit on the plush leather seat, watching him with a mix of amusement and affection. Emilia, cradled in your arms, is blissfully unaware of her father’s nerves as she gurgles happily, her tiny hands waving in the air.

“Max, it’s fine,” you call out, but he’s too busy testing the security of a cabinet door to hear you.

“What if the turbulence knocks something over?” He mutters, more to himself than to you, as he gives the cabinet another pull to ensure it’s locked tight. He moves on to the safety straps on the seats, tugging at them to make sure they’re secure.

You can’t help but smile at how seriously he’s taking this. Max Verstappen reduced to a bundle of nerves over the safety of a half-year-old baby on a private jet. It’s endearing, seeing him so out of his element, so completely focused on making sure everything is perfect for Emilia.

“Max, she’s going to be fine,” you say gently, but with a hint of laughter in your voice.

Max finally turns to you, his expression a mix of determination and mild panic. “I know, I just-” he pauses, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t want to take any chances. What if something happens? What if-”

“Max,” you cut him off, “everything’s going to be okay. You’ve checked everything three times already.”

He lets out a breath, his shoulders finally relaxing a little. “Yeah, you’re right. I just ... I want her to be safe.”

“She will be. And besides,” you add with a teasing smile, “you’ve already won the overprotective dad award.”

That gets a small smile out of him, and he walks over to where you’re sitting, leaning down to press a kiss to Emilia’s forehead. “You’re right,” he says again, though this time it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself.

You reach up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing over the stubble there. “You’re an amazing dad, Max.”

He covers your hand with his, his blue eyes softening as he looks at you. “I just ... I never thought I’d be this worried, you know? Driving at 300 kilometers an hour doesn’t scare me, but this ...”

“Because this is different,” you finish for him, understanding completely. “She’s your whole world now.”

“You both are,” he corrects, and you can see the emotion in his eyes, the depth of his feelings for both you and Emilia.

The flight attendant comes by to offer refreshments, and Max asks for a bottle of water before turning his attention back to you and Emilia. He takes a seat beside you, carefully cradling the baby as you hand her over. The moment Emilia is in his arms, the tension in his shoulders eases, and he looks down at her with the kind of adoration that makes your heart swell.

“Look at her,” he murmurs, as if he still can’t believe this little person is real, is his.

“She’s beautiful,” you agree softly.

Max leans back in his seat, holding Emilia close. She’s starting to doze off, her tiny mouth making little sucking motions even in her sleep. “I can’t wait for her to see her first race,” he says quietly, his voice full of anticipation and pride.

You smile, watching the way he looks at Emilia, as if she’s the most precious thing in the world. And to him, she is.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” You ask, leaning your head on his shoulder.

He chuckles softly. “I don’t know. But I hope so. Maybe she’ll be my little lucky charm.”

“She already is,” you say, closing your eyes for a moment, just soaking in the warmth of the moment.

The plane starts to taxi down the runway, and Max holds Emilia a little tighter, his other hand reaching out to take yours. The takeoff is smooth, but Max’s grip on your hand doesn’t loosen until you’re well into the air.

“She didn’t even stir,” you note, nodding towards Emilia, who’s still peacefully asleep in Max’s arms.

“She’s tougher than we give her credit for,” Max replies, smiling down at his daughter.

As the flight progresses, Max eventually relaxes enough to stop checking every detail of the cabin. He spends most of the time just watching Emilia sleep, occasionally glancing out the window at the clouds passing by. You can see the wheels turning in his head, and you know he’s already imagining what it will be like to have her at the track, to share that part of his life with her.

After a while, you start to feel the effects of the early morning and the flight. The gentle hum of the plane and the steady warmth of Max beside you lull you into a state of drowsiness. You lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder, your hand still holding his.

Max looks down at you, his heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness. This is his family, his girls, and he would do anything to keep you both safe, to make sure you’re happy. He kisses the top of your head, the gesture so natural, so filled with love, that it almost surprises him how right it feels.

As the plane flies steadily towards its destination, you drift off to sleep, the last thing you hear being Max whispering softly to Emilia, telling her about the first time he’ll take her to the paddock, how he’ll introduce her to everyone, how he’ll teach her everything he knows. His voice is filled with so much love and promise that it makes your heart ache in the best way possible.

And then, you’re asleep, resting peacefully against Max’s shoulder, while Emilia snoozes in his arms. Max stays like that for the rest of the flight, holding both of you close, his heart full and content.

***

The paddock buzzes with the usual pre-race excitement, but today, there's an extra layer of curiosity. People are craning their necks, whispering to each other, their eyes widening as Max Verstappen strolls through, an unusual sight to behold. Emilia is strapped to his chest in a baby carrier, her tiny hands grabbing at the fabric of Max’s shirt, while you walk beside him, pushing a stroller that’s more a mobile storage unit for all the baby essentials.

It’s your first time back at a race since everything changed, and the significance of the moment isn’t lost on you. Every step feels heavy with the weight of anticipation, not just for the race itself, but for the reactions you both know are coming. Max, usually so composed in these environments, seems a little tense. His hand rests protectively over Emilia, his thumb gently stroking her back as he navigates through the crowd.

As you walk together, you catch the eyes of team members, fans, and media alike, all of them stunned by the sight of Max — stoic, single-minded Max — suddenly a father. The whispers grow louder, cameras discreetly capturing the moment, and you feel the eyes of the entire paddock on you. But Max, despite the tension in his shoulders, keeps his focus on you and Emilia, blocking out the stares as best he can.

You try to smile, to project confidence, but you can’t shake the feeling of being exposed, vulnerable. It’s not just that this is your first time back in the paddock — it’s that this is the first time the world is seeing you, Max, and Emilia together. You brace yourself for the reactions, knowing they’ll come.

Max senses your unease and squeezes your hand, a silent reassurance that he’s with you every step of the way. “Ignore them,” he says quietly, his voice firm. “This is about us, not them.”

You nod, taking a deep breath as you push the stroller forward. Emilia, blissfully unaware of the attention, coos happily against Max’s chest, her tiny head resting against him. It’s that sound, that innocence, that gives you the strength to keep going.

As you walk further into the paddock, the sea of familiar faces starts to part for you, some people smiling warmly, others too shocked to do much more than gape. Max acknowledges a few of the team members with a nod, his usual stern expression softened by the presence of his daughter.

Then, as you turn a corner near the Red Bull garage, you see him. Charles, dressed in his Ferrari red, stands talking to a few engineers. His back is to you, and for a moment, you think you might pass by unnoticed. But then, as if sensing your presence, Charles turns.

The world seems to slow as his eyes lock onto Emilia. He freezes, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief in a matter of seconds. His gaze flickers between you, Max, and the baby, and you can see the moment it all clicks for him. The green eyes, so like his own, staring back at him from the face of the baby strapped to Max’s chest.

“Max,” Charles says, his voice low, tight. His face flushes with a mix of emotions — shock, anger, betrayal. “What the hell is this?”

Max’s jaw tightens, but he stays calm. “Let’s not do this here.”

But Charles doesn’t seem to hear him. He takes a step closer, his eyes locked on Emilia, and you instinctively move closer to Max, as if you can shield your daughter from whatever’s about to happen.

“You had a baby?” Charles spits out, his voice rising with each word. “My baby?” He points at you, disbelief and fury written all over his face. “You stole my girlfriend and now you’re raising my child?”

The words hit like a slap, and you feel the blood drain from your face. You knew this confrontation was coming, but nothing could have prepared you for the intensity of it, for the venom in Charles’ voice.

Max steps forward, placing himself between you and Charles. “Watch what you’re saying,” he warns, his voice dangerously low. “Emilia is not your daughter. You gave up that right when you left her mother.”

Charles scoffs, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Max. “You think you can just replace me? That she’ll ever be yours?”

“She already is,” Max replies, his voice steady, unyielding. “She’s mine because I’m here for her, every day. Because I love her. And because you walked away.”

Charles looks like he’s about to explode. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, you think he might actually take a swing at Max. But instead, he turns his anger on you.

