#when they decided to go crashing through the door

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley/female reader - tw canon typical violence, mention of sex trafficking, torture.

The only sound in the hallway is Simon's breathing.

The carpet is soaked in blood, tan and yellow threads turned brown and red under the bodies bleeding out on top of them. He laid waste to everyone, to all of them, methodically picking his way through a sea of faces, unable to stop himself, basking in the carnage, indulging in his rage.

One of them begged. Pleaded for his life, cried about how he had a family, about how he didn't know anything, how he was innocent. He was a liar, of course, and they both knew, though it didn't stop him from trying. He had to have known it was futile, and with the cock of a gun, Simon leaned down, nose to nose, pressing the barrel to the man's temple.

"I'd kill your entire family to save mine." 

It was supposed to be a ransom after all. Horribly executed, botched from the start, your captors were a half rate group of mercenaries who were supposed to deliver you days ago for their own payment.

They decided to keep you instead, tried to negotiate a higher payout. Simon is grateful to them for being so stupid, in a way. If they hadn't tried to barter their way into a bigger payday, Kate may not have been able to find you as quickly. You might have slipped between their fingers, already hidden away, sold to a higher bidder.

That's what they wanted, the ones who initiated the plot. They were going to sell you, sell your body, until Simon exchanged himself for your life.

An old grudge rearing its head as a painful reminder.

He should have snatched you away and hide you the moment he saw you on that street. He should have followed his instincts.

But he refused, and now he's here. Slaughtering everyone in his sight, looking for the musty old hotel room where you're being held captive.

Price finds you first. His voice chirps in Simon's earpiece, calling out a floor and a number before instructing Gaz to radio the chopper.

Simon's never run so fast in his life, three stairs at a time, slamming into doors and hopping over dead men until he turns the landing and nearly runs into Price.

His captain grips him by the arm and gives him a little shake before stepping aside and calling over his shoulder. "Put him away, Simon. He's done his part, your wife needs you now."

You're tied to a chair. Arms and ankles bound, wrists cuffed, duct tape across your mouth. It shines with blood, the trickle seeping from a wound on your forehead, a fresh gash weeping.

It's hard to tell if you're breathing, and in that moment, he offers up a plea to something he's not sure exists.

Please. Please, don't take her.  

He's on his knees in front of you in a blink of an eye, Johnny on his left slicing through rope before fidgeting with the cuffs and cursing. "I'll find the key."

He taps your cheek gently, and you jerk away, eyes wide with fear, unfocused and terrified, trembling. He says your name as softly as he can manage, shaking hands peeling away the duct tape, blinking away the tears burning in his eyes.

He knows what you see, who you see. A killer covered in other men's blood.

Ghost in all his glory. In his element.

"Put him away, Simon. He's done his part, your wife needs you now."

He rips the mask from his face and ducks into your line of sight, stroking his thumb over your temple. It takes you too long to recognize him, and when Johnny bursts back through the door, you flinch, slamming your eyes shut, shirking away. He has to coax them back open, holding you steady as the cuffs click open and your arms go slack, your whimpers fracturing his already broken heart, the small sounds crackling into a dry sob. "I'm here, you're safe. It's me, it's me. I've got you." You slump forward, face crashing into his shoulder, too warm to the touch. Festering wounds turned to fever, illness quickly through your veins.

Your left hand twitches in the corner of his vision, covered in blood, and Johnny smothers a hiss.

It no longer has a ring finger. It's been cut away below the knuckle, raw and bloody, bone visible beneath the swollen and infected flesh.

The sapphire nowhere in sight.

"Simon." You slur, and he cradles the back of your head.

"I'm here, 'm right here mama." The waver in his voice betrays him.

"Hurts."

"I know honey, I know. We're gonna fix it, okay?" You're limp, no strength left in your bones, your muscle, and he cradles your belly, desperate to feel any movement, any sign that the baby is still there. Your sobs are a knife in his chest. "Shhh, I've got you. You're safe."

[kikiiswashere]

Four to Tango

As promised, part two of Waltzing for Three!!!

Thank you for helping me reach 200 followers for this little ol' blog of mine 🥰 And welcome to all the newcomers!

The idea for this ficlet was born of watching my bestie @sand-sea-and-fable help out a pregnant friend by lifting her belly off her hips, and it just sort of spiraled from there.

It's also worth noting that I myself am not a mother, nor have I given birth, nor do I wish to be a mom (husband got the ol' snip-snip). So why this fic? Good question 😅

That being said, I did my best to write about the labor process relatively accurately without getting into the super nitty-gritty of it 😂 So, please enjoy this weird little fever-dream of a fic, and please comment and reblog 💗

Tags for the interested parties: @luhmoon, @legendaryflowercheesecake, @thebeserkvernid, @miffysoo

Pairing: Established Silco x AFAB!Reader

Rating: Teen/Mature (brief reference to oral sex)

CW: Non-graphic descriptions of pregnancy and labor

Insistent cramping had woken you up in the wee-hours one morning, swelling and ebbing in a slow rhythm that sent your heart tapping, a loop of nerves coiling around your gut – little room that there was for it.

Silco had been a terribly light sleeper ever since Vander’s betrayal, ever since those early years on an under-tested Shimmer variant that left his brain unable to fully settle. So, the moment you shifted into a sitting position, he shot up as well.

“What’s wrong?”

Words got gummed up on fear and excitement in your mouth. There was a slight tremor in your fingers as they grazed over your belly. You had noticed it sitting even lower on your hips these past several days. While you were very done with being pregnant, you were still nervous and surprised to say –

“I think it’s time.”

With comical amounts of speed, but awe-inspiring grace, Silco flung himself from the bed, divesting himself of his eyepatch and pajamas. After changing into a simple set of trousers and an old button-up shirt, he fetched the stopwatch Jinx had invented to easily time your contractions, and wrote a tube prompting your midwife that she was needed. It had been decided early on that the babe’s delivery – barring any complications – would happen at The Last Drop. You, nor Silco, were willing to venture outside to a clinic when your family would be at its most vulnerable.

Too nervous to lay down, much less fall back asleep, you began pacing the large bedroom in your large sleep shirt. Every time a contraction locked up and spasmed through your lower belly and back, your fingers pressed the stopwatch’s clicker. And you breathed as the midwife had instructed. Silco kept you company, walking with you up and down the length of the bedroom, holding your hand and becoming an anchor to squeeze when contractions rolled through. Together, you both noted and kept track of their intervals. Their spacing  and length suggested that the little one’s arrival was not imminent, but the consistency indicated that this was indeed labor.

The midwife arrived, ushered in by a half-asleep Sevika. You’d bribed her with an absurd bonus and several pre-paid sessions at Babette’s for her to crash in one of the Drop’s private guest rooms during these last days of your pregnancy. She was needed for security, and to stand-in for Silco when his attention and priorities would be elsewhere.

“Good luck,” she’d grumbled, barely glancing at you before shutting the bedroom door, and trudging back down the hall.

The midwife was a petite, wizened Vastaya who’d been selected for her services not only because of her field prowess, but because she was staunch loyalist to you and Silco. Shimmer had helped save more than one of her clients when the birthing process had begun to go sideways, and that was enough for her to hitch her wagon to your agenda.

She was also direct to the point of rudeness – a personality trait that was wholly welcome given the slippery, hidden, self-serving rhetoric you were used to having to deal with.

“Time?” she asked, setting her medical bag down on your dresser with a heavy thunk.

“Forty-five seconds to a minute, about every seven minutes,” you answered. Then gasped and doubled over as another contraction bent you.

The midwife hummed. “How long?”

“About an hour,” Silco said. He squeezed back at your hand as you rode out the current wave rolling through.

Clucking her tongue, the midwife shook her head, long ears slapping lightly against her horns.

“Early.”

Silco frowned. “You are being more than thoroughly compensated to show up whenever we ask.”

“Indeed. To the bed, miss. Let’s have a look.”

Once your legs were freed from the lock of the contraction, you shuffled to the bed. Silco helped you into position, and the midwife closed in. Her fingers were warm, but the tools were cold. The combination, along with your nerves, caused your lungs to shudder.

“Five,” she declared, drawing her head from between your thighs.

“That’s halfway,” you chuckled weakly. Silco brushed his thumb over your knuckles

The midwife hummed in agreement. “True. But as discussed, this process is not linear. And being your first delivery, it is very likely this will take a while. How is the pain?”

“Fine. Manageable.” It came out as a grit, but she didn’t seem to doubt you.

“You should eat and drink while you can. Is there anything else you want or need right now?”

Together, you and Silco walked to the small kitchen in your private quarters. You rested your forearms on the counter as the length of your spine hammocked behind you, hips gently swishing side-to-side. Silco kept the breakfast blissfully simple: toast with a light slather of butter, and a mug of warmed water with lemon.

Eating was slow going. Between the jitters and contractions, your appetite was seriously curbed. When you finally made it to the second piece of toast, Jinx shuffled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and bed-headed. Her bedraggled demeanor did not last long though, as her whip-quick senses tuned into the energy of the space. Big, blue eyes tracked between Silco – unusually underdressed – and your strange posture. One could nearly hear the cogs in her head clicking and whirring.

“Is it time?!”

In a flash, she clambered onto the stool next to you, bright and tittering. Her exuberance washed over you in a relieving breeze. Reaching over, you ran a hand through her unkempt hair.

“Sure is, kiddo.”

“When will he be here?”

“Could be a while yet, Jinx,” Silco answered. He set a glass of juice in front of her. “What would you like? Toad-in-the-hole? Porridge? Pancakes?”

“Make ‘em have a face!” she crowed.

A hook of a smile pulled at Silco’s mouth as he turned back toward the stove.

Jinx settled onto the stool; legs kicking merrily beneath her as she sipped her juice.

“What does it feel like?”

“Like intense menstrual cramps.”

Her small face squished in a ponder. While you had had that conversation with her, Jinx had yet to broach into that aspect of puberty. Thus, she had no point of reference.

“Kinda like when you roof-run after eating, and your abs cramp up,” you offered. “Kind of.”

A contraction swelled upon you, and you grit your teeth, face pinching, head dropping. Silco stepped away from the stovetop, and placed a grounding hand between your shoulder blades. Jinx watched, eyes wide and worried. Timidly, she shifted toward you, pressing her forehead to your shoulder.

The pain continued, but was temporarily numbed by the overwhelming love and gratitude for the two people on either side of you.

Your family.

It was never part of the plan when it came to your Silco’s ideas to lift Zaun up, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. And in a few hours, three would be four. Your heart beat big, tapping against your throat as the contraction passed. You clicked the stopwatch.

“That seems worse than roof-run cramps,” Jinx said suspiciously.

You chuffed. “Like I said: Kind of.”

Silco rubbed his hand up and down your spine a few times, before kissing your temple and returning to the stove.

“You remember what we talked about?” you asked Jinx.

She fiddled with her hair, nodding. “I can come and go as I please.”

“Right. If you want to be with us, I want you to be there. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. You get to decide, and it doesn’t have to be right now.”

Jinx nodded again, eyes staring into the middle-distance. Reaching over, you brushed your fingers through her hair again. Her eyes snapped back to yours.

“Are you scared?”

You gave her a reassuring smile.

“No. I’m happy.”

It wasn’t a lie. But a few hours later, your happiness was thoroughly overshadowed by the pain of labor. It was staggering how it had intensified. How it was becoming near non-stop as the space between contractions shortened and shortened. Gravity felt impossible to contend with on top of everything else, so you sank onto your bedroom floor with a low, guttural growl.

Silco had been attentive throughout, anticipating your needs before you even voiced them. Ever your anchor, your source for steadiness. Even now, on your hands and knees, his own wide palms settled onto your hips and pressed in. It pulled an appreciative groan from your throat.

“You’re doing so well, my love.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Your eyes flicked to the bathroom door where Jinx was helping the midwife prepare a warm bath. You were proud of your girl. Admittedly, part of you doubted she would choose to stick around once labor became loud and more intense. When you could no longer keep yourself from crying out, hesitancy had flickered in her eyes, and her brows pitched in concern. But instead of dashing away, she’d reached for your hand and held tight.

“Is there anything you can give her?” she’d asked the midwife incredulously.