“And you,” he snaps, his voice dripping with contempt. “How could you do this? How could you let him take my place?”

The accusation stings, but before you can respond, Emilia starts to cry, the tension and raised voices too much for her to handle. The sound cuts through the air like a knife, and suddenly, all eyes are on the three of you, the scene unfolding like a car crash that no one can look away from.

Charles looks stricken at the sound of Emilia’s cries, but his anger doesn’t dissipate. If anything, it seems to fuel him further. “You think you can just replace me? That she won’t know who her real father is?”

Max’s composure finally breaks. He steps forward, his face inches from Charles, his voice deadly calm. “You lost the right to call yourself her father when you walked away from her mother without a second thought. Don’t you dare try to claim her now.”

“Max, please,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you reach out to him. But before you can pull him back, Charles lashes out.

“You think this is over? You think I’ll just let you play happy family with my daughter?”

“Stop it, Charles,” you plead, but your words fall on deaf ears.

Charles opens his mouth to respond, but Emilia’s cries grow louder, her tiny fists clenching in distress. Max’s expression hardens as he looks at Charles, then at his daughter, who’s clearly terrified by the escalating confrontation.

“That’s enough,” Max says, his voice firm. “You’re scaring her.”

But Charles doesn’t back down. He takes another step forward, his voice rising. “She’s mine, Max. And I’ll make sure she knows it.”

Emilia’s wails reach a fever pitch, and Max’s patience snaps. He takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching as he turns to you. “Take her,” he says softly, carefully unstrapping Emilia from the carrier and handing her to you. You can feel his hands shaking slightly as he passes her over, his control fraying at the edges.

You cradle Emilia close, trying to soothe her as you watch the standoff between Max and Charles with mounting dread.

Max squares his shoulders, turning back to Charles with a look that could freeze over hell. “If you ever come near her again,” he says, his voice cold as ice, “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Charles’s eyes flash with anger, but he’s out of words, out of retorts. He glares at Max, then at you, before turning on his heel and storming away, his footsteps echoing down the paddock.

For a moment, everything is silent except for Emilia’s soft cries. The crowd that had gathered disperses, but not without a few lingering looks of shock and curiosity. You can feel the weight of their stares, the buzz of gossip that’s sure to follow, but all that matters is calming Emilia and holding it together for her.

Max stands there, his chest heaving, the adrenaline from the confrontation still coursing through his veins. He watches as Charles disappears from sight, then turns back to you, his expression softening as he sees the tears in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “I didn’t want it to happen like this.”

You shake your head, unable to find the words to respond. Instead, you focus on Emilia, her cries quieting as she nuzzles against your chest, seeking comfort.

Max steps closer, his hand reaching out to touch your arm, grounding both of you. “Are you okay?” He asks gently, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m okay,” you manage to say, though your voice is shaky. “It’s just ... it’s a lot.”

“I know,” Max says, his voice filled with regret. “I wish I could make it all go away.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the tension start to ease as Max’s presence grounds you. “We’ll get through this,” you say softly, more for yourself than anyone else.

Max wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, his other hand resting on Emilia’s back. “We will,” he promises, his voice steady and sure. “We’re a family, and nothing’s going to change that.”

As you stand there, the chaos of the paddock fading into the background, you realize that no matter what happens, no matter what anyone says, you’re not alone in this. You have Max, and together, you’ll face whatever comes your way.

***

Max paces the length of his driver’s room, phone pressed to his ear, his voice low but urgent. Outside, the hum of the paddock continues, but inside, the tension is palpable. He runs a hand through his hair, the stress of the day catching up with him. His mind is a storm of thoughts, all centered on you and Emilia.

You stand at the doorway, hesitating as you hear his voice, too focused on the conversation to notice your presence. You can’t make out every word, but the ones you do catch make your heart pound in your chest.

“No, I don’t care what it takes,” Max says, his voice firm. “I want to make sure he has no rights. None. He can’t just walk back into her life and take her away.”

Your breath hitches, and you step closer, just out of his line of sight. Max pauses, listening to whoever’s on the other end of the call, his jaw clenched tight. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in, the gravity of what he’s discussing weighing heavily on your heart.

“Yes,” he says after a moment. “I’ve thought about that. Adoption. I want it to be official, as soon as possible. I want to be her dad in every way that matters.”

You feel like the air’s been knocked out of you. Your hand flies to your mouth, trying to contain the emotion that surges through you. You’ve always known that Max loves Emilia as his own, but hearing him talk about adoption, about making it official, is overwhelming. It’s everything you didn’t know you needed to hear.

Max’s back is to you, his shoulders tense, his free hand on his hip. “No, I don’t care about the PR fallout. She’s my daughter, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.”

You can’t stay quiet any longer. “Max …”

He turns so quickly that he nearly drops his phone. His blue eyes widen in surprise, then soften when he sees you. He quickly wraps up the call, telling his lawyer he’ll be in touch soon, and hangs up, his attention solely on you now.

“How much did you hear?” He asks, a touch of worry in his voice as he approaches you.

“Enough,” you admit, your voice trembling with emotion. “You’re serious about this? About adopting her?”

Max stops in front of you, his hands gently taking yours. “Of course, I am,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “She’s mine, in every way that matters. I don’t want there to be any question about that. I want to make it official.”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you blink rapidly, trying to keep them from falling. “Max … I don’t even know what to say. You’re amazing, you know that?”

He smiles, but there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that tugs at your heart. “I just want to do what’s right for you and Emilia. You both mean everything to me.”

Your heart swells with so much love that it feels like it might burst. “I love you,” you whisper, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Max’s eyes light up, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you close. “I love you too,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

You bury your face in his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you as you let the tears fall, tears of happiness, relief, and love. Max’s hand runs soothingly up and down your back, his touch reassuring, solid, and everything you need.

“I didn’t know if you’d want that,” you admit after a moment, your voice muffled against his shirt. “The adoption, I mean. I didn’t want to pressure you into anything.”

Max pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face. “This isn’t about pressure,” he says earnestly. “This is about what I want. I want to be her dad, officially. I want us to be a family.”

His words hit you like a wave, and you can’t hold back the smile that breaks across your face. “We already are, Max. But … making it official … it would mean the world to me.”

He kisses you then, softly, sweetly, as if sealing the promise with his lips. When he pulls away, there’s a determination in his eyes that makes your heart race.

“We’ll get this sorted,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Charles won’t be able to touch her. I’ll make sure of it.”

You nod, trusting him completely, knowing that whatever happens, Max will be there, by your side, protecting you and Emilia. He’s already proven that in so many ways.

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning into his embrace. “For everything.”

Max presses another kiss to your forehead, lingering there as if he never wants to let go. “I’ll always be here for you,” he promises, his voice a gentle vow. “For both of you.”

You stay like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, the weight of the world outside the room forgotten. It’s just you, Max, and the love that’s grown between you, a love that’s only getting stronger with each passing day.

Eventually, Max steps back, his hand slipping into yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again. “Come on,” he says softly, a small smile playing on his lips. “Let’s go check on Emilia.”

You smile back, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Yeah,” you agree, squeezing his hand. “Let’s.”

***

The FIA Prize Giving Ceremony is a glittering affair, with the most celebrated drivers in the world gathered under one roof, all eager to see who will take home the evening’s highest honors. The room is abuzz with energy, cameras flashing, and the air thick with anticipation. It’s a night of recognition, where the best of the best are acknowledged for their achievements on the track. But for you and Max, tonight is about something much more personal.

You sit beside Max at one of the front tables, your hands clasped together under the tablecloth. Max looks sharp in his tailored suit, but his usual air of calm confidence is tinged with a nervous excitement that he can’t quite hide. His eyes are fixed on the stage, where the host is just beginning to announce the next category: Rookie of the Year.

“... and the Rookie of the Year award goes to ... Emilia Verstappen!”

The applause is instantaneous, loud and enthusiastic, as the cameras pan across the audience. You squeeze Max’s hand, and he turns to you, his eyes shining with pride. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to — you can see everything he’s feeling written all over his face.