The female had smirked, impressed and moved by the girl’s protectiveness of you.

“I have mild pain relievers, but nothing that will fully numb – “

“Shimmer?”

The midwife’s black lips thinned. “That is only to be used in emergencies,” she explained. “It is too potent and powerful to be used for anything other than the most extreme circumstances. Which – “her eyes looked up at your haggard form on the bed – ��does not seem probable. Her labor is progressing as it should. There is nothing to worry about.”

Jinx frowned, doubtful, and hunkered closer to your side.

“Seems like a dumb design that it hurts so much.”

“Agreed,” you wheezed.

“Come,” the midwife said, “let’s check you.”

She declared you’d progressed to eight centimeters. That had been three hours ago. And the pain just continued to climb and build.

A small sob burst through your teeth. Silco knelt at your side, quietly saying your name.

“I’m scared, Sil,” you admitted in a whisper. You were thankful Jinx wasn’t near to hear you back-pedal. Your breath hitched and words tumbled out: “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He took your warm and tear-streaked face between his hands, and repeated your name.

“Look at me.”

Reluctantly, your tired and wet eyes focused on his face. He looked at you with fierce earnestness, thumbs sweeping across the apples of your flushed cheeks. Suddenly, part of you grieved that the baby would never know Silco without his scars. Or yours. Outside and in.

Silco called your name again.

“Look at me,” he repeated. Your eyes slid back to his. Blue and red pinned you in place. “You can do this. I’ve not met anyone more tenacious, nor strong, nor as spirited as you. Those are but a few of the reasons I fell in love with you so long ago.” His eyes softened now; his adoration made plain. “You’ve absolutely no reason to doubt yourself.”

A small hiccup bubbled from your mouth, and you pressed your face into the warmth of his palm, breathing him in deeply. Not having properly dressed for the day, he hadn’t put any cologne on. The natural terra-sweet scent of his skin filled your nose. You were grateful for his support, respect, and belief in your abilities. A sudden, silly thought flitted across your mind.

“Not my dance moves?”

A single amused breath huffed from his throat. That infinitesimal smirk – one of the reasons you’d fallen in love with him – appeared on his lips. His blue eye flashed; as it often did when an idea struck him. Silco lifted to his feet, and used a strong grip to pull you to yours. He guided your arms to loop around his shoulders and neck, while his went to your low back. A weary chuckle left you as you understood. Your cheek was a relieved, heavy weight against his shoulder. It had to be a strange sight, this dance configuration: with your body slouched against his, massive belly hanging between you two. Slowly, your feet began gently shifting side-to-side.

“Admittedly,” he murmured against your crown, “your dance moves leave something to be desired right now.”

You laughed, even as another contraction swelled within you. Silco’s hands firmed up on your body, holding you upright as it moved through your body.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you hissed as most of the pain subsided. It was such now that there was no longer any real relief.

“A dance and a suck job? Lucky me.”

Your fingers pinched Silco’s upper back, and you felt the tremor of silent laughter in his shoulders.

“Tub’s ready!” Jinx sang as she flounced out of the bathroom.

Managing to smile at her, despite another great, contracting swell that threatened to bring you to your knees, you took her hand. Silco kept a strong arm wrapped around your middle, and you followed Jinx into the humid warmth of the bathroom.

The water helped. Its heat soothed your pained muscles and aching bones. The irony was not lost on you that you found peace in it. After a few minutes of settling into the tub, you gave Silco a look that to anyone else may have seemed like nothing. But he caught the message in your eyes, and tucked himself close to the tub’s edge, taking your hand. Jinx huddled herself into his lap, nervously fingering the buttons on his shirt.

About an hour later, the midwife’s large ears flicked in your direction as the quality of your breath shifted, as the sounds leaving you turned deeper and more animal. Her deft hands slipped into the water and between your legs.

“Something changed,” you gasped, hunching slightly. “It feels like – “

“It’s time,” she said, pulling her hands from the water. Somehow, she’d also stripped your underwear off in the same movement without you noticing. “It’s time to push.”

Push. The word settled into your body with a deep, innate knowing.

Yes. That’s what you were feeling. The near uncontrollable need to bare down. An old, predetermined instinct washed over you. You could do this.

But you did not want to do it alone.

“Sil.”

The grit of his name and the way you shifted yourself forward spurred your partner into understanding. Swiftly, he stood, deposited Jinx onto the stool he’d vacated, and then stepped into the tub, sliding in behind you. Settling against his chest, your hand ferociously intertwined with his. His heart beat firmly against your back.

“You can do this,” he whispered into your ear.

“Give me your other hand, dear,” the midwife said. You did so and she guided it under the water, preparing you to feel and catch. “Push.”

“Push! Push!” Jinx cried, her little fists pumping and bopping in the air madly.

Gritting your teeth, you did just that. A sound you didn’t know you were capable of making burst from your lungs. When the air ran out, you slumped against Silco’s chest.

“Breath in,” the midwife demanded. You did so. “Push!”

You did again, a roar ripping from your chest. A roar that ended in a surprised yip as something into your hand.

“Again,” the midwife demanded.

And you complied, baring down with everything you had. With all the might and tenacity and power your body could exert. Another battle cry echoed off the bathroom tiles, and a solid weight slid into your hand. You ripped your other hand from Silco’s grip, and pulled a wriggling newborn from the water.

“It’s a boy!” Jinx yelled, bouncing up and down in her seat.

Her brother’s face squidged, and his pink mouth opened in an announcing wail. You joined in and pulled the babe to your chest. Silco went very still behind you, scarcely breathing. Then his hands appeared over yours, cradling the baby at your chest. Like on the night you’d taken in Jinx, he pulled his legs up around you both and held tight.

Later, once the placenta had passed (something Jinx was equally horrified and enthralled by) you were helped out of the tub, and cleaned. The midwife tied off the babe’s umbilical cord, and once some time passed, you watched with an incredibly full heart as Silco severed it.

You weren’t sure if you’d ever seen the expression on your partner’s face. A soft, careful, wonderous thing. Then it hit you all at once. You were watching Silco fall in love. The notion took your breath away and fresh tears welled in your eyes. Jinx clung to you, and you to her.

“Thank you for being with me, Jinx. It helped.”

The girl beamed up at you, holding on tighter.

“I think it is your turn for a shower, sir,” the midwife said, twisting off the umbilical nub.

Silco watched her hands like a hawk as she did. He slid in once she finished, and wrapped him in a blanket Jinx had decorated. It was a small thing, but you caught the tremor in his hands. Keeping Jinx tucked against your side, you came to stand next to him.

“He’ll be here when you get out of the shower,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

“Yeah! Go get the baby juice off you!” Jinx ordered.

Silco’s expression of awe turned to one of bemusement as he glanced at your daughter.

“Yes. I suppose I should.”

Your own hands shook a bit as you gathered your son – your son! You wondered if the shock would wear off – and ushered Jinx to follow the midwife out of the bathroom.

With no small amount of effort, your body, beyond sore and exhausted, climbed into bed. The baby cooed and nuzzled and fussed against your chest as you settled into the pillows and duvet. Jinx climbed in on the opposite side, and snuggled close.

“He’s already sleeping!”

“It’s hard work being born. Don’t you remember?” you chuckled.

Jinx laughed, “No!”

A small smile curled the midwife’s mouth as she snapped her bag shut. She turned to you and bowed her head.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you said, eyes on your boy. Then you lifted them to hers, and said again, “And thank you.”

She nodded again, horns catching the light in the room.

“It was my honor.”

She gave you and the baby one last cursory check over, and took her leave.

A few moments after she left, there was a knock on the door, and Sevika stuck her head in.

“Ogre!” Jinx cried. “I gotta brother!”

Even Sevika’s presence couldn’t dampen Jinx’s mood.

Silco’s lieutenant grunted, and stepped over to the bed. She stayed at a distance though, craning her neck to peer down at you and the baby.

“Yep. That’s a baby. Congrats.”

“Thank you, Sevika.”

Behind her, Silco emerged from the foggy bathroom in a fresh pair of slacks and an unbuttoned shirt. Sevika tilted her strong chin in his direction and he nodded back.

“I’ll leave you all to it then,” she said.

Her poncho twirled as she spun back to leave. As she and Silco crossed paths, a metal finger tip whipped out from beneath the red fabric, and poked his bare belly. He jolted and shuddered. He sneered at her, but she just snickered and slipped out of the room.

Silco shook his head, damp hair beginning to curl at the ends. He rounded the bed, and climbed in, sandwiching Jinx between your bodies. He leaned over the girl’s head and kissed you.

“What’re we gonna name him?” Jinx pipped.

You and Silco exchanged a look.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted.

“I’m sure we’ll come up with something.” he added.

Immediately, Jinx began rattling off all her suggestions.

Before a name could be decided, you fell asleep. Jinx followed shortly after; her plump cheek pressed against your shoulder. Gingerly, Silco lifted the baby from your arms, and brought him to his bare chest. The boy tensed, and then melted, a small wispy sigh leaving him.

Silco melted, too; a foreign, near indescribable softness filling him up. He brought his hand to the boy’s back, its length and width nearly covering all of him. His son was so small.

His son. His son.

Emotions gripped him so intensely he nearly choked.

Elation, love, fear.

Grief.

There was grief that his child was born technically as a citizen of Piltover. But that anguish was small compared to the other one that had been tucked away in the scar tissue of Silco’s heart ever since you had told him of the pregnancy. A pain that he hated he harbored.

The secret grief was that Vander wasn’t here to see this. The grief that his Brother had ruined any chance of participating in this milestone. The grief of Vander’s death (justified though it was) was scratched open as Silco’s son lay on his heart. The grief that, had things gone differently, Silco would’ve named the boy after his Brother.

“Sil.”

Silco’s head whipped around at the sound of your voice. Your beautiful, exhausted, beautiful face shone up at him. There was a smile on your lips that he wished to taste, so he leaned over Jinx’s head again and pressed his mouth to yours. 

“I told you you could do it,” he whispered leaning back. You smiled and nodded wearily.

The baby grunted and shifted against Silco’s chest, and he pet the back of his head so, so softly. It broke your heart into a million pieces, and then they jumped right back together. Your eyes slid back up to your partner’s profile.

You felt his grief, because it was yours, too.

“I know, Silco,” you whispered. He looked over to you. Jinx snored softly between. “I wish it had been different, too.”

Silco’s eyebrow dropped, and his lips softened. He glanced down at the baby on his chest, and chuckled ruefully.

“I truly don’t know what to name him.”

You shrugged. “We’ll figure it out.”

He nodded. You sat in silence for a while, listening to your children breath. Jinx’s raspy breaths and the baby’s snuffling. It was music to your ears. You would never tire of hearing it.

Just as you were about to doze again, you felt Silco’s energy shift. Eyes sharpening onto him, you watched as he first gently ran his fingers over Jinx’s freckled cheek. Then, so carefully, he lifted the baby from his chest so he could look at his small face.

“You and your sister will have better than we did,” he promised. “Me and your mother will give you a nation.”

Your son’s eyes fluttered open and closed, the bud of his mouth stretching into what looked like a small smile. Your throat tightened horribly, and you tucked your nose into Jinx’s crown.

When you were sure you could speak without choking, you lifted your head and said, “We promise.”

I hope part two scratched the itch <3 If you enjoy my work and would like to support me (firstly, THANK YOU!) check out my Ko-Fi page!

ko-fi.com/kiki13

[stylespresleyhearted]

WON’T ANYBODY HELP US? WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR?

Summary : the beginning of Benny Cross & his favorite nurse.

warnings: language, stereotypical 60’s attitudes, sickness/illness, references to lupus but not explicitly said, references to suicidal thoughts/wanting to give up blink and you miss it

“Your favorite patient is causin’ trouble again.”

Tania smacks her gum against the roof of her mouth as she passes by the occupied lunch table. There’s a loaded sandwich sitting in front of you - only two bites in but it seemed like your lunch would be cut early.

Wednesdays were usually your favorite day of the week but today had been nothing short of chaos every step of the way. The system had gone down multiple times and the added minutes were causing everyone to get grumpier than usual. It was only fifteen minutes ago that someone had walked to the check in desk and deemed you incompetent of doing your job. Sawyer had stepped in and allowed you reprieve for a quick lunch shortly after but now that was cut short as well.

Of course you didn’t have to go. But you weren’t sure what Tania meant by ‘causing trouble’ and it caused anxiety to swirl in the pit of your stomach.

Instead of throwing the sandwich back into the cooler you decided on bringing it along with you. It was too delicious to leave behind and by the time you got home you knew food would be the last thing on your mind. Your bed was already calling your name.

“Floor 3, Room 11A,” Sawyer supplied helpfully when you passed the help desk, figuring he would be in the same room as usual. The one furthest from the main area.

Grateful, you give her a smile and mouth a thank you.

Two flights of stairs and an endless hallway later you find yourself at his room door. Doctor Martin sits beside him on a stool, elevated taller than the other man although there’s actually a four inch difference. Now that you’re aware they aren’t killing one another it’s easy to take a step back and rest against the doorway; to take him in as is.

Benny was externally the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on. Golden hair always shining in the sun, fluffed enough to show he had run a brush through it but messy with strings of hair flat out to show he didn’t care too much what he looked like. Oil splattered his jeans and undershirt and over the corner chair you were able to see his jacket strewn over the back. His eyes caught in the sunlight streaming in through the one window in the room, blue eyes catching green and golden specks at certain angles.

Martin must have requested him to take his jacket off. That alone would have warranted a blow out but it seemed Benny had consented to take his colors off for once.

“Doc.” Dragged back from your thoughts by Benny turning his attention towards you, catching you when you were inspecting his jacket.

You smile big, happy to see him if anything.

“She isn’t a doctor here,” Martin says. From here you can see he’s pulling the stitches across Benny’s skin and bone with none of the tenderness required to avoid scarring. “She’s a nurse.”

It’s said like an insult but you decide against rising to the bait. Martin’s usually much kinder, he must be upset he was the one left caring for Benny.

“I can take it from here, Doctor Martin,” you offered, taking a few steps closer in hopes that he would hand over the needle. “I overheard something about a crash on the highway. I’m sure they’re going to require your assistance soon.”

“He was in last week for ripping the stitches on his left knuckles.” Martin throws both gloves into the medical compartment beside him. “He’s in today for - oh yeah, the same damn thing.”

“What’s your point?” It’s Benny who speaks up, the hand in your hold curling in anger and not pain.

Deciding that his knuckles are scarred enough as is - and the beginning of repairing his stitches had obviously been done with no care to healing skin - in an attempt to soothe you run a hand down his bicep.

Goosebumps rise in the wake of your touch.

“My point is, Mr. Cross, you’re taking us away from people who actually want to get better.” His ending question was left unsaid, lingering in the air between them all: Why bother getting help at all?

“Our job is to help the injured.” Protectiveness rears its head but it is a smarter move to play it smart, after all you’ll pay for any remarks or siding against him during rounds tomorrow. No doubt be assigned the patients with excessive vomiting or stomach problems to clean after. “No matter who it is, Doctor Martin.” Your smile is meant to ease the tension and you’ll be unaware if it worked until later.

His exit as he storms out the room doesn’t leave high hopes.

A few months into working here, after a handful of runs in with Benny when he’d gotten mouthy or passed off to different doctors for being temperamental you had asked why there always seemed to be conflict involving him and the personnel. Don’t like the way they grab me, he had replied and after having seen the way Martin had worked his stitches and the looks he got from every person in the waiting room you found it reason enough.

“You’re left handed,” you notice and his attention is brought from the window back to the hand you hold.

He shrugs, as if it never occurred to him what hand he used.

“My right is busted so I used my left.”

“So you’re ambidextrous?” He cocks an eyebrow and you smile despite yourself, explaining, “You can use both your right and left hands with the same amount of skill.”

“I know what ambidextrous means.” You would feel bad for assuming he didn’t if he cared but he doesn’t. It’s one of the reasons why he was always passed off to you - his aloofness and lack of care never offended you. Why would it? People are the way they are despite the way one feels. And in reality, his way of being was the reason you liked him. How must it feel to be so free? “Just don’t know why it matters so much what hand I use.”

It’s an honest point and you laugh, loud.

“It doesn’t. It’s an interesting fact to learn about someone though,” you shrug, noncommittal, but the smile begins to cause an ache in your cheeks. “Now I can say I know four things about you, Benny Cross.”

“Really?” He smirks. There’s a shift in the air as he goes from carelessly lax to confident in a second; never more sure of himself than when he was riding his bike or attempting to pull a girl apparently.

“Oh yeah, adding it to the list I keep plastered on my room wall. I’m a real special girl, you see, getting you to open up like this.”

“I’ll deny it. Say you injected me with some shit and it caused an allergic reaction.”

You laugh again, feeling lighter than you had all day after everything that had gone wrong. This was another thing people never got to know about Benny: the guy was funny. He was able to give it back as good as he could take it. Only thing was, when someone pushed he made sure to push harder.

Having redone the stitches Martin had made a mess of and happy with the outcome of his hand now, you gingerly clean the excess blood remaining before turning to shove everything into the disposable department. All the while Benny follows your every move.

This was why Sawyer didn’t like to care for him; she said she didn’t like his stare.

You couldn’t find it in you to mind it, he wasn’t anything like the guys on the street who would cat call and whistle when you went by. His eyes caused a warming sensation in any part of you they caught.

Having washed your hands, you return to his bed with the sandwich outstretched. He looks from the food and back to you but makes no move to take it, which you expected. “If you don’t take it it’s gonna go in the trash,” you admit, exaggerating your pout for a sadness effect. “Which would suck because it’s the best damn sandwich I’ve ever made.” But my lunch is over and I didn’t get to enjoy it because they told me you were here, left unsaid.

“Never known hospital food to be any good.” He accepts the sandwich from your hold but makes no move to eat it. He slides by, closer to you than when you had been stitching him up, and picks up his jacket. “Thanks, Doc.”

There’s a want in your belly, brewing, growing, anything to keep the conversation going but he’s getting ready to leave and you weren’t lying when you told Martin there was a crash on the highway. There was nothing left to say and that was the bad thing about being in Benny’s vicinity: he always left people wanting more. More of his freedom. Of his wildness. Left people scrambling for any scraps he gave.

Sometimes the weight on your shoulders feels so heavy your knees buckle and it’s only when he strolls in with an injury or another that you feel weightless. Young. Alive.

“I’d tell you to rub aloe on those knuckles but I know you won’t listen,” you mention it anyway in case he finds himself home with nothing to do or at a store and it strikes his mind.

“Don’t need none of that hippie oil shit.”

He fixes the collar on his jacket with his left while his right holds the sandwich that is now out of its container - stained, oily hands and all he moves to take a bite.

The bread pales in comparison to the lively pink of his mouth.

“Until next time, Benny,” you toss over your shoulder, taking your exit.

He has a last glimpse of the line of your jaw and the hair flip over your shoulder, the plump arch of your backside and the straight posture of your shoulders. “Bye, Doc.”

Saturdays are spent at the market on Merigold in downtown Chicago.

You aren’t always able to get the days off but when allowed, you spend your day walking the collection of set up shops with your sister and your two favorite people in the entire world: niece and nephew.

At only eight years old, Maddy already contained more motivation than half the adults you encountered on a day to day basis. She had declared her intentions to become a scientist and find life on another planet (because the world is too big it's not just us!) and as such took her schooling absolutely serious. She required no pestering to get out of bed or do her homework and most days she acted more adult than any actual adult you knew.

‘Annoying’ was her new favorite word and it’s used in response to any inconveniences she encounters in her young life. It had quickly become your sister's least favorite word and Maddy had earned herself a time out when she deemed her dad annoying for snoring.

Poor, sweet Jack was nothing like his loud-mouth, dreamer sister and more times than not he made your heart hurt. At only six years old he had already encountered the world’s cruelty. Earlier this summer your sister, Melissa, had to drive a few towns over and pull him from summer camp because he was getting bullied. He was a heavier kid than most his age and a big eater to top it.

To make him feel better you had dedicated that weekend to him completely: a sleepover spent building forts, reading his favorite comic books, and baking sweets.

“I told Daddy five bucks wasn’t a lot!” Maddy holds her money with a sullen pout and foot stomp to follow. She stands in front of an outdoor, singular bookshelf that contains coloring books, bedtime stories — and she must be looking at Space Cadet which is priced at 6.50.

Melissa shrugs, “You know the rule, Maddy. Five dollars is your allowance. How about instead you get this one?” Your sister picks up another book, this one from the lowest shelf, and priced a dollar lower right in Maddy’s price range.

Beside you Jack holds your hand with his right and picks his nose with his left.

“Mommy I have that one already!”

It’s on the tip of your tongue to step in and offer to complete the difference in price but you don’t want your sister to feel undermined so instead you focus on Jack and how he’s managed to get his entire, chubby pointer finger into his nostril.

“Excuse me, sir!” You dramatize to hear his giggles, a smile erupting even as he turns wide eyed. “And where are you thinkin’ of putting those boogies, huh?”

With a mischievous look that lets you know exactly what is coming he wipes his finger on the side of your jeans, attempting to run away after. He shrieks as you grab hold of him, wrapping both arms around his back and bringing him backwards.

“Oh, that’s it!” You playfully growl, blowing raspberries into his neck and eliciting more of his loud, wonderful giggles. Happy in this moment you allow yourself a few laughs as well, hugging him tighter as he struggles to get away.

Distinctly, engines rumbling break the busy bustle of the street, the people of the town stopping their shopping to stare and wait for what - or who - everyone is aware is coming. It’s a sound that could be heard at all hours of the day, whether it be caused by a guy or two or the whole gang of them. Leather jackets, denim jeans, cigarettes, and all.

As the thunderous roar of the engine increased in volume, the Vandals emerged from the end of the street - drunk and half-naked with the exception of only a few. It was a good thing you had a hold on Jack because you felt him tug to get free. No doubt to run to the bikers if his amazed

“Wow,” was anything to go by.

You make sure to clutch him tighter, more people crowding the sidewalks now to make room for the bikers taking the entirety of the street. It was only a year ago that there were only seven of them driving past the stores, and slowly, every weekend since there’d be new members joining them.

With a good grip on Jack’s shirt to make sure he can’t escape and no one can jostle him, you look up again, locking eyes with Benny. He’s already staring. Taking in all of you, with a beanie thrown over your head and worn down boots you squeezed into it because the new ones still hurt.

He’s effortlessly cool riding by. One hand on the handle and another on his lap; some may think he was trying to show off but the truth was he didn’t care too. He was riding right in front of you now. His blue eyes were shadowed in the gray of the weather, becoming lighter instead of brighter. The ring he wore glinted against the metal of his bike and he’d either gotten into a scuffle or had chosen to not do his hair today. There were pieces sticking in different directions and as he drove past you could see the back of his hair was flat.

He smiles at you, slowly, pink lips parting to reveal glistening, white teeth and a glint sparking in his eyes.

“Come on,” Melissa ushers Maddy away from the books, “no time to waste.”

“How annoying,” Maddy grumbles.

You bite your lip to hide your answering grin.

-

Tania calls on Sunday morning, begging you to cover her overnight shift because she’s come down with the flu.

It was 7 a.m. and there was no coffee or breakfast in your system but she genuinely sounded horrible over the line so you agreed.

“You’re pushing your body too hard,” your Ma said from her position by the stove, “it’s gonna flare up again. You just wait and see.”

“Ma,” you snap and hate yourself immediately after.

It isn’t her fault your body decides to fail you time and time again; most times after you spend weeks thinking you’ve somehow magically been cured. The doctors had already explained it didn’t appear to be a genetic disease and it certainly didn’t derive from your parents because when Melissa had been tested she was declared physically healthy.

There’s resentment clogging your chest and throat, yearning to yell about how it isn’t fair but it isn’t her fault either.

It isn’t anyone’s fault that you’re sick and they’re healthy.

Turns out your Ma is right. You should have seen it coming.

Three days letter no food can be kept down and there’s an ache running from your ankle to mid-thigh that has you crying when you try to leave your bed.

“I hav’ta go work,” you try to explain to your parents through the tears and fatigue and the pain as they ease you back into bed.

“Just rest now, honey,��� your Ma is trying to soothe, combing stray hairs away from your face. There’s a funny look on her face.