You both watch as Emilia makes her way to the stage, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders, the bright lights catching the sparkles in her gown. She moves with the grace and confidence of someone who’s been in the spotlight her entire life, but there’s still that youthful energy in her step, the excitement of someone just beginning to make her mark on the world.

When Emilia reaches the podium, she takes the award in her hands, the applause still roaring around her. She takes a moment to look out at the audience, her eyes searching until they find yours and Max’s. She smiles — a smile that’s a little bit of yours, a little bit of her biological father’s, and completely her own. The room gradually quiets down, and when she speaks, her voice is clear and steady, carrying through the hall.

“Wow, this is ... incredible. Thank you so much to the FIA, to my team, and to everyone who’s supported me this year. It’s been a wild ride, and I’m so grateful for every moment.”

She pauses, glancing down at the award in her hands, turning it over thoughtfully. “But there are two people I need to thank more than anyone else, because without them, I wouldn’t be standing here tonight.”

You feel Max’s grip on your hand tighten just slightly, as if bracing himself for what’s coming. He’s always been proud of Emilia, but tonight, the emotion is running deeper than ever.

“My parents,” Emilia continues, her voice growing softer, more heartfelt. “Mama, Papa ... I owe everything to you.”

The crowd is silent now, all eyes on the young woman at the podium, the daughter of one of the greatest drivers in Formula 1 history, but tonight, it’s clear that this is Emilia’s moment.

“Mama,” Emilia says, her gaze finding you again, “you’ve been my rock, my biggest supporter, and the person who’s always believed in me, even when I doubted myself. You taught me what it means to be strong, to never give up, and to follow my heart. I wouldn’t be who I am today without you.”

A lump forms in your throat, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes. You’ve watched Emilia grow from a baby into the remarkable young woman she is today, and hearing her speak these words is almost too much to bear. You squeeze Max’s hand again, finding comfort in his presence beside you.

“And Papa ...” Emilia’s voice catches slightly, and she takes a moment to steady herself. “I know I might not look like you, but no one can deny that I drive like you. You’ve taught me everything I know about racing, but more importantly, you’ve shown me what it means to be passionate, dedicated, and fearless. I’ve always wanted to make you proud, and I hope I’ve done that.”

Max can’t hold back the tears any longer. He blinks rapidly, trying to keep his emotions in check, but it’s no use. His eyes are wet, his chest tight with pride and love for his daughter. He nods, his lips pressed together in a tight line, as if trying to keep himself from breaking down completely.

You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. In this moment, it’s just the three of you — everything else fades away.

Emilia takes a deep breath, her gaze sweeping across the audience one last time. “I’m so lucky to have parents like you. Thank you for everything. This award is as much yours as it is mine.”

The applause that follows is deafening, the crowd rising to their feet in a standing ovation. Emilia smiles, a little shy now that the speech is over, and nods her thanks before stepping back from the podium.

As the applause continues, Max turns to you, his eyes still glistening. “She’s incredible, isn’t she?”

You nod, too emotional to speak, your heart full to bursting with love for both of them. Max leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, a silent acknowledgment of everything you’ve been through together to reach this moment.

The ceremony continues, but you’re not really paying attention anymore. You’re too lost in your thoughts, in the warmth of Max’s arm around you, in the overwhelming pride you feel for your daughter.

When Emilia returns to the table, the award in her hands, Max immediately pulls her into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “So, so proud.”

Emilia hugs him back just as tightly, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Thanks, Papa,” she whispers, her voice full of love. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

They hold each other for a long moment, and you can’t help but smile through your own tears. This is your family — your beautiful, wonderful, extraordinary family.

As the evening draws to a close and the final awards are handed out, you find yourself reflecting on the journey that brought you all here. It wasn’t always easy, and there were times when you weren’t sure how things would turn out. But standing here now, with Max and Emilia by your side, you know that every challenge, every hardship, was worth it.

As you all make your way out of the ceremony and into the cool night air, Emilia holds her award close, her eyes still shining with happiness. Max keeps his arm around you, his other hand resting on Emilia’s shoulder, as if he can’t bear to let either of you out of his reach.

When you reach the car, Max opens the door for you and Emilia, and you both slide inside. As Max takes his seat behind the wheel, he glances over at you, his expression soft and full of love.

“Ready to go home?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You nod, smiling at him, your heart full. “Yeah,” you reply, reaching over to take his hand. “Let’s go home.”

As Max drives through the quiet streets, Emilia leans her head against your shoulder, her award still clutched in her hands. You glance at her, at the peaceful expression on her face, and feel a surge of contentment wash over you.

This is what it’s all about, you realize. This is the life you’ve built together, the family you’ve created. And as you sit there, surrounded by the people you love most in the world, you know that no matter what the future holds, you’ll face it together — just as you always have.

[rafesangelita]

⋆˚✿˖° in an attempt to get sheep!reader to be more vocal about what she wants in bed, rafe only gives her what she’s able to say..

warnings: heavyyy teasing, corruption kink (?), fingering, lots of dirty talk, praise, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cockwarming, light fluff

a/n: i see your req’s for more sheep!reader works, don’t worry i’ll be working on them soon! <3

wc: 1.8k

“come on, ‘pretty, all you have to do is use your words..” rafe’s eyes traveled down your naked form, his fingers ghosting over the soft flesh of your thighs. this was absolute torture. “rafe, i can’t!” you cried, your cheeks heating with embarrassment. your boyfriend took so much pleasure in knowing that you were far too shy to ask for what you wanted, a smug grin gracing his lips as heavy tears threatened to spill from your eyes. you looked away from him, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. “i won’t say it..” you mumbled, gasping softly when rafe dipped a finger between your glossy folds.

“won’t say what?” he taunted, barely stroking your clit before pulling his hand away. you let out a shaky breath, meeting his eyes for the first time during this whole ordeal. “please.” you whimpered pathetically, hoping, begging, rafe will give into your pleas. rafe shook his head, giving your side a little pinch. “i don’t know what you’re asking for.” he shrugged, his cock aching against his briefs. you drew your eyebrows together, your heart beating in your ears as you considered your next words. “i want you to touch me..” you whispered, your chest rising and falling as rafe offered you a teasing smile.

“touch you where? here?” he placed a hand on your knee, “here?” your arm was next, “..or here?” you whined in frustration when you felt his palm rest on your tummy. rafe was purposely making this hard for you, and he was enjoying every second of it. “no!” you spread your thighs in hopes to draw his attention elsewhere. sure enough, rafe looked down, his jaw ticking at the sight of your puffy folds. “fuck.” he cursed under his breath. “i need you down there..” you trailed a foot down his torso, stopping right below his v-line. rafe knew you what you trying to do.

“i don’t know where ‘down there’ is.. i think you have to explain it to me, doll.” rafe wasn’t going to let up. you started thinking of ways to word yourself, the implications of what you had to say only made you more embarrassed. ‘vagina’ felt too proper to use in this situation, ‘pussy’ was too lewd for your liking, and ‘cunt’ sounded so aggressive, you didn’t know what to make of it. swallowing thickly, you knew rafe wanted to hear you say the second option more than anything. in your mind, you thought if you said the dirtiest thing, he would have to give you what you were crying for.. right?