Her chin is pulled tight and there is a wobble to her lip.

You aren’t sure if the pain is causing hallucinations.

“It isn’t fair,” you sob, allowing yourself to lose the battle of trying to stand so your father can relinquish his hold. “It isn’t fair, Dad. Jus’ wanna be able to … be.”

There isn’t another way you’re sure how to explain it. The ability to live was a privilege to all but taken for granted by so many. If sickness and ailment wasn’t something you dealt with you’re sure you would be as ignorant and ungrateful as any other healthy person.

“I know, sweetie. I know.”

One of them places the pill in your hand. When you swallow, your mother helps hold your head up to pour water in your mouth.

Useless. That’s what you are.

-

You are in bed for a week. Adjusting to the medication always proves to be a rollercoaster of events. Tired the first few days and sick to your stomach the next few.

The worst part comes after the pain stops. When the pills aren’t needed and you’re left with the shakes and the chills and a never ending migraine. No better than any druggie laid out on the streets.

“Dr. Howard would have given you a few more days off,” Sawyer says after the fifth time your hands cramp up while you’re typing.

It takes everything to not tell her where to shove it. Regardless of everything, she’s your friend and she cares. Having everyone hovering makes you aggy.

“I’m fine,” you insist.

She shrugs; sighs worriedly; walks away.

The past ten days were spent in bed. Well, seven of them were spent in bed and the last three had been spent holding onto your parents as they led you up and down the hall in an attempt to readjust to moving around. The restroom hadn’t been much of an issue as you were unable to consume much of any food or liquid. Everything was retained in your body and what wasn’t you had puked out.

Doctor Martin approaches, calling your name. “I need you to fill the questionnaire for a patient. He can’t spell and his reading isn’t great.”

Your hands are in fists on your lap. You look down, try to open them, shake, and close it again. The green monster knocks on your chest again, builds, bangs against your ribcage and twists your guts, anything in an attempt to free itself.

You focus on your breathing.

Doctor Martin calls your name again to pull your attention. “Is that going to be a problem?” He looks to your lap but your hands are in fists, hidden from sight.

It’s gonna hurt like hell but you refuse to let anyone else pity you.

“No,” you decide and take the clipboard from him.

-

Rationally you know it isn’t right or fair to hate anyone for being healthy. Sickness or suffering isn’t something you would wish upon anyone; not even your worst enemy.

I’d like to see Martin get a cramp though, you think bitterly. Nothing lasting or damaging. A leg cramp that has him sobbing and unable to stand for a couple of seconds. That’s it.

There had only been seven questions and four of them required simple answers but it didn’t seem to matter if one word was needed or forty. The paper looked like it had been scribbled on by a second grader with no motor skills and in your state the comparison wasn’t far off.

“If you’re incapable of legible penmanship I’m not sure what you’re doing here,” Martin had spewed in your face, anger in his eyes when he tossed the paper and demanded Sawyer redo the questionnaire. “Go home.” He dismissed you.

Asshole.

Home was the second to last place you wanted to be. Your mother was worried, hovering around you any minute of the day and while your father tried to be better he followed you into every room you entered and his footsteps could be made out five feet away from you, always hovering.

Space. Air. A damn break. That’s what you needed.

Walking around the streets at night probably wasn’t the brightest idea you had but you were too anxious and wired to sit still and any restaurant or store you entered ran the risk of running into someone you knew.

Tonight you’d take your chances with strangers lurking in the dark.

You’ve walked the same block four times, in an attempt to be somewhat safe, the one that has the most street lights when you hear it. Grumbling. Roaring. Headlights brighter than any lamp currently illuminating the street and working to blind you as you try to make out the figure riding.

It would either be your friend or it wouldn’t be.

The headlights beam brighter somehow, blinding you enough that you look away and try to squint the spots away from your eyes. When you open them again the rider is down the block and your vision is still distorted. You don’t bother to try to make out any features from this distance and focus on trying to lessen the disappointment swirling around inside.

You had wanted it to be him. You aren’t sure how but you know seeing him would improve the ending of your day. It might be his pretty, blue eyes and the crinkles that appeared when he smiled. Or maybe the smell of 3-in-1 men soap, engine oil, and something distinctly sandalwood and citrus that was uniquely him would be useful in relaxing you.

Overall, you think it’s his way of being that you need tonight. Someone who was so selfishly themself because they needed nothing from anyone around them. No thought to go into what to say or do next because there was nothing to happen besides what was going to happen.

Disappointment is still swirling when you hear it return. A thrumpty exhaust groan from deep within the machine from being pushed too hard, too quick, that you’re sure is currently reverberating the ground beneath you.

And then like an apparition (more like a wish come true) — Benny. You decide that you may be sick and days may be shit, with a huge emphasis on the last thirteen days, but God does not hate you after all.

The light from his bike creates shadows across his face, highlighting the golden beard and mustache but hiding the pink of his mouth. His eyes you’re unable to make out, unsure if they were happy or sad, mad or tired.

With his headlights hitting you directly however, he’s able to make out every feature of yours.

“Benny.” It’s just his name that escapes you, no greeting accompanying it, but you don’t bother to hide the relief in your tone and you’re sure your smile is blinding him like his lights are blinding you. If he wasn’t how he was and you weren’t already feeling raw with rejection and failure you would have hugged him.

“What’cha doin’ out so late?” He uses his leg against the sidewalk to lean his bike inward. Thigh muscles ripple underneath the tight denim of his jeans, illuminated greatly by the shadows cast by the headlights.

You shrug, unwilling to be honest. “I needed …” You’re not sure what you were going to answer so you stop and he allows you time to think. You had said you needed air but you take a deep breath and all the worries and stress of before continue on. You thought you needed space but you began to feel lonely and the last thing you want is for him to go away. There’s no correct answer it seems so you can do nothing but laugh, tilting your head towards the sky. You wish you were brave enough to scream at the stars or howl at the moon. “I’mma be honest, Benny - I’m not sure what I need. I’m just,” you exhale, “a mess tonight.” More than just tonight but you don’t want to scare him off either.

You know that if he asks what’s wrong you’re going to start crying. There’s an ache in your throat that is blocking any air entry and the sting in your eye isn’t from his lights and the shaking in your hand hasn’t gotten any better and if you tell him the truth he’s going to pity you like everyone else and now there’s a traitorous tea—

“Wanna go to a meetin’?”

You look up, wanting to be sure that you heard him correctly. There’s no joking lilt in his tone, only sincerity and the same hint of boredom always wavering in the background. Like if it would make zero difference to him what you decided. You remind yourself he’s not the type of guy to offer something for niceties.

He’s in the same position. Using his leg to lean closer to the pavement, one hand holding onto the left handle and his bike rumbling beneath him. He’s got his head cocked to the side, generously allowing you to feel wanted, like if it’s something he wants you to consider and not only reject.

But there’s another aspect to consider in all this: the only source of transportation currently is his bike.

Be careful, you can hear Ma say, you aren’t in any position to be careless, honey.

She’s right, your Dad would agree. It’s the hand you’ve been given.

Careful.

Careful.

All your life you’ve attempted to be as careful as you could be. You watched where you were walking because a fall could result in a knee that aches for days, not only a scrape. You rubbed the healing oils the neighbors down the street swore by, you took salt baths to help with inflammation, you took medication that was meant to help but it made your head pound and your hands shake and your stomach stick and every couple of weeks or month your body still rebelled, nerves inflamed and bones hurt and it was your worst enemy.

“Sure.”

If you fall from his bike, if he takes every red light and stop sign and a car rams into you — getting up won’t be as easy for you as it will for him. But you’re accepting his invitation nonetheless, taking his offered hand to help you swing a leg over. He grabs hold of both arms, instructing you to keep them around him. It’s exactly how you’ve read in a novel or watched in a Marlon Brando film.

The tremors consume your body and vibrate around him; you wipe the claminess of your palms on his T and hope he doesn’t mind.

“You’re shakin’.” He notices, revving the engine but staying still, as if waiting for you to change your mind.

“Benny?”

“Hmm.”

You rest your chin on his shoulder to pull his attention and it works; he turns his head to the side so he’s able to look in your eyes. The scruff around his jaw is long enough to rub against your lower chin. It tickles but you don’t move away, being able to look into the eye closest to you. He smells of cigarettes and motor oil, of fresh air from the farmland a few miles out and of gas.

He smells of open possibilities and freedom.

“Can we go fast?”

He turns forward, laughing as he kickstarts the bike into motion.

“That I can do. Hang on, Doc.” And he takes off.

True to his word, he never slows down, not once. The wind comes hard and fast and you’re not sure how any of the old ladies who ride with their men manage to keep their updo’s perfectly done. Hearing the roaring of the engine in the silent night, the rumble of the machinery while straddling the bike, the wind blowing across your face — it was close to therapeutic. There were no confinements of a car, the cage that had become your life falling away with every new upheaval on the speedometer, every one of your senses was assaulted and brought to life.

You finally understood Benny and the gang and why they fought to maintain their way of life. Freedom isn’t something you would be willing to give up either.

Much too sign he’s slowing down, approaching the bar. The place is in full swing. Everyone seems to have arrived before the pair of you. There’s several motorcycles parked out front and in the center, up front, you recognize the red bike belonging to their leader. Benny parks right beside it. You wonder if it’s a rank thing where the boys park their bike.

The wind stops; no more vibrations arising from between your legs. Benny kicks a leg out and turns his head slightly to catch sight of your movements, waiting for a reaction or to see if you’ll hop off.

If you’re being honest there’s no desire to stop.

“That was …” fun wouldn’t do the experience justice. “Exhilarating.” Freeing. “I felt like a bird.”

Benny hums, either in agreement or acknowledgment but he arches an eyebrow at you over his shoulder and his response causes you to laugh. Loud and inhibited, and once you begin it seems impossible to stop. The stress of the day fading away with the memories of the wind in your hair, hands wrapped tight around him, and every single burst of laughter that escapes you at his acceptance of your random sentence.

It felt good to be understood. It felt even better to feel invincible for once.

You use Benny’s shoulder for balance to get off his bike, releasing the last bits of laughter that escape and leaving only a wide smile that threatens to split your face in half as you stare into his eyes.

You aren’t sure how but you had known even earlier he’d bring an ease to the weight that had been resting on your shoulders and suddenly, you’re eternally grateful for him. For who he is and confounded that someone who had only come into your life because he kept getting injured could level your emotions so well without trying or knowing.

Any gratitude would only cause him confusion or discomfort so instead you choose to continue smiling.

He cocks an eyebrow, swinging his long leg around to stand up off his bike.

“I’ve got a good feeling about tonight, Benny,” a hand is thrown over his forearm and intertwined as he leads you to the bar.

Again, he only hums.

Turns out Benny’s a gentleman. Not that you were expecting him to not be, but if you’re honest you weren’t sure what to expect walking in.

How many times had you seen Vandals strut through the front doors of this bar, catcalling and roughhousing heard to the public before the door shut behind them. Once or twice you may have wondered why the visiting ladies exited pink and red in the face and adjusting their clothes.

But it isn’t like that for you. Benny holds the door open and stays a steady presence at your back. His friends holler and cheer, there’s some comments made under their breath and in his ear when they step up to congratulate him on what they assume is a new victory conquest. Eyes look you up and down and grin at him in approval but he has no response for them.

With his hand at the small of your back he leads you to an open table, going as far to pull the chair for you. From his position against the wall, you spot Johnny Davis — the leader. When you were in high school you used to babysit his daughters.

He dips his head in greeting.

The chatter in the room is so loud you can’t make out the song that’s playing.

“Benny?” He sits next to you, casual with both elbows on the table and manspreading so wide his knee bumps against yours. Benny leans forward to hear you better, close enough that you're able to notice for the first time he has freckles. One of the guys bumps into your chair, laughing, and you scoot closer. “I’m gonna need a drink.”

[pleasestayawayidonotlikeyou]

if it's ok can you do a Cross sans x fem reader oneshot with fluff and spice. where the two are dating and the reader is kind, chill, tomboyish, plays guitar and has the soul of kindness. the plot is their friend Epic brings over candy/chocolate to share and the reader give Cross one through a kiss (cross may be a flirt when its just the two but can easily get flustered lol)

I've been aching to write some smut, gracias compañero.

NSFW under the cut!

Featuring: Cross.

Content warning: Fem reader, praising, first time (at least w Cross), soft sex, bite marks, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, cumming inside.

Masterlist

The sound of rain came from the outside of your house, you were playing your guitar while sitting on the couch next to your dear boyfriend, Cross, who was nuzzling kisses on your shoulder.

A knock on the door was heard, making the skeleton on your side get up to answer whoever was on the other side, in the meanwhile you decided to put away your guitar, storing it on your bedroom and going back to the living room.

"Epic?"

"Yo (_____)!! I was wondering where you were!"

Epic wraps his arms around you, his watery clothes getting yours wet, giving you a hug with a smile on his face.

"Heh, wanted to pass by ya know? See if y'all already made me a lil niece or nephew-"

"EPIC!!"

"What? I'm waiting for my adoptive brother to have a kid for me to spoil!"

Cross blushes furiously, his skull getting purple as he looks away to the ground, Epic chuckles as he grabs a box of chocolates out of seemingly nowhere offering it to your direction.

"By the way, brought you two a gift."

The skeleton looked at his wrist and then back at you.

"Oh look at the time, need to be going!"

He adds while heading to the door, waving goodbye with his hand and running towards the rain like a crazy man.

"...Why is he my best friend again?"

Cross asks turning his head to you, getting surprised when he saw half of the box already empty and your mouth chewing on small bits of chocolate.

"Already eating love?"

"Yup!"

He smiles and picks you up, walking to the couch while you continue eating, sitting down and placing you on his lap. His hand reaches for the remote, clicking a button and turning on the TV while his other hand holds your waist.

"Not going to give your boyfriend a piece?"

You giggle with chocolate in your mouth and move your face closer to his, crashing your lips on his and tongue kissing him, pushing the chocolate into his mouth and breaking the kiss.

"Mmh... Not sure what's sweeter, your mouth or the chocolate.."

Cross says as he swallows the chocolate, resting his arms on the back cushions. You grab his shirt and pull him to another kiss, this time you slowly rub your crotch against his, wrapping your arms around his neck catching a small glance of a purple glow coming from below before closing your eyes.

He broke the kiss and looked at you panting.

"Uhmmmm~ l-love... We shouldn't do this.."

"Why not huh Crossy?"

"W-What if I end up hurting you..?"

"Oh Cross... I know you won't... Plus is something we both want, isn't it?"

The skeleton blushes, a sign escaped his mouth, his hands removing his tank top and tossing it somewhere on the ground. Your hands touched his ribs and slowly trailed down to his ecto stomach to his covered erection, passing your hand around it.

You yelp as your back is suddenly pressed against the pillows, towering you. Cross's hand holding both your wrists while his other holds his pants and underwear down, exposing his hardened cock out. His fingers reaching for the bar of your shorts.

"You're way too clothed to my liking... Don't you think darling?"

He smirks and slips out your shorts, leaving you only in underwear and an oversized shirt. He starts rubbing his shaft against your covered entrance, drawing circles on your clit in a teasingly manner, making you arch your back a bit.

"Mmmh! C-Cross please..."

"Please what darling?"

He rubs harder, bending his back down to whisper in your ear.

"Tell me exactly what you want baby..."

"I want you to fuck me Cross! Please!"

He chuckles, letting your wrists free and trailing his hands to your underwear, ripping it out of the way.

"So wet already..."

Cross presses his tip against your entrance, his hands going up to your waist, lightly squeezing the soft skin.

"...(_____)? You're... Sure you want to do this?"

You nod, your eyes looking passionately at him with need.

"Alright... Tell me if it hurts too much.."

He slowly enters you, letting out a moan as he feels your warm hole tightening around his shaft. His hands wipe the small tears on your eyes while trying to stay as still as possible.

"Shh... It's okay it's okay pretty girl.. is it too much for you?"

"N-no...- j-just... Don't move for a bit Cross..."

He nods and trails kisses from your cheek down to your neck, nibbling and sucking the sensitive parts while his finger draws circles on your clit, his other hand still holding on your waist, yet more gentle than before.

You slowly move your hips up and then down, letting low moans as your hands wrap around the skeleton's shoulders. His hand moves from your clit to your waist once again, his hips slowly thrusting against yours.

"C-Cross.."

"Yeah pretty girl?"

"more.. please.."

He chuckles and starts going at a faster pace, his cock going in and out of you as your nails scratch his ribs, your skin clapping against his ecto while sweet kisses are given all over your neck. Cross moans were lower than yours, yet you could still hear them. You could feel a knot forming with every thrust he gave, your hand grabs the top of your hair as you tremble in pleasure.

"C-Cross.. I'm- ah! c-clooose..!"

"Huff... Me too pretty girl... Me too.."

His hand suddenly reaches for your leg between thrusts, quickly tossing it over his shoulder, giving him easy access to go deeper inside you.

"Ah.... (_____)... Want me to cum inside..?"

"Yes yes! Please Crossyy"

Your moans filled the living room as Cross's thrusts got sloopier and sloopier, his free hand touching your face and his thumb caressing your cheek as he makes one final thrust, coming inside your pussy as you cum too.

"Oh Cross... That was... Amazing.."

"I know sweetheart..."

He waits a few seconds before pulling out, cum spilling into the cushions as his arms wrapping around you. The skeleton flips you so you're laying in his chest as he grabs a nearby blanket on the couch and covers you both. He plants a kiss on your forehead seeing your eyes close.

"Rest well dear... Have nice dreams.."

He murmured softly, embracing you tightly as you fell into a deep peaceful slumber.

[writer4fun315]

I'll Take Care Of It

Mouthwashing has had me in a CHOKEHOLD for weeks, Anya's story especially. Jimbo, and by extension the player, brushing her death aside as though nothing of consequence left my mind stuck on it, wondering what happened behind that door before Daisuke got inside.

Story under the cut!

TW: Suicide, Rape, Unwanted Pregnancy, drug overdose, no happy endings here, Jimmy.

The medbay doors slid shut behind her, and Anya let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

He hadn’t caught her. She’d made it.

She quickly turned around and punched in the lock code, her hands shaking as she heard the mechanism whir into place. No one could get to her now. Not here.

Anya turned again, now staring at Curly.

Curly.

She didn’t really believe he had crashed the ship anymore. She wasn’t sure she’d really believed it to begin with or if she’d convinced herself of it. Convinced herself for him.

A shudder passed through her body, and Anya shook her head quickly and walked over to the injured man on the sole hospital bed that hadn’t been mangled when the Tulpar had been half-crushed by an asteroid.

“Hey, Captain,” she said softly, her eyes focused on his one remaining one. She was continually surprised that he seemed to have retained some vision in it, especially since his eyelid was long gone and the eye drops had run out in the first week.

But still, Curly turned his head ever so slightly, a pained whimper involuntarily escaping from his throat as he looked up at Anya. The white of his eye was almost entirely pink, and his pupil was permanently narrow.

Anya felt her stomach roll as she looked down, and the now-familiar feeling of her blood turning to lead returned with the memory of the thing inside her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said, and a single tear she hadn’t noticed splashed down against her hand. “I can’t. I can’t.”

Leaning down, she shakily pulled out the drawer of the medical table. She knew what a death by overdose looked like from her endless studying for medical school, and Anya decided that she’d try one more time to get the gun out of the case. Give herself just one mercy.

Curly’s unblinking eye stared down at her, and he made a loud, pained groan, struggling as though he wanted to flip onto his side.

“I have to, Curly,” Anya said, her voice suddenly calm despite the tears that now freely flowed down her blank, expressionless face. “I have to.”

She fiddled with the dial.

653.

No.

876.

No.

329.

No.

776.

No.

A knock on the door sent Anya flying to her feet as she twisted away from the gun case and towards the sound, her body trembling with terror as her blood went from lead to ice.

“Anya? Are you there?” a muffled voice called through the heavy door, but not the one she had feared expected. It was Daisuke. “No one’s seen you for a while, and I just wanted to check on you.”

Anya didn’t respond right away, taking a moment to steady her breath. “…Yes, Daisuke, I’m fine.” Curly let out a gasping groan behind her at this, but Anya couldn’t yet bring herself to move.

“The door won’t open,” the young man called. “Are you stuck in there? Should I get help?”

No!

Anya wanted to scream, to tell Daisuke to leave and not tell anyone, but she couldn’t make her mouth work.

“Anya?” she heard again, Daisuke’s voice now laced with concern. “Are you stuck in there?”

She wasn’t. She was safe in here. Daisuke couldn’t possibly understand it, so she couldn’t begin to respond.

Daisuke spoke again. “…I’m going to go get help, Anya, and we’ll free you from there in no time! Just wait one second!”

Dull footsteps thudded down the hallway outside the medbay, quickly fading out as Daisuke ran off.

“Shit,” Anya whispered and then turned as she fell to her knees, her shaking hands quickly finding the dial on the gun case. She felt like she was on fire from the inside out as she frantically tried new combinations.

234.

No.

435.

No.

654.

No.

736.

No.

738.

No.

“Hey, heard the lock’s broken.”

NO.

It was him.

Anya’s head snapped up, her eyes meeting Curly’s gaze as the sound of Jimmy’s voice started burning through the door like acid.

“Hey! Anya!” He yelled. “Can you hear me?”

She swallowed hard and stood, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes before turning to stand near the door. “…Yeah, I can hear you, Jimmy.” His name tasted like poison in her mouth, and her stomach lurched.

“The rest of our medicine stash is in there too.” He was talking to Daisuke, his voice quieter than before. “This could be bad.”

Anya felt a small huff of breath pass through her lips at that. Of course, that’s what he was worried about. The medicine that they could lose if the door were stuck shut, not her or Curly being trapped in here.

 They’d known each other for a long time, Curly had said.

They were friends. Fat lot of good that did him in the end, she thought. Even in the face of life or death, he couldn’t even pretend to give a shit about his so-called ‘friend’ suffering on a crappy medbay table.

“Did you try really putting your back into it?”

Anya didn’t bother to respond. She looked back into the room, her eyes landing on the cart of medicine next to Curly’s bed. She wasn’t going to get into that gun case.

“Any wrenches lying around?” Daisuke called. “How heavy is the med kit?!”

He was really worried about her, she realized. She supposed it wasn’t unwarranted from his perspective. What could she possibly say?

“…Anya,” the voice said again, making her flinch as her arms crossed protectively over her stomach. “Is the door stuck?”

It didn’t matter anyway. “No,” she admitted, and the ice that had been running through her since he made his presence known melted. Her arms dropped from her torso, and her shoulders straightened as a calm she had not felt since before she’d boarded the Tulpar filled her mind.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Daisuke cried out, and a loud banging noise echoed through the medbay as he pounded his fist against the door in a fruitless attempt to get it to open.

“Look, we’re all stressed,” came the voice, but the ice did not return to Anya’s veins. “But you can’t go breaking down at every little hardship. Open the damn door.”

A laugh fell from Anya’s lips at that. Every little hardship? They were screwed. They were all going to die. They should have been dead already. She should be dead already.

“…You were right,” Anya said to the door. “You were right all along. I should have done this from the beginning.”

She wasn’t going to get the goddamn gun.

“I always believed that our worst moments didn’t define us,” she said, speaking louder as she turned and walked to Curly’s side. “Didn’t make us beyond repair. You think I wanted this either?” A hand drifted to lightly rest on her stomach as she spoke. Anya reached out with the other and picked up a bottle of painkillers, staring at it.

A bitter smile found its way onto Anya’s lips as she looked up from the bottle, facing the door again. “Make no mistake, this is not my worst moment,” she said, voice steady, dripping with determination. “Far from it. It’s the best one I’ll ever make.”

He growled from the other side of the door as the sound of fists on metal shook the air again. “Open the door.”

Anya’s eyes went back to the bottle in her hand. “I’ll take care of it.” The ice that had previously filled her veins now stained her voice.

She barely heard Daisuke’s cry from outside as she looked at the label. “Anya? What does that mean? Anya!” The door shook, but she knew they couldn’t get it open.

Tearing her eyes away from the pills, Anya looked at Curly again, who had turned his head and was looking right at her.