“i want you to touch my—” rafe leaned forward. no fucking way you’d say it. “m-my pussy?” it was comical, seeing the way you avoided his heated gaze. rafe had never heard a curse word fall from your lips, let alone that word specifically. “was that so hard?” rafe laughed, sitting between your thighs as he spread you open, his cock twitching at the sight of your glistening succulence dripping down your cunt. with the pad of his thumb, rafe began circling your sensitive bundle of nerves, the long awaited sensation making your hips roll forward. “don’t move.” he warned, keeping a hand on your hip.

you shuddered, settling into your soft sheets as rafe then prodded a finger at your entrance. he teased your slit, slipping just the tip of his digit inside before gathering your slick and gliding the wetness up to your clit. “feeling empty, huh?” rafe saw you pathetically clench around nothing, your eyebrows knitting together in desperation. “y-yes, please! ‘want your fingers now.” rafe was pleasantly surprised, the second time around seemed to be more easier than the first time you requested something. “look at you, you’re doing great, baby.” your boyfriend praised you, deciding to reward you with two fingers instead of one.

your breath got caught in your throat when you felt the stretch of two digits inside your cunt, your mouth falling open as you hiccuped at the feeling of rafe’s long, thick fingers curling inside of you. still using his thumb to rub your clit, you cried out when you felt him press on that gummy spot that made you see stars. “o-oh!” you whimpered, your thighs shutting around rafe’s hand. forcing your thighs open, rafe leaned his weight on one of your legs, and used his free hand to pin down the other one, forcing you to take what he gave you. “you look so pretty when you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

rafe’s words sounded muffled, your heart beating in your ears when you felt the familiar heat start to simmer in your tummy. your hand rested on top of rafe’s, his fingers interlacing with yours. “you’re taking it so fucking good,” he leaned down, taking your lips in a searing kiss, “gonna make you cum, is that what you want?” you nodded helplessly, in which rafe tsked. “say it. say that’s what you want.” he urged. with the quietest tone you could muster, you spoke. “please make me cum..” rafe would’ve appreciated you saying it a little bit louder, but he figured he was lucky if he got you to say it at all.

picking up his speed on your clit, he watched with dark eyes as your face morphed into one of full blown pleasure, your lips swollen from rafe nipping at them. the wet sounds of your cunt made your cheeks heat, your chest caving in as you teetered the edge of pure euphoria. your hand shot up to grip rafe’s arm, your nails digging into his skin as your thighs trembled from your high washing over you. rafe always stared at you in awe whenever he pushed you over the edge, the little sounds leaving your lips never failed to drive him crazy while your velvety walls squeezed around his digits.

“nghh— rafe!” you squeaked, a string of sobs tumbling from your throat as he continued to bring you down from your high. rafe littered your neck and chest with wet kisses, your fingers running across his scalp. you whimpered when rafe pulled away, your eyes trailing down his toned stomach as he slid off his briefs. wrapping a hand around your ankle, you yelped when he yanked you towards the edge of the bed, running his cock over your still fluttering cunt. “tell me you want me to fuck you,” he groaned when he felt your slick coat his length, “tell me you want my cock inside you.”

you were hysterical at this point, bending at his will as you did what he asked. “please fuck me, ray. ‘want y-your cock inside me!” you repeated, your back arching off of the sheets when he slammed into you without warning. “fuck, baby, you have no idea what you’re doing to me,” rafe leaned down, caging you between his arms, “hearing you talk like that, s’driving me fuckin’ crazy.” you wrapped your legs around his waist, his biceps on either sides of your head. he filled you to the hilt in this position, bottoming out as his pubic bone grazed your clit with every thrust.

your eyes fluttered shut as you held him close to you, his breath fanning against your cheek as he whispered the filthiest obscenities in your ear. nothing else existed when you two were like this. it was like the world stopped spinning whenever he felt you taking him so good. “you’re so fuckin’ perfect, you know that?” he squished your cheeks together with one hand, your eyebrows knitting together as you gazed up at him, “always so pliant with me, ‘makes me wanna see what other fucked up shit i could make you do.” he chuckled, his words sending a shiver down your spine.

rafe could see the slight fear in your eyes, a gentle ‘shhh’ leaving his lips as an attempt to reassure you. “don’t worry, we’ll save that for another day.” he pecked your cheek, his hips snapping into you faster than before. you held onto his broad shoulders, the sound of his skin smacking against yours made you want to curl in on yourself, the lewd echo of it bouncing off of the walls. soon your legs were feeling like jelly and you couldn’t keep them locked around rafe’s build. sensing your struggle, he pinned the back of your knees against your chest, getting a full, clear view of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy.

“ah, fuckkk,” rafe drawled out, absolutely hypnotized at the sight. he glided with ease, your folds hugging him snugly. the grip you had on his cock was enough to make his muscles constrict with the need to fill you up, your pretty clit glistening with his precum. “m’gonna need to film this next time, you’re fuckin’ unreal.” he choked back a groan when you somehow managed to clamp around him even tighter. “h-holy shit,” rafe’s hips stuttered, his face scrunching when he began twitching, your second orgasm of the night hitting you with more force than the first one.

as if on cue, rafe peaked when you gripped the knitted blanket at your side, both of you moaning so loud you were sure ms. celia, the sweet old lady next door, could hear you two. rafe didn’t stop fucking into you until every last drop of his cum was lost in the heaven that was your cunt, his eyes rolling back when he stayed nestled inside of you. rafe helped your legs back down, your chest rising and falling with each breath you took. swallowing thickly, rafe sighed as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your hairline. “my god..” he looked at you incredulously.

how you had that innocent sparkle in your eyes right after doing what you did was beyond him. “that wasn’t so bad..” you whispered, running a finger down the underside of rafe’s jaw. “no, not at all. you did amazing.” he was still inside you when he leaned all his weight on you. you always felt so safe and secure every time rafe did this. you reveled in the feeling of his heart beating against your own, your eyelids heavy as sleep threatened to come over you. “i could fall asleep like this..” rafe mumbled. you giggled, a lazy smile gracing your features.

as much as you would’ve loved that, a hot shower was far more needed. after ten minutes of convincing rafe you two should get cleaned up for bed, and after round two ensued under the shower head, you and your boyfriend had finally cuddled up under the sheets, his warm skin mingling with yours. once you two exchanged ‘i love you’s’, you were out like a light. the next morning you had went out and checked the mail, spotting ms. celia rocking on her chair with her morning coffee in her hand. “good morning!” you waved, in which she smiled. “how did you sleep, dear?”

“just fine! i had a pretty long night..” butterflies fluttered in your tummy at the memory. “oh, i bet! it sure sounded like it.”

[kitkatscabinet]

SNUGGLE BUG

Summary: The boys try to get out of bed, their partner has other plans.

Pairing(s): Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, x reader

A/N: unedited

DICK GRAYSON

Dick's always been a physically affectionate person, far more so than the rest of his family. It's why he'd been so ecstatic when he'd found you, a partner that was just as, if not more affectionate than him.

On more than one occasion his siblings had been given front-row seats to the snuggle show when they broke into his apartment, served them right really.

What Dick hadn't accounted for, was just how difficult it was to peel himself from your arms in the morning. Torture would hurt less he's sure.

"Ten more minutes," you whined childishly, burrowing your face into Dick's bare shoulder, tightening your arms around his torso.

"We've already said that three times." Your partner laughed, wriggling out of your hold but with far less strength than you knew he was capable of.

Both of you were fully aware just how quickly he could extracate himself from your arms should the neccessity rise. Technically speaking he did have to go to work, but surely it couldn't hurt to be a little late?

Though a quick glance at the hello kitty alarm clock on the bedside table confirmed he was already late.

"Dickie, can't you just call in? I wanna cuddle."

Fuck. How could he say no to that?

It wasn't like he really needed the money anyway.

His boss's ire is worth it to feel the way you smile into the skin of his neck, your warm breaths and little laughs as you lay tangled together.

So worth it.

JASON TODD

"You planning on letting me go anytime soon?" Jason grunted, though you know him well enough to hear the smile he's attempting to hide.

"Never," you mumble into the skin between his broad shoulder blades, the mattress slouching beneath the combined weight of you and your boyfriend.

Jason, undeterred by your attempts to drag him down, stands with a grunt. A cracking noise you know to be his knees rings out, and though you feel a little bad, you're unwilling to back down in your quest to get him back into bed.

Unfortunately for you, your boyfriend is built like a brick shithouse and is just as stubborn as you. Slowly, he manouevers around your small apartment all the while you hang off his back like a drunken Koala.

"Babyyyy," you whine petulantly into his ear, arms tightening around his neck in an attempt to only slightly choke him into submission.

Sighing, Jason starts to wander back into the bedroom. Just when you think you've won, he spins around, falling backwards onto the mattress and crushing you beneath his bulk.

In the minutes you spend winded, recovering, from being squished like an ant, Jason makes his escape. When you finally manage to come back to yourself you notice something incredibly distressing.