“I’m so sorry,” she said to him. “I tried to get the gun. You don’t mind sharing your pills with me now, though, right?”  Curly’s raspy breath came out shallow and deep, his eyes darting between her hand and her face.

Anya’s grasp on the bottle tightened as she looked back down and wrapped her fingers around the cap, pushing down and twisting with all the strength she had in her delicate fingers.

Her stomach rolled.

"I wish you had given me the code before,” Anya said, “and then I could have shot us both now.” She tore her eyes away and looked back at Curly, who, of course, said nothing, only intently staring back at her.

“…‘Anything,’ you told me, do you remember?” she said, placing the top of the pill bottle gently on the cart. “You said you would have done anything to help if you’d known how I was feeling.” She paused, looking at him appraisingly for a moment. “Anything if it didn’t hurt his feelings, though, huh?” Anya huffed out a dry, humorless laugh as Curly’s eye averted from her face in shame.

Still, Anya stared at him. “I’m not mad at you, though, Curly.” The captain’s eye met her stare again, the strained blue dot shining as though he were about to cry. “You were trying to keep the peace. He was your friend. It’s easy to make excuses for your friends, and you weren’t trying to be cruel. The opposite, really.”

Swallowing pills dry is going to suck.

Anya glanced around the room, hoping to find something to wash them down with. Her eyes landed on a half-empty bottle of mouthwash lying on the counter against the wall. It was Swansea’s, but she hoped he wouldn’t mind her having just a few sips. There was plenty more in the cargo bay still.

Almost of their own volition, Anya’s feet moved, guiding her across the room where the bottle was. She picked it up and stared at it, watching the blue liquid swirl tantalizingly in the cheap plastic. It almost seemed to shine, she thought.

Curly groaned, loudly this time, and Anya’s eyes snapped up at the sound. She shuffled over to his bed, mouthwash in hand.

Anya stared into Curly’s unblinking, unfailing gaze as she approached his side. His eye was the same color as the mouthwash, she thought.

“I can feel it inside me,” she admitted, voice steadier than she thought it should have been. “It moves. It makes me want to tear my stomach open and rip it out every time it does.” Anya put down the pill bottle and mouthwash, moving to scratch at her abdomen through the fabric of her uniform. “It reminds me of him. It makes me feel it all over again.”

Curly whimpered as she spoke, a deep, gasping sob wracking his chest as his soul tried to force his body to cry.

Anya pulled a hand from her abdomen and gingerly rested her hand on Curly’s head, careful to avoid any areas not covered by bandages. She wished that she had the materials to change them one more time, just so they wouldn’t be wet. “I have to do this. It’s the only choice I can make.”

A long moment passed as Anya held Curly’s gaze. “Do you want to come with me, Cap?” She looked away, her eyes falling on the pills again. “I don’t have to leave you with him.”

Silence filled the room as Anya stared at the pill bottle. Pulling her hand off Curly’s head, she reached over and picked up the mouthwash, flicking off the cap and taking a huge swig of the stuff.

The menthol burned her throat as it went down. It felt cleansing. More cleansing than any shower that Anya had taken in months. She let out a groan as her shoulders sagged with relief, quickly knocking back another large swallow of the sickly sweet alcohol.

Her stomach moved. She shuddered and quickly took a third swig of the mouthwash, then a fourth.

Curly groaned loudly, and Anya looked over at him. “I haven’t touched it before this,” she told the man. “Do you want some?” He stared at her, unmoving, and she shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Her gaze turned back to the table, and she reached over, delicately lifting the bottle of painkillers and bringing it close before looking back at the man lying next to her. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” She received no response. “I’m sorry you have to see this, then. But thank you for keeping me company.”

Anya took a deep breath in. She released it slowly, then threw her head back and tossed all of the pills in the bottle into the back of her throat before drinking the last of the mouthwash in the bottle.

She blinked.

Huh.

While she knew she wouldn’t regret it, Anya had expected to feel some kind of fear after swallowing the pills, but instead, her mind fell quiet. She was not afraid of death. She was relieved to die.

With a shuddering breath, Anya smiled, sinking to the floor. It was over. She looked at Curly. “I forgive you for not doing anything when I told you about it,” she said to him. “It wasn’t out of cruelty. I know it wasn’t. It’s because you’re so determined to see the best in people.”

Anya’s mind drifted back to the night display in the main room of the ship.

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

“Why do you think Pony Express put a lock on the medical room door but not in the sleeping quarters?” Anya had asked. She faced the screen, having been looking at the dead pixel in the upper right corner, but her eyes slid to the side as she spoke, looking for Curly’s reaction.

He had cocked his head to the side, pondering for a moment, and Anya had held her breath.

“I suppose for the same reason they put a lock on the cockpit,” he said lightly, and Anya felt her heart drop.

“Safety.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding in a light chuckle, though it held no humor, as her eyes slid back to the screen, focusing on the black spot. “…Yeah. Safety.”

There would be no help from Curly, no matter how kind he was.

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

“I think he’s hurt you too, though, hasn’t he?” Anya asked, her head lolling to the side to meet his gaze. “I wanted you to understand, but not like this.” A cough rose in her throat, and she turned, not wanting to get anything on Curly’s exposed skin. Her body shuddered violently with the force, and her stomach turned.

Lifting a shaky hand to her face, Anya wiped her face, suddenly hot, but as she pulled it away again, the color on it caught her eye. Red.

Red?

Blood.

Oh.

She thought this would hurt. It looked so painful. But as Anya stared at the blood, she realized her body was numb.

Numb and still.

A laughing sob of relief forced its way out of Anya’s throat as she realized that she couldn’t feel it anymore. Couldn’t feel him. The mouthwash and the pills had cleaned him out of her and freed her from his touch and control.

More violent coughs wracked her body, but Anya couldn’t feel them. She was tired and warm. It was so comfortable here on the medbay floor.

“Anya…?” she heard, but the voice was muffled and far away. “What… what did you do?”

I got away from him, she thought as she stared into the welcoming flicker of the LED bulbs that lit the room. I’m free. The light filled her vision, inviting her to join it.

Anya let the light take her home.

[httpvomitello]

Hi! If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to request something. Our BAYVERSE boys (separately) meet April’s best friend. Over time, they fall in love with her. Although she’s kind and sweet, she’s also somewhat reserved and prefers that the guys don’t come to her house too often—not because she’s rude, but because she “wants to avoid her nosy neighbors seeing them.”

However, one night, the guys show up at her house unannounced and only see a little boy or girl who, upon seeing them, screams for their mom in fear. The reader rushes over, scared by the scream, and when they see her, her “secret” is revealed: she’s a single mother. She had avoided mentioning it or letting the guys come over when her child was around because she wanted to avoid the risk of them making her feel bad about how the child’s father used her and abandoned her when she got pregnant—or worse, rejecting her child. It’s not that she doesn’t trust them, but she and her child have already endured a lot of humiliation from others in the past due to the man who used her and left. She just wanted to avoid the risk and the pain of going through that again.

Hello, hello! Soo, I decided to do it in separate parts, because that way it will be easier to read. I hope you like it! ♡♡♡♡

Shell of Trust *⁠.⁠✧

The night was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a dog. Leonardo landed silently on the rooftop of your building, glancing down at the soft glow of light from your apartment window. It was late, but the others had finally convinced him to check in on you.

You’d been distant lately—kind but reserved. Leo understood boundaries better than most, but something about the way you always avoided having them over to your house tugged at his thoughts. You weren’t rude about it, just… firm. And while he respected that, he couldn’t help but feel like you were keeping something from them.

“You’re overthinking again,” he muttered to himself, leaping down to the fire escape. The light spilling through the curtain drew him closer.

Before he could knock, the faint sound of a child's laughter reached his ears. He froze.

Still, curiosity got the better of him, and he gently rapped his knuckles on the glass. The laughter stopped abruptly, replaced by a small, terrified scream.

“Mommy! Monster!”

The panic in the voice sent a wave of guilt crashing through him. He stepped back instinctively, heart racing. The sound of hurried footsteps followed, and you appeared at the window, eyes wide and startled.

When you saw him, relief flashed across your face, but it was quickly replaced by something else—an emotion he couldn’t quite place.

You slid the window open. “Leo?”

“Sorry,” he said quickly, his voice low and calm. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone. I—uh—just wanted to check on you.”

Behind you, a little girl peeked out from behind your legs, her wide, tear-filled eyes fixed on him. She clutched your hand tightly.

You turned, kneeling beside her. “It’s okay, Violet. He’s a friend of Mommy’s. He won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Leo’s heart clenched at the sight. The girl—your daughter—hid her face in your side, trembling slightly. He took a small step back, giving her space.

“I’m sorry,” you said, standing up and motioning him inside. “Come in, but… keep your voice down, okay? She’s still a little shaken.”

He climbed through the window carefully, his movements slow and deliberate. Once inside, he stood awkwardly, unsure where to look.

Your living room was cozy, with toys scattered here and there, and a faint aroma of something sweet lingered in the air. It felt… homey.

You guided Violet to the couch, sitting her down gently. “Stay here for a minute, okay, sweetheart? I’ll be right back.”

She nodded hesitantly, her eyes darting back to Leo as you led him into the kitchen.

The moment the door closed, you turned to face him. “I’m sorry, Leo. I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

“Find out what?” he asked softly, though he already knew the answer.

You sighed, crossing your arms protectively. “About Violet. About me.”

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You hesitated, leaning against the counter. “Because… I didn’t know how. People judge single moms all the time. They assume we’ve made mistakes, that we’re damaged goods. I didn’t want you—or the others—to look at me like that.”

Leo’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer. “We’d never think that about you.”

You shook your head, your voice trembling slightly. “You say that now, but I’ve heard it all before. People pretending to understand, pretending it doesn’t matter, but then they change. They look at Violet like she’s some kind of burden. I couldn’t risk that—not for her and not for me.”

Leo’s chest tightened at the pain in your voice. He could see now how much this secret had weighed on you, how deeply you had wanted to protect your daughter.

“Do you really think I’d be like that?” he asked quietly.

Your eyes met his, uncertainty flickering in them. “I don’t know. I wanted to trust you, but… I’ve been wrong about people before.”

He nodded slowly, taking in your words. “I understand why you’d feel that way. But you don’t have to hide this from me—or any of us. You’re an amazing person, and from what I’ve seen, an incredible mom. Violet is lucky to have you.”

Your lips parted in surprise, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. His words were genuine, unshakable, and they struck a chord deep within you.

“She’s my whole world,” you whispered. “I just… I didn’t want anyone making her feel like she wasn’t enough.”

Leo smiled softly. “She’s more than enough. And so are you.”

The tension in your shoulders eased, and you let out a shaky laugh. “You’re really something, you know that?”

“Good something, I hope,” he said, his tone light.

You nodded, a genuine smile breaking through. “The best something.”

From the living room, Violet called out hesitantly, “Mommy?”

You turned toward the door. “I’m here, sweetheart.”

Leo stepped aside as you went to check on her, but not before glancing at him over your shoulder. “Thank you, Leo. For being… you.”

As you disappeared into the other room, he leaned against the counter, a small smile tugging at his lips. He’d always admired your strength, but tonight, he saw a whole new side of you—and he was more certain than ever that you were someone worth fighting for.

[anisespice]

“ baby steps ” || tokyo rev.

continuation of this post.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, ran, sanzu ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, ANGST w/ comfort (mostly in mikey's), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be A LOT of errors :// mikey's is LONG, ran + sanzu's are silly goofy, mikey + sanzu's are a lil unhinged lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: can i just say thank y'all so much for showing "accidents happen" the love that i didn't think it would get, it was made on a whim so i'm so so so happy y'all enjoyed! i tagged as many as i could (or that tumblr would allow) sorry if i missed some of you :( thank you for your patience and let me know how you feel about this continuation format :) !! notes ii: also also, pt. 2 for "accidents happen" coming soon! notes iii: MY COMPUTER CRASHED AND I THOUGHT I LOST EVERYTHING BUT IT'S OKAY IT'S OKAY :'))))

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @illegalspacecow , @captaincyberqueen , @cherryblossiren , @niragiswhore , @awkwardaardvarkforever , @valentsoup , @lovely212 , @miffysoo , @yandere-kouhai , @i-am-just-a-girl-ur-honor , @wisteriarose214 , @kindadolly , @yuwaimo , @sweetbella1221 , @simpingfor-wakasa , @sirachano0dles , @yutahg , @slowlikehonee , @blurpleuni-squid , @haruchiyoreen , @istanstraykidss , @loyard176 , @msluccapotato , @luv444lay , @backgroundcharactera , @jegelskeranime

Ever since you picked up your daughter, there’s been a hovering presence that wouldn’t go away no matter where you went. From the park, to the grocery store, all the way home it clung to you like a bad itch. Despite looking over your shoulder and being met without any sort of threat, that didn’t stop the uneasy feeling. And it only intensified when you received a knock on your front door.

You made a confused hum, checking the time on the microwave to confirm that it was indeed past the reasonable hour for potential visitors. Not to mention, you weren’t expecting anyone.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, instincts telling you that something wasn’t right, that your best option was to pretend you weren’t home. However, the person on the other side knew otherwise as they knocked on the door again, this time with more fervor. You inhaled sharply, taking hesitant steps towards the door until you were mere feet away from it. Eventually, you worked up the courage to look through the peephole, your brows furrowing in distress when all you could see was black—They were covering it. All the more reason not to open the door…

What if it’s a robber? Ridiculous, they don’t knock.

What if it’s just the neighbor? Why cover the peephole?

More and more did your mind swirl with endless possibilities, each one becoming less and less believable. Taking a long, deep breath, you doubled-checked the door-chain was on before slowly cracking it open. And as you attempted to peek through the sliver, nothing could’ve prepared you for the arm that forced its way through, startling you as you yelped, stumbling back as it made a grab at you.

Before you had the thought of shoving the door closed on the offender’s arm they grabbed the little chain, then yanked it clean out of the wall. To your terror, a dark hooded figure entered your home, head hung low, concealing their identity.

You began to hyperventilate, backing up to keep distance as they staggered further into your home before kicking the door closed behind them, effectively blocking you from the exit. Surely, someone heard your scream and would check in, or call the police. But, how long did you have before the intruder decided to make a move? Not to mention, your sleeping child just down the hall…

With that last thought in mind, you immediately steeled your nerves.

Even if you had to use your bare hands, you were going to do whatever it took to keep your baby out of harms way.

You reached for the closest weapon without taking your eyes off the figure, hands clasping onto a discarded umbrella that was leaned up against a closet door. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. Taking a defensive stance, you prepared for what you assumed to be the inevitable.

“I-I don’t know who you are, or what you want…b-but if you don’t leave…my..my boyfriend will be home any minute! H-He knows how to fight, and he’ll fuck you up if you try anything!”

Your means of intimation fall on deaf ears. It were as if you hadn’t spoken at all. They just…stood there. Watching you from the darkness. That feeling, that hovering presence you’d been weary about all evening…there was no doubt in your mind it was because of this individual. Suddenly, they gave a watery chuckle, hand coming up to rub the lower half of their face as the chilling noise dissipated into soft snickers.

You sweatdropped. “I mean it! He’ll be here real soon, so you better get out of here before-”

“[_____]…” the figure finally rasped, voice heavy with an emotion you couldn’t decipher in the moment. You froze, eyes widening.

“…How the hell do you know my name?”

Without much urgency, they stepped forward into the light. Beneath the warm glow, it took you mere seconds to recognize the person standing before you. You gasped, trembling hands dropping the umbrella, it landing with a harsh clatter. Soft, mortified hitches in your breath echoed through the small space, memories flashing before your eyes as you covered your gaping mouth.

“M.. Ma..” you whimpered, throat tightening. A shell of a man, who gazed upon you with stormy eyes flooded with tears at the mere sight of you.

He gave another strained laugh, muttering to himself as he soaked you all in. “Needed to know.. Needed to know it was really you…”

Mikey eyed you up, intensely, eerily silent as he did so. Then, he took in the surroundings, the warmth, the interior, the smell of dinner—It truly felt like a home. A bitter pill to swallow once he reminded himself that you built it without him.

His sharp gaze returned to your stunned expression. He sneered.

“Must’ve been easy for you. To forget me and move on, just like that. Like I was nothing.”

You blinked, taken aback. All you could do was remain speechless, cemented to the ground with thoughts and questions racing in your head. Now matter how many times you opened your mouth, no sound would come out aside from choked whimpers.

“Do you know…how long I’d been searching for you? Been mourning for you?” He hissed through clenched teeth. “When you left, I thought… I thought someone had taken you. That I lost you all because I was too stubborn to say I’m sorry…”

As he spoke, Mikey slowly closed the space between you. The more he came into the light, the more you could see how the years had treated him. His cheekbones were more pronounced, the dark circles under his eyes as well. His lips were dry, cracked, his fair skin now ghoulishly pale. If not for the black hoodie you would’ve mistaken him as such; ghost of your past.

Your shoulders shook, hands hovering over your face as you gaped in disbelief. He’d been looking for you?

That night, that stupid fight you could barely remember…he made it crystal clear that he wanted nothing to do with you. He pushed you away. Pushed so hard that you almost believed he really wouldn’t have cared if you dropped dead. You knew he didn’t mean it, knew it was just another dark impulse…but none of that mattered when all your pregnancy tests came back positive just hours prior.

That night, you made the decision for the sake of your daughter. And also, for his sake. At the time, you were certain he wasn’t ready to be a father. He was quick to rage, merciless, losing himself to the darkness you tried to protect him from. If you had stayed, you were certain Mikey would’ve never forgiven himself if he lost control in front of his own flesh and blood, if the child grew to resent him for something he struggled to control.

You thought you were doing him a favor…but it appears to have done the opposite.

“And this whole time…you’ve been here, alive. Playing fucking house with someone else.”

You stiffened. Someone else? Your visible confusion only irritated him further.

He scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. You said it yourself. Too bad he won’t be coming home anytime soon. I’ve already got Sanzu and the Haitanis looking around for the bastard. And when they find him, I’ll make him regret sticking his filthy dick inside you.”

Confusion morphed into realization. You did threaten him with said hypothetical boyfriend…But, that was before you knew it was him!

“Oh, Manjiro…” you whispered. He glared, scorned.

“Don’t you dare pity me. I mean, you got the family you always wanted, right? So who cares who it was with, right? Congratu-fucking-lations.”

You shook your head, exhaling deeply as you held your face in your hands. For years, he thought you dead. Then, when he received word of your appearance, he finds you with child. And not once did he consider that child to be his? It’s like…he couldn’t fathom the thought.

If only he had looked just a little bit closer, he would’ve seen that she had his eyes. How they resembled those pools of ink that used to shine with so much hope back in his youth, so playful and full of love…those same eyes that now gazed upon you with contempt.

It stung.

He thought so low, not only of himself, but of you as well.

Taking a deep breath to reel in your emotions, tears began to well up in your eyes. He assumed they were tears for your doomed lover, further breaking his heart as Mikey clenched his fists to the point of nearly drawing blood. Luckily, even though you struggled to find the right words, someone else happily found them for you.

“Papa..?”

Both of you instantly drew your attention on the toddler standing near the kitchen, one fist clutching her blanket while the other rubbed the sleep from her eye. You glanced at Mikey, and he was stiller than stone. His once dead-stare had morphed into what could only be described as incredulous. Surely, he heard her incorrectly…

With a sniffle, you crouched down to address her, offering a soft grin as you nodded earnestly. “That’s right, sweetheart. Papa’s finally come home.”

The little girl blinked sleepily, taking a second to reboot. But, as soon as the words registered, a bright smile stretched across her face as she excitedly rushed towards Mikey, throwing herself onto his legs and hugging them like a koala as she chirped, “Papa, home!”

Said man hobbled a bit at the force, arms windmilling as he caught himself to keep from falling backwards. He didn’t know what to do with himself, especially when those big, round pools of ink opened and stared right up into his soul. Mikey’s heart nearly stopped. With a hitch in his breath, the gangster did everything he could to hold his composure, looking between you and the child as you both gazed at him with so much warmth…it was suffocating.

Sensing he was overwhelmed, you reached down to scoop up the bubbly bundle, holding her close as you eyed Mikey, apprehensively.

He resembled a cornered animal—Muscles stiff, jaw tight, eyes wild. After a moment, Mikey began to slowly back away into the shadows of your home, conflicted, devastated. It wasn’t until his back hit the door did he eventually fall to his ass, of which caused your child to giggle at how silly he was being. However, all you could do was hold back tears, watching as the reality started to weigh down on a man who just discovered he was a father.

Nervous, you gently explained. “I didn’t leave you because of our spat, Jiro…and I never moved on. I just…thought that I’d be doing more harm than good sticking around when I found out I was pregnant…I didn’t want to add any more stress on your plate, so I…”

Mikey didn’t respond. He sat there, stare vast and unfocused. But, you knew he hung on to every word. So you continued. “I wanted to tell you. But…I wasn’t sure how. At the time, I believed you had stopped caring about me altogether. And to hear you’d been looking for me, I-I’m…I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you harbored all that guilt. I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”

Your daughter wiggled around in your hold, making small grunts in complaint. Her eyes were trained on his figure huddled in the dark, wanting to be acknowledged, wanting his attention. “Papa!”

Mikey flinched. He focused his gaze on the two you, haloed by the light emitting from the living room. You both were like salvation, reaching down to a broken sinner…How could she want anything to do with him? When he had missed so much already…

To keep from accidentally dropping her, you placed your daughter back on the ground, watching wearily as she wobbled all the way to Mikey, blanket in tow. You weren’t worried about him hurting her, far from it…if anything, he appeared to be the fragile one.

Eventually, she made it to her destination, standing before him with a curious, but eager expression as she rested a hand on his knee. Mikey watched her, took in all of her features, every last detail as he engraved it to memory. She was beautiful, just like her mother. One would think his genes didn’t stand a chance. But the eyes. That was all him. From his mother to his older brother to himself, there was no doubt in his mind that those were Sano eyes.

His lower lip quivered, reaching out hesitantly to caress her cheek. She didn’t cower away, merely babbled as she began patting his knee, allowing his thumb to rub over her chubby cheek. You clasped your hands over your mouth, growing even more emotional at the delicate moment. Mikey looked enamored already, eyes subtly sparkling from what you could see as they interacted.

“I-I told her stories, about you. And I made sure to show her photos, too. Old ones, but still you nonetheless. I wanted her to know who her father truly was. Despite everything else…”

Your daughter cooed, then placed her blanket in Mikey’s lap before climbing into it. Mikey didn’t dare move, rigid as she made herself comfortable. He looked up at you, looking for guidance, for reassurance. Your encouraging smile was enough for him to hesitantly place his hands on her small back for support, carefully adjusting so that she was stable. She laid her head on his chest and stuck her thumb in her mouth, sighing contentedly.

And, for the first time in years, he smiled.

When you hadn’t seen her familiar pigtails bobbing around, or heard any of her excited chatter with the receptionist up front, worry couldn’t even begin to describe what you felt the moment you realize…your daughter wasn’t here.

As soon as the meeting looked like it was wrapping up, you politely excused yourself from the room. Masking your worry wasn't too difficult, but there's no doubt a couple people might've noticed the spring in your step as you exited. One of them being Rindou Haitani. He watched you speed down the hall with mild interest, corner of his mouth ticking up ever so slightly as he thumbed around on his phone beneath the table. Having been updating his older brother during the meeting while he was on his smoke break, he was more than eager to inform him of the storm that was no doubt heading his way.

Little did the younger Haitani know, he was already dealing with one.

"And then, Haruka-kun tries to take Momo-kun's bento box because she had cuter animal shapes, but Momo-kun already said no, and so Haruka-kun pushes Momo-kun, and then tries to take it! But I pushed him and hit him with my fist, like this," she clenched up her tiny fist and held it up to Ran before striking down on his forearm with all her might. It didn't even pitch. "Like that."

The lavender-eyed man merely gazed upon her with mirth. "Did you now?"

"Mmhm! And teacher got so mad, and said that she would tell Ma about me fighting, but she's stupid because Ma didn't pick me up today, and I told Haruka-kun if he snitches, I'll beat 'em up!"

Ran lowly whistled. "Quite the little menace, ain'tcha?"