"Clothes! Why are you wearing clothes!" you wailed, sliding off the mattress and onto the floor in a pathetic slump.

Despite himself, Jason smiles at the sight, bundling you up in his arms before hopping back into bed with you. "Ok, you big dramatic baby."

Hey may have sounded put out, but the both of you knew he wanted to cuddle just as much. Besides, nothing was as important to him as you.

TIM DRAKE

He’d tried to be quiet. Truly, with years of training in the art of stealth Tim had intended to simply slip out of the bed and leave you to the sleep you needed.

He’d almost made it, both feet on the floor and the mattress no longer bearing most of his weight when all of a sudden a hand darted out, grasping his wrist.

Tim froze, slowly turning to look down at you with wide, guilty eyes. You're glaring up at him, sleep-addled face far more adorable than threatening, not that he'd ever tell you that, for fear of getting his ass beat.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" your voice is hoarse and gravelly from sleep but the threat is evident.

Mouth suddenly dry, Tim awkwardly chuckles, "Oh, babe, you're awake."

"Thanks to you," you grumbled sleepily, guilt and fear in equal measurements settling heavily in his chest.

"M'sorry, tried not to wake you but I gotta get to work on this case."

"No." You grunted, wrapping your arms around Tim's waist with freakish speed, nuzzling your face into his side.

He can't help the way his heart skips several beats at your casual affection. Tim's always been starved for touch, for the soft loving touch that you've always provided as if its as natural as breathing.

He should be used to it but despite the years worth of love and affection you've poured into Tim in the time you've spent together he still hasn't acclimated.

Tim knows, that you know, just how weak to your touch he is. It still doesn't prevent his resolve from crumbling when you refuse to let him budge, tugging him back down into your warm embrace.

"Good boy," you murmur against the skin of his neck, wrapping around his back like an octopus and trapping him against the expanse of your chest.

His skin runs hot at your words, mind numb to anything that's not your touch as he's eventually lulled back to sleep to the soothing sounds of your breathing.

[stunie]

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁ “MY BOYFRIEND IS GONNA KICK YOUR ASS !”

WINDBREAKER BOYS PROTECTING YOU FROM PERVS. ft. kaji ren, togame jo, umemiya hajime, sakura haruka, hayato suo, toma hiragi, kiryuu mitsuki, & kyotaro sugishita x f!reader

sfw. wc: 2.6K. oh how i’ve been wanting to write this since i finished the manga! but individual warnings are below <3

KAJI REN. referred to as she/her, ‘my girl,’ comments about your outfit

“My boyfriend’s real scary y’know.” Your voice falters a bit as you take another step back, hands coming up defensively. “And he’ll be here any moment.”

It’s a lie that you hope sounds convincing— because Kaji coming to save you today may be nothing more than a desperate wish of yours. How would he even find you in a place like this? You’re not sure exactly how much time has passed since you’ve started running, but you’re certain that by now, you and Kaji should have already been inside the bakery, finally getting to taste test the new fruit pastries you’d been dying to get your hands on.

It started off as just a loud whistle your direction, then led to an uncomfortable conversation about how you’re not interested— and that you have a boyfriend. One thing led to another, and somehow you’ve ended up here, out of breath from speed walking and completely lost— and to top it off, the only person near you is the one you’ve been running so desperately from.

You wish Kaji was here already.

“Oh yeah?” The man in front of you takes a step towards you, lips contorting into a sick grin when he sees your hands trembling. “I don't see him.”

Your lips tremble a bit when he reaches you, towering over you with ease. “Don’t you dare touch me.” You warn, “My boyfriend will beat your a—” you yelp as you’re suddenly pulled to the side, stumbling into someone’s chest as they pull you flush against their front.

The familiar scent of candy melts away your fear in a split second.

“Kaji!”

You can tell when you glance at him just once that he isn’t happy. His forehead is damp with sweat, and he looks disheveled, chest rising up and down with labored breaths— he must have been running around trying to find you this entire time.

Your boyfriend clicks his tongue in annoyance, eyes narrowing as he sizes up the man in front of him. “Problem?”

He rips off his headphones, letting them hang around his neck as the man feigns an apology, unapologetic eyes looming over your figure again seconds later. “But y’know man, you should be keeping a closer eye on your girl,” he points to you with a smug smile, “she was practically begging for me to say something with the way she’s dressed.”

“I wasn’t!” You protest, face burning as you tug on ren’s coat. You thought your outfit was cute— and definitely not anything crazy— you double checked. You really did. But he’s pointing at you now, rambling on about how you wanted this— and you can’t help the way tears start to blur your vision.

“Huh?” Kaji snarls, head tilting to leer at the man. The arm around your waist pulls you tighter against his chest, and you hear the angry thumping of his heart. “What'd you say?”

“Okay, okay, I’m leaving now.” The man chuckles in defeat. “I was just joking. Wasn’t gonna actually do something to your girl.” he waves him off. “You should lighten up—”

He chokes when Kaji grabs a fistful of his shirt, pulling him off balance before knocking him backwards, your pursuer falling roughly onto the floor as he winces in pain. “Then get outta here already.” Kaji glares, a stark contrast to the gentle way his hand is pressing against your lower back to guide you away.

“And don’t let me catch you looking at my girl again.”

TOGAME JO. referred to as she/her, ‘my girl,’ you wear his jacket

Togame gives you a sleepy smile as he watches you from Miniso’s entrance, excitedly sorting through the newly restocked blind boxes. He was resting his back against the wall behind him when he caught his first glimpse of that guy.

He’s wearing a dark hoodie, head turning back to shamelessly stare your direction as he passes by slowly. It’s enough to get togame back up on his feet immediately, quickly heading your way just as the man reaches to get a feel of your thighs—

“How shameless.” Togame laughs, big hand squeezing painfully into his wrist. “Tryna bother my girl?”

In any other situation, Togame would chuckle at your obliviousness, your headphones cancelling out any noise as your eye catches the cinnamoroll section, letting out an excited gasp as you head that way. You really had no idea.

“M-my bad man.” He stutters, ripping his arm from Togame’s grasp. “Just thought she was my sister— was just gonna tap on her back to grab her attention.”

Togame raises an eyebrow at the lazy excuse, leaning down until the man takes a nervous step back, eyes darting to the side to avoid Togame’s glare. “Sister? That’s my Shishitoren jacket she has on, no?”

The man feels heavy beads of sweat roll down his face when Togame’s hands curl into clenched fists. “You mean to tell me your lil sis is from Shishitoren?”

“I said it was my bad,” he repeats, chuckling nervously. “It won’t happen again okay? I won’t bother her again.”

Togame’s hands return to his pockets. “Won’t let you off so easy next time,” his voice is low as he steps aside to let him off, “so you’d better keep your distance.”

UMEMIYA HAJIME. referred to as she/her, ‘your girl’

Umemiya instinctively perks up when he hears two voices behind him, momentarily tuning out your gushing about how cute the little plant kits at barnes and noble are.

“….She's probably taken.”

“Is that her boyfriend behind her? Think she's talking to him.”

There's a chuckle between them. “Doesn’t matter. Go tell her what you just said to me when she's alone.”

“What?” The man laughs. “Ask her if i can grab a handful of that ass?”

More laughter.

Umemiya’s jaw clenches, eyes darting back at you in a flash, and he’s relieved when he sees you’re still gushing about the flower kits— completely oblivious to the two men just beyond this aisle. He’s by your side in an instant, arms wrapping around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Oh.” You turn to press a quick kiss against his temple, smiling when he melts into your touch. “Hi, Haji. Did you find a book?”

“Nothing here.” He sighs dramatically, his embrace around your middle tightening just enough for you to barely notice. “But we can grab some of those flower kits.”

“Really?”

“Of course—”

“Hey.” A familiar voice interrupts him with a stifled laugh, followed by a tap on his shoulder. With the roughness, it’s more like a jab— but he lets that slide.

“Ah— your friend, Haji.” Your voice comes off as a mix between a question and a statement.

“Hey, my friend has something to ask your girl.”

Umemiya’s jaw clenches again, and your eyes widen a bit at the sudden change in the atmosphere. The first friend’s hand is swat off of his shoulder in a split second, Umemiya straightening back up to look back at them.

Their first thought is that he’s a lot taller than they had pictured. A lot more muscular too— and they take note of the way his muscles bulge against the fabric of his shirt. “What, you have business with her?”

They flinch at the tone.

“Ah— sorry.” The second friend stutters. “We got the wrong person.”

SAKURA HARUKA.

“Ah— what happened?” Your hands delicately cup Sakura’s face, ignoring the way his cheeks instantly turn into a deep shade of scarlet. “N-nothing happened!” He weakly swats at your hand, a futile attempt to dissipate the heat spreading through the tips of his ears.

“I was only in the bathroom for five minutes.” You laugh. “How’d you manage to get into a fight so fast?”

He stiffens when your arms come to wrap around his bicep, resuming your ramble about some recipe you wanted to try tonight. Macarons…or something. He doesn’t pay much attention, because he knows whatever you end up making will be good anyway.

“—Are you listening, Sakura?”

The clueless look he gives you confirms it. “So you weren’t. I had a feeling— but it’s okay.” You giggle. “But you didn’t answer my question from earlier either. How’d you get into a fight?”

His eyebrows furrow deeply as he decides whether or not he should tell you. “They were….” he clicks his tongue angrily, “they were talking about you when you walked by.”

You can feel his muscles tense as he deepens his scowl, still trying to fight off the blush plastered across his face. “I just gave ‘em what they deserved.”

HAYATO SUO. referred to as she/her, mentions of how you’re dressed

“What a bitch. She was totally asking for it.”

I know— dressed like a whore.”

Suo stands up from the bench outside your local convenience store, hands dusting off the dirt on his pants. You had asked him to wait outside earlier because ‘you wanted to grab him a super delicious snack that he would most definitely love.’

He had a feeling the two dirty men who entered the store minutes later were bad news, so he was already on high alert before listening in.

“That whore— you mean my girlfriend?” Suo’s voice comes out calm, a stark contrast to the sickening anger and pressure he feels building up inside his chest.

“Huh—oh. Yeah.” One of them chuckles, jutting their thumb at the entrance. “That bitch inside your girl? You let her prance around with her tits hanging out for everyone to see?”

He's calm and composed as they size him up, their chins tilting up to look down at him. “She's pretty, isn't she?” and Suo fails to stifle the chuckle that escapes his lips. “Did she reject you too harshly for your liking?”

One of them balls his fists, muttering profanities under his breath as he leans closer to him. “Now how'd you know that? You should really teach that bitch some fucking manners.” He reaches forward to grab Suo by the collar, eyes blinking in confusion when he finds himself spun behind Suo seconds later, feet struggling to find their balance.

“—The fuck did you do?”

“It’s a bad habit of hers,” Suo continues. “I understand it though, not wanting to be around a pathetic thing like you.” The edges of his lips tug into a faint smile.

The other man’s eyebrows twitch, spitting empty threats as he he throws a wide swing, only to find himself reduced to his knees seconds later. “T-the fuck...” he grumbles to himself— he could have sworn he could practically see his fist connect. What happened?

“You'd be better off looking for someone to protect yourself the way I do for her.” His words are mocking as he heads towards the store’s entrance. “And— it'd be really unfortunate if i see something like this happen again.”

TOMA HIRAGI.

“H-Hiragi? What are you doing?”

Your lips are pressed in a nervous line as your hands come to shyly rest on his chest, sucking in a breath when his arms come to roughly cage you against the train’s walls, strong body towering just over yours.

“Do you…need more space?” You whisper, heart racing at the proximity. You can smell his cologne so well at this distance.

Hiragi simply shakes his head, distracted gaze shifting between you and something behind him every few seconds. “It’s okay.”

He swears his stomach isn't churning like this without good reason. It’s not just a coincidence that the same person who he had noticed eyeing you at the boba shop had gotten onto the same train. He could let it go at that, but the same man had been slowly worming his way through the crowd to get closer to the two of you. And while he’s not certain, he thought he saw the man take out his phone and try and angle it beneath you, but not before jolting and dropping his phone onto the floor when Hiragi's hands abruptly slammed against the wall beside you.

The train suddenly rocks, sliding his phone to the other side of the train, and you’re knocked off balance, face slamming against Hiragi's chest. “S-sorry!”

“It’s okay.” He gives you a smile, hand coming to cradle the back of your head and pull you closer. “You okay?”

“I’m okay...” you mumble, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Your chest is hard.”

He responds with a light chuckle. It’ll be okay like this, he thinks. He’ll protect you with his body for now, and figure out what to do with that guy later.

KIRYU MITSUKI. ‘pretty thing’

“It’s no wonder she doesn't like you,” Kiryu sighs. “You're gross.”

Your mouth is ajar as you stare at the state of the man who was harassing you only moments ago, his unconscious body resting neatly against the wall after Kiryu had dragged him there.

“Sorry you had to watch that, pretty thing.” His hand comes to gently interlace with yours. “But he didn't leave me with much of a choice, did he?”

“It’s okay.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “That was so cool of you.”

His eyes widen a bit before his lips curl into a small smile. “Oh? You think so?”

“Mhm. I don't know what would’ve happened to me if you were there...” your voice trails off a bit.

You really don't know what would have happened, because it's not like you know how to fight or anything. Getting hit on is enough to make you nervous, so a pushy guy like that was too much— you froze up as soon as he started spitting threats after you expressed your disinterest.

There’s a light squeeze around your hands, and you’re reminded of this gentle warmth that Kiryu always brings with him. “Don't worry about it.” He gives you a small smile. “I’ll just need to accompany you more often when you go out. It’s no problem.”

KYOTARO SUGISHITA.

“You’re like a bodyguard, Kyo.”

You giggle at the huff beside you. “How’d you even react that fast?”

It all happened within a second. You were walking beside him, stopped for a brief second to bend down and peer at the plushies lining the shop window, not noticing the man approaching you— his grimy fingers coming to take a peek under your skirt. Before you had even registered the feeling of the cloth moving, there was a loud crack, and the man was on the floor, groaning with his hands covering his bloodied face and a very angry Sugishita on top of him.

“He made me angry.”

Of course he would be. And if you weren’t with your boyfriend, it would be an entirely different story. You’d bring along your assortment of self defense items, ranging from pepper sprays to taser lipsticks— and you’d be a thousand times more cautious. Pay extra close attention to everything around you.

With Sugishita, however, it’s different. You think of it as being able to turn off your brain… or something like that. Whatever lets you truly relax and enjoy your time with him, and it’s always okay because your boyfriend is there to protect you. “Well, don’t be so mad, cutie.” You smile, your fingers reaching to interlace with his as he tenses at the nickname.

“Everything is okay— I’m okay. I’ll even get us smoothies to help lighten the mood.”

He lets you drag him to your favorite smoothie shop in silence— still fuming about the incident. He wonders why you’re not shaken up. Ifnhe had been one second later, that piece of shit would have lifted up your skirt. In public. His jaw clenches at the thought, angry eyes darting at any anyone who dares look your direction.

“Why’re…” his voice trails off, remembering what Umemiya said about toning down his choice of words around others. “Why’re you so happy?”

“Hmm? I’m not too worried.” You laugh. “You’re my bodyguard right? Nothing will happen if you’re here.”

part 2

[sceletaflores]

come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

pair: old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, some sad vibes because i can't function without them, large age gap (but isn't that obvious by now? mid 20s/old as fuck), established relationship but only kind of, falls in the logan 2017 timeline but very loosely, LONGINGGGG, gratuitous nickname use (kid, baby, honey, ect), nasty dirty talk cause he's old and gross, not so dry humping, JUST THE TIP RAHHHH, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this was heavily inspired by imogen heap's 'i am in love with you' because that song fucks so hard and it really gave me lots of old man logan vibes. i was just so overcome with nasty thoughts that the beat possessed me and i blacked out and listened to it on a constant repeat while i wrote this instead of doing my a&p work. kisses!

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes.

It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora.

You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground.

In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink.

It should feel cleansing, like a reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago.

Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving.

The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind.

You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing.

It was raining the first night he touched you.

You've been with Logan and Charles for nine months.

A runaway hitchhiker turned caretaker after you fled from the meaningless scraps of your life back in Texas.

Logan found you on the side of the highway coming back from a shift in El Paso. One stop with the hazards on and a hasty conversation through a rolled down window later, you were throwing your bags in the back of his limo and climbing into the front seat.

You didn't realize until much later that he never truly asked you to stay, or to care for Charles alongside him.

It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a roof over your head in exchange for your help. Watch over his ailing father for a few days while he went out to get him more medicine, that's what you settled on.

Yet somehow, here you are, nine months later.

You cook meals in a dusty kitchen that always smells faintly of motor oil, listen to Charles’ stories about a world you’ll never fully grasp, and watch Logan patch himself up in grim silence after he’s returned from whatever trouble found him this time. 

It's strange how the days seemed to stretch endlessly, but the weeks have slipped past like a blink. You carved out a routine in this crumbling house in Sonora, built something that resembles a life even if it feels borrowed, like a second-hand coat that never quite fits right.

At first, you weren’t sure what kept you here. Maybe Charles. 

You warmed to him almost immediately, drawn in by his gentle demeanor and the way he seemed to see right through you without a hint of judgment. 

Even when his mind faltered, slipping into tangled memories or distant fragments of a life long past, he treated you with a kindness you hadn’t felt in years.

You’d come to think of him as a king, regal and noble. A king stripped of his castle, yet still wearing a crown, if ever so skewed—a king nonetheless.

You still aren’t sure, but you can’t shake the sense that leaving now would be like tearing off a scab—painful and unnecessary.

And then, one night, the rain came.

You remember it vividly, a torrent so sudden and unrelenting. The downpour soaking the dry dirt surrounding the plant. 

You couldn’t help yourself from wandering out, stood barefoot on the porch as the cool air nipped at the skin of your arms and legs.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standin’ out here.” Logan said from somewhere behind you, his voice rough and low after the silence of a long shift.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even glanced his way. “I like the rain.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. His hand had been hesitant at first, a brush of calloused fingers against your arm. 

You didn’t pull away.

The heat of his palm felt scalding, causing goosebumps to pebble along your damp skin. His thumb swiped across the circular scar just above your elbow, a cigarette burn, one of many.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked back into the house. You learned quickly that Logan’s not the type to fill silences with empty words, but you both knew something shifted.

He came into your room later that night. The squeaky mattress of your bed dipping under his weight as he slid his hand down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts, a silent question.

He didn’t kiss you, but the rain pattering against the tin roof was enough to swallow your soft moans and gasps.

You settled into something undefined—a constant push and pull of need and silence. Logan touched you when he needed to, and you let him because you wanted to.

It wasn’t love, not then. It wasn’t even comfort. But it was connection. A tenuous thread in the quiet storm of your lives.

You figured that was enough.

The rain hasn't slowed. If anything, the howl of the wind is stronger than before.

The soothing rhythm of droplets hitting your window turned aggressively sharp, like darts thrown against a worn cork board.

The boom of thunder is nearly in sync with the pulse of your core, aching and insistent in its need.

It’s been weeks since Logan touched you last, his endless cycle of guilt stronger than it's been before. He’s never outright said it, but you know it’s there.

The silence between you both has stretched longer than you'd like to admit, a quiet that isn't comfortable anymore.

You know he’s got it in his head that he’s somehow taken advantage of you. A perverted old man falling weak to the pretty, young thing taking up space in the bed two doors over from him.

The thought stirs something deep within you, a mix of frustration and confusion. He’s not wrong, not exactly—but he’s not right either. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t helpless. You knew what you wanted, what you needed.

And that hasn’t dared to change.

You shift in bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as your body hums with a restlessness you can’t shake. The air in your room feels thick, charged, and suffocating, a mirror of the space between you and Logan.

He doesn’t understand that you want him too, that you weren’t some helpless thing to be protected or shielded from his darkness. It eats at you until your skin is practically buzzing with it, buzzing with the need to show him.

There’s only so much silence you can take before it becomes too loud to ignore. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the hardwood cool against your bare feet. You know it’s late, but you don’t care.

You walk through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the floorboards quiet under you as you make your way to Logan’s door. It’s cracked open, a yellow glow spilling through to guide you like a lighthouse guides its ships to shore.

When you reach the beat up wood you don’t hesitate, you push it open the slightest bit, peering through the widened gap. 

He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he knows you’re there.

You cross the threshold, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you pull the door shut behind you, leaning your back against it.

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice rougher than you intended.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The lamplight catches the sharp planes of his face, a familiar weariness etched into his features.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave—to go back to your room where it’s safe, where you won’t make things more complicated than they already are. You almost brace for it.

But then he speaks.

“What’s wrong, kid.” His voice is nothing but a deep rumble, like gravel crunching underfoot.

You shrug noncommittally, hands messing with a stray thread hanging from the edge of your shorts. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan sighs long and slow through his nose, hands pressing into his thighs. “Thought you liked the rain.”

You smile faintly at the irony, chest swelling with something dangerous. 

You take a step further into the room, pushing yourself off the closed door. The familiar scent of him invades your senses. It’s a mixture of leather, earth, and something raw—something undeniably him. 

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence stretch thin and taut before you finally speak.

“Can I stay?” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they land like a crack of lightning.

You feel your heart thud painfully in your chest, not from fear, but from the sudden vulnerability that makes your skin burn.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as you step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. You stop at the edge of his bed, the sheets pressing against the bare skin of your thighs.

Logan’s gaze flickers over his shoulder, meeting yours briefly before he looks away again, like he’s trying to convince himself that the ache in his chest isn’t real.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s late.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You shake your head even though he isn’t turned around to see it.

Without thinking, you crawl onto the bed, the comforter making soft shushing sounds under your hands and knees. You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his neck, the muscles there tight with strain.

Logan flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the permission you need.

You shift closer, pressing your chest against his back, and letting your hands settle on his shoulders. The heat between you is electric, charged with something unsaid, something raw and undeniable.

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against the back of his ear, your voice a mixture of defiance and desire.

Logan stiffens, but this time, you feel the shudder that runs through him, the way his body responds despite the walls he’s built around himself.

You know he’s torn, that he wants to fight this. You feel it in the tension that radiates from him, in the way his body seems to be fighting against the instinct to turn toward you.

But you don’t care anymore. You’re done with silence.

Your fingers slide down his back, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your skin as you press yourself closer. Your breath is hot against his neck now, and you can feel the rapid pulse in his veins beneath your lips as you hover just above his skin, waiting.

“Logan…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you don’t have to.

His hand comes up, brushing against your wrist as if testing, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into him further, your lips brushing the curve of his neck, whispering into the tension that still hangs heavy between you. “Please.”

The last shreds of Logan’s resistance snap under the cloying weight of your touch.

He’s moving before you can even register what’s happening, rearing up with heavy hands that land on your shoulders to push you backwards.

You fall back onto the bed with a soft gasp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, before Logan follows. His body settles over yours like a warm blanket, thick forearms braced on either side of your head to support his weight.

"Why couldn't you sleep, honey?" he asks, dark eyes boring into yours intense enough to get your stomach churning. The green of them is deeper than normal, like fresh moss growing over stone.

“I was thinking,” you whisper, breathless. Your pulse races beneath your skin, you wonder distantly if he can hear it too.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he presses, breath fanning over your lips temptingly. 

Your brows furrow, a soft noise escaping you. You can't help but tell the truth. “About you.”

Logan hums, eyes trailing along your face slowly. He slots a knee between your thighs, groaning softly at the wet heat that seeps through to his jeans.

You gasp, hips bucking down instinctively. Your pussy aches desperately, leaking arousal into the cotton gusset of your panties.

His jaw clenches at the sound, muscle ticking just beneath the grey of his beard. “Is that right? You been layin' in that bed, thinkin' about me, gettin’ all worked up?"

Your face burns under his scrutiny, but you don’t shy away. You arch your back, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, letting the heat of your body speak for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the confession trembling on your lips. “I need you, it hurts.”

Logan exhales sharply, like the words knocked the air out of him. His hands slide from your shoulders, rough palms gliding down the skin of your arms before settling right under the swell of your breasts.

“Where’s it achin’, baby?” he asks softly, words almost getting lost in the dark of the room. “Show me.”

You let out a soft breath, reaching down to take his hand in yours.

Without breaking eye contact, you guide his hand down your trembling body until his palm rests over the apex of your thighs, where the damp fabric of your shorts clings to your swollen folds.

“Here,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the rain pounding against his window.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and his fingers press more firmly against you, feeling the slick heat that’s soaked through the thin cotton. His eyes darken further, the green almost swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Logan’s thumb drags over your clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick. “You’re drippin’ for me, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fuckin’ wet.” 

You whimper softly, bucking your hips against his hand, desperate for more.

"I've been like this all night," you admit, your voice going high and needy. "Thinking about how good you make me feel. How much I want you."

Logan’s eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something new swirling through them, something you’ve never seen before.

A beat passes—too long—almost agonizing. His free hand lifts from your hip, gently cupping your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin, like he isn’t sure if he has the right to touch you like this. 

His thumb brushes your lip, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, asking for permission, even though neither of you had ever really needed it before.

"Logan," you say, the sound a little breathless, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, lips crashing into yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect.

It’s like the world around you falls away, leaving only the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the pressure of his body against yours. The raging storm outside dulling until it’s nothing but fuzzy background noise.

His kiss is rough, deep, urgent, but there’s something more in it, a slow unraveling. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, a permanent mark, a reminder that he was here, even if he never says it out loud.

Logan tastes like rich smoke and whiskey, the sharp edge of him mixing with the sweet burn of need. It sends your head reeling, arms coming up to circle around his neck.

You can’t find the words to describe it, not with the way his fingers slide through the wetness gathering at your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Your hips thrust upward, begging for more, your body hungry for the release he’s just out of reach of giving.

“Want you inside me, Logan,” you moan desperately, slick lips brushing his with every word. “Please.”

Logan's body stiffens against yours at the sound of your pleading, his grip tightening on your cheek like he's trying to anchor himself in the reality of what you're asking.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours as he closes his eyes. His chest heaves, the tension in his body palpable. "I—" he pauses, struggling to form the words, but you can see it in his eyes. He's conflicted, desperate, yet still hesitant.

You move against him, your body restless, your need undeniable, feeling the rigid outline of his hard cock pressed firmly against your thigh. A thick plane of heat that has your pussy clenching around the tips of his fingers.

You don’t want to push him, not anymore. But you’re past the point of waiting for permission.

Your lips meet his again, softer this time, coaxing, until he finally gives in, groaning against your mouth as he kisses you back with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it over the swell of his pecs. 

His skin is hot under your fingertips, rough and familiar. Your fingers trail lightly across his chest, nails scratching through the salt and pepper hair dusted across his skin as you urge him closer.

“Just the tip,” Logan mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper. His voice hoarse, like he’s bargaining with himself. “Just to make you feel good, but that’s it, understand?”

You bite your lip, the edge of frustration gnawing at you. It’s not everything you need, not everything you want, but it's something. And right now, it’s enough.

You nod your head, hands already moving to the front of his jeans. You undo the button with shaking fingers, tugging the zipper down and pushing the worn denim away. 

His cock springs free, already hard, leaking with the same desperation you feel. You run your fingers along his length, feeling the heat of him, the steady throb of his pulse.

Logan peels down the thin layer of your shorts, cursing under his breath when he finds you completely bare underneath, your slick pussy shining under the dim light.

You watch him, chest heaving, as he stares down at you—his eyes dark and full of something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness. He groans low in his throat, his thumb circling your clit once before moving down, dipping inside you just barely. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Logan,” you whine, thighs spreading in a clear invitation. You patience is running exceedingly thin, your whole body alight with the feeling of a raging forest fire

“I know,” he mutters, placating. He takes the throbbing length of his cock in his hand, swiftly settling between your legs. “I know.”

The thick head drags through your folds, smearing pre-come along your skin and adding even more to the mess between your legs.

A quiet moan passes through your swollen lips, your muscles tightening as he slides himself along your clit. A slow back and forth movement that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Logan grits his teeth, his breath shallow, as he finally aligns himself with your clenching hole. 

The air around you feels charged, a taut thread stretched between anticipation and restraint. You shift your hips slightly, just enough to encourage him, your eyes locked on his as you beg him silently with your gaze.

Then, with a low growl that vibrates through you, he pushes forward, just enough to make you gasp in relief, the head of his cock sliding home in your entrance.

And though it’s only the tip, the sensation of him inside you is enough to set your world alight. 

You can feel it, deep in your bones—the simmering, searing heat that makes everything else fade into the background.

Logan presses his lips to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate, his hands holding your hips steady. "This is what you wanted, huh? Got you begging for it, honey," he growls softly. "Even if I’m only givin’ you a taste."

His hips roll languidly, staying true to his word and never sinking deeper than the thick head of his cock. His hand grips the base tightly, his fist fucking slow strokes over the length of himself to where he’s spreading your pussy open.

His scarred knuckles bump against your clit with every stroke, fanning the fire building in your lower stomach.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey,” he groans into the skin of your neck, the pace of his hips speeding up ever so slightly. “Feels like heaven.”

You claw at the skin of his back, touch wild and desperate. It takes everything in you not to shift your hips down, to sheath the rest of his cock deep inside your and lock your ankles around his back so he can never leave again.

Logan’s lips find your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he shifts against you. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice low, almost a command, yet laced with something tender. “Tell me you want me.”

You meet his gaze without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” 

The words come out without thought, raw and honest, and you see something in his eyes shift—a flicker of relief, of something deeper than lust.

Logan groans like he got shot, his body shuddering above you as a low growl tears its way from his chest. He fucks into you faster, short, quick thrusts that steal all the breath from your lungs.

Sparks go off behind your closed eyes, bright white and glittering. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling as you grind up against him, meeting him halfway, needing more, needing release.

“Logan,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders harder, nails digging in. “I’m so close. Please—”

“Let go,” he growls, his pace increasing, his body pressing harder against yours. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With his command, you unravel, the world spinning around you as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, gasping for air, your body quivering beneath him as he holds you through it.

Logan follows, tearing himself from the tight grip of your pussy with a sharp jerk of his hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he shoots thick ropes of come over your slick folds.

Your body shakes at the feeling, a breathless whimper pulled from your slack lips at the sticky warmth of his release.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body shuddering enough to match your own. The room falls into a deep silence, the only sounds your mingling breaths and the distant sound of thunder.

A sick sort of dread bursts through the sweet afterglow of your hazy mind, settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You think that this is the moment where Logan will realize what you’ve done, that he’ll retreat back into himself and send you away.

Send you back to your own room and leave you to lay in the cold aftermath of your own recklessness.

You brace for it, the instinct to pull away, to protect yourself from his withdrawal, but it never comes. 

Instead, you feel his strong arm slide over your waist, pulling you closer, his body heat a stark contrast to the chill creeping in from the window.

His breath is warm against your neck as he shifts, his fingers tracing absent circles on your skin in a move that’s so endearingly human it has your chest aching.

"Stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a whisper.

Your heart clenches, tears burning at your waterline at the vulnerability of his tone. It breaks the dam inside you, relief and something dangerously close to love flooding your body in a bursting rush of water.

“Of course,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

Logan’s hand tightens around you, his thumb brushing over your ribs. He presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, settling onto the mattress with a slow breath.

You drift to sleep more relaxed than you’ve felt in years, even with the knowledge of the slow journey that lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy, it never is with Logan. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Because even though the rain falls, the desert doesn’t bloom overnight. 

And neither do you.

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