She pumped her fists. "Yeah!" Then, she paused, holding a finger to her chin in thought. "Wait...what's a menace?"

"Ah, something you inherited from your old man." He ruffled her hair, much to her displeasure. Though her innocent jab earlier regarding his age still hit a sore spot, he was starting to like the sound of it. She, on the other hand, wasn't convinced.

"I already told you; Ma was on her happy juice when she said that. She said not to believe anything she says when she's on happy juice. It makes her do silly things."

Ran chuckled. He knew that all too well. The little girl wouldn't be in this world if not for your inability to hold your liquor. But judging based on how you've raised her so far, clearly you made the right decision keeping him in the dark.

He'll admit, he wasn't the best in terms of commitment. Throughout his day to day, Ran just didn't have the energy. With being in Bonten, keeping an eye out for his younger brother, handling business, dealing with numbskulls and disposing of their bodies, there was never a time to even consider settling down. One-night stands and on and off flings were the easiest choice. At least, until he stumbled upon you.

You were the whole package and more. Classy, independent, witty, and a looker to top it all off. When Bonten started collaborating with the organization you worked in, he couldn't help but to be drawn to you—Like a moth to a flame. It started out as the occasional bantering, trying to one-up the other, catch them off guard. Ran was smooth with his words but could never quite beat your sharp tongue. Thus, things escalated to something more flirtatious. Harmless, but it didn't take long before the months of tension between the both of you began boiling over...and throwing alcohol into the mix, it was the first time Ran finally felt like he had the upper hand. Seeing how poorly you handled just a few glasses of wine, it endeared him. Seeing a piece of you that no one else had the privilege to witness. Your sloppy side, the clumsy, whiny, touchy side. After that long, passionate night beneath the sheets, the one time you and Ran allowed yourselves the space to be vulnerable with one another...you found yourself pregnant. And Ran found himself being nonethewiser.

He wonders, if he hadn't left the next morning and completely ghosted you...would you have kept him in the picture?

Suddenly, his phone dings. Reaching back to pull it from his back pocket, Ran half expected it to just be another update on the meeting or Rindou cursing at him to hurry his ass back inside. But, it wasn't that at all. And at the sound of your kitten heels rushing out of the building and halting at the top of the steps, Ran didn't even need to look up to know who was glowering down from them.

"Hey, Ma! Guess what, the purple man isn't such a meanie after all!"

Ran snorted, finally looking up from his phone to greet the woman who not only still had his heart, but evidently his first child. You, on the other hand, weren't so thrilled to see him.

"Rika. Wait inside. Ma's got some words for the purple man."

He smirked. "Wanna say 'em over a glass of wine?"

"You son of a-!"

"Bad word!" Your daughter covered her ears. You flushed, your composure nearly slipping just by being in his prescence. Ran, immediately seeing the opportunity, teasingly pouts at you whilst covering her tiny hands with his larger ones, shielding her.

"Honey, please, not in front of the child. Can't have her repeating those dirty words at school, can we?"

You fumed, speaking through clenched teeth. "Haitani, as soon as I get her in this building, away from you, I swear to God, I'm gonna wring your neck."

He hummed, amused. "Well. Guess she didn't get her violent side from me after all. Speaking of which, did you know at school today-"

"Hey! No snitching!"

“...What did you say?” 

You were hoping you heard the teacher wrong. Surely it was just your exhaustion taking the wheel. But, when her kind smile didn’t falter, nor did her gushes for the supposed “adorable display”, you immediately grew suspicious.

While heading home from work, you went to pick up your children from daycare. And when you arrived, the teacher merely informed you that it was already taken care of by your very handsome and very devoted husband. 

“I-I think you’re mistaken. My boyfriend and I aren’t married…”

The teacher, finally coming back down to earth, tilted her head in confusion. “Eh? You aren’t?” 

“Did he…say we were?” 

“Well, no. I just assumed since it was easy to tell who he was here for. Hikaru and Kaoru look so much like their daddy.”

You choked on your spit.  Hikaru and Kaoru look so much like their daddy. Hikaru and Kaoru look so much like their daddy.

You did everything in your power to keep from strangling the poor woman. Sure, she didn’t do anything wrong per say…but she sure did make a grave error. And your struggle to restrain your intrusive thoughts must’ve shown on your face from the way she placed a concerned hand on your arm. “Are you alright, miss? You look like you’re about to faint.”

“M-Mhm, yep, great, just peachy.” You squeaked through clenched teeth, sweatdrop on your forehead. “Could you um…confirm something for me?”

“Uh.? Er, sure. I’ll try my best.”

With tense shoulders and a tight smile, you asked, “Their…father…did his mouth have two scars in the corners?”

The teacher blinked, confused. Shouldn’t you already know that answer yourself?, she was probably thinking. And she would be right; you did know. But her simple, hesitant nod was the final nail in the coffin that was your delusion—Haruchiyo Sanzu had found you. And to make matters worse, he had the children.

Your smile faltered, twitching ever so slightly. Covering it with a forced chuckle, you cried, “Oh, that’s..wonderful! He’s always been self conscious about them, and I’m j-just.. beaming with joy that he’s embracing them more. Have a nice evening, Ms. Yuki.”

The teacher didn’t get a chance to respond as you quickly turned on your heel and began speed walking home. You’d apologize for your abrupt exit another day…right now there were more important matters to worry about. For instance—How on earth did Sanzu find you? How did he know about the twins and where they were? Oh, God…did he know about Satoru?

Dialing him up a few times only for the calls to go straight to voicemail weren’t reassuring in the slightest, having you rush across oncoming traffic just so you could avoid any further delays for your fraying nerves. You could see your apartment complex up ahead, heart thumping in your throat at the familiar, black SUV parked a couple blocks down. Had it not been for the heavily tinted windows and no license plates, you probably would’ve overlooked it. He knew where you lived. Stomach in knots, muscles stiff, nerves shot. You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or devastated. Your kids were safe at home, but at what cost? You stood in front of the building, rooted to the ground. Despite mentally preparing for this exact scenario for years, it all went down the drain the second you went to that daycare and discovered your children were missing.

It wasn’t until your phone vibrated did you snap out of your thoughts, shakily pulling the device out of your back pocket to check the notification.

from : unknown 1:06 pm     “ hi, mama.~ ”

Your stomach twisted. Attached to the message were two photos.

The first photo was of your kids eating McDonald's in the kitchen, happily cheesing and waving at the camera. You couldn't hold your choked gasp, hand coming up to hold your quivering lower lip—They were safe.

The second photo...was of Satoru. Tied to a chair, gagged, and beaten senseless. And standing behind him, holding him by his hair so that he could pose for the camera, grinning like a cheshire cat...

Another message pops up. Your grip tightened around your phone.

from : unknown 1:09 pm " daddy's home.~ "

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[taco-rambles]

DC XDP prompt: Danny falls out of a portal literally into Batmans arms in a JL meeting.

Feel free to play with this. I probably will write more, but I'm STUCK and don't know how to write the JL or anyone else for that matter.

XXX

The Justice League meeting had gone very well. For once there were no major crisis from anyone attending, and all of the regular members of the league were in attendance. A few of the second row hero’s had begged off for one reason or another, but nothing that was a threat of any real kind.

Batman was wary, and on edge as the meeting wrapped up. It was never this simple, it just couldn’t be. There was always some kind of threat to keep an eye on, but the worst thing that had come up during the meeting were routine security updates.

No one else seemed to be on edge from the far too calm, routine meeting, and Bruce had just about convinced himself that it was really just one of those meetings where nothing outrageous would happen. It was ideal even…

Then the alarms went off, in the specific modulation that indicated a magical incursion.

Batman wasn’t the only one who’s hands went to weapons when the portal materialized above the meeting room table only a moment after the alarm went off. Swirling lazarus green had him ready for the fight even as the rest of the league went into defensive positions around the incursion.

“What…” Flash started to ask about a minute later when nothing had happened yet, the alarms still blaring.

That’s when something came flying out of the portal, at speed, back first.

Batman had a split second to decide to attack… or not. A split second to try to process the impressions and decide if this was an attack.

The portal closed as he cradled the small body that had crashed into his arms, the alarms silencing a moment later as the rest of the league tried to catch up, all of them wondering if this was some new threat.

Batman looked down at the child in his arms, a boy in his mid teens and small for his age, with white hair framing a frighteningly familiar looking face, gently pointed ears, and fangs in a mouth that gasped for breath against pain. The eyes were closed, twisted tight as the child clutched at his chest and belly, holding together severed flesh that leaked lazarus green blood from a clinical and too regular wound. Fingers tipped with small claws spasmed, tears coming from closed eyes.

“Batman?” Wonder Woman asked, Diana’s voice filled with concern as Bruce wrapped the child in his arms and stood up from where he had been knocked on his ass catching said child.

“Call down to medical. Severely wounded unknown,” he snapped, moving towards the door, only to stop as there was a flash of light in his arms, and the child suddenly gained a solid weight that was closer to human. The blood dripping from passed out hands was now brilliant red, fingertips blunt with chewed nails, the boy’s skin going from pale white to… a healthier tone.

Bruce consciously stopped cataloging his observations then, swiftly making his way to medical. Whatever this boy was, whether he intended to tug at Batman’s heart the way he was or not, was severely wounded and needed medical attention immediately.

He could process it all, and wonder why a child looking exactly like Damian Wayne had been thrown into his arms through a lazarus portal later.

XXXXX

An hour later, after a discreet call to his youngest just to be sure, Bruce watched the now sedated child in the medical cot, working on trying to face match the databases and find out if the child came from earth or not.

The searches primarily turned up Damian Wayne. Bruce knew for certain this child was not his son, but he was also running a DNA analysis because this Might be his son. It made a disheartening amount of sense for this boy to be another version of Damien, perhaps from another dimension, or some manner of clone, or perhaps Talia had simply hidden another child of his away… Bruce needed to narrow down the possibilities, to find the truth.

Of course, it was equally possible that this boy was some manner of mimic, taking on a form that would ensure his safety in unknown environment, a shape shifter intentionally injuring himself in order to infiltrate the Watchtower. Though that last theory didn’t make sense for a number of reasons. Most shape shifters would be secure enough in their abilities to simply try to mimic someone who already had access to the watch tower, to say nothing of the boy’s dramatic entrance.

Batman wasn’t thinking logically. Bruce couldn’t simply leave the boy here though. Not until he knew more, everything relevant by preference. The thought that this might be his son in any way was enough to keep him near, but he could already tell he was compromised.

He had already informed Diana and Clark, and both of them had agreed that he should stay nearby until they had the situation sorted out.

Bruce had been stuck in a circular though pattern for about fifteen minutes when a green form came into the room, J’onn looking at him calmly.

“Can you find anything out?” Batman asked without preamble, unable to bring himself to observe polite pleasantries when he was so unsettled.

“Nothing beyond surface thoughts. The boy’s mind is static and pain of the emotional kind,” J’onn stated after a moment.

Batman nodded, accepting the answer. J’onn’s abilities weren’t always the answer to everything, could indeed often be a crutch that led to the wrong answers. But they could also give the Justice League a starting point often enough.

“You should rest friend. It is unlikely that the boy will awaken soon…” J’onn cut himself off with a quiet look at the boy. “Or not. He’s coming around.”

Batman watched as the child’s eyes blinked open, drowsy expression turning to the two heros without much recognition. Bruce didn’t let himself react, kept himself in a calm pose even as his mind once more went into overdrive.

The boy had blue eyes, not green like Damian's.

[littlelamy]

toxic!rafe x kook!reader ; rafe has soft spot for you

“where’s your little princess, rafe?” topper laughs taking a swig of his beer. “is she still mad that you beat up that pogue yesterday?” topper sits down next to a high rafe.

“i don’t care where she is,” rafe says lying through his teeth. earlier in the day topper, rafe, and some other kooks decided to remind pogues that the golf course is for kooks only. not knowing that y/n was surprising rafe with a little noon make up session. once y/n got to the course she saw rafe and his little entourage beating a defenseless pogue. obviously y/n, a new kook, didn’t like it at all. she knew rafe could get a little crazy at times but she was shocked he would do so randomly. she able to stop them from almost killing the pogue but decided she needed to punish rafe meaning NO TOUCHING.

if you were any body else he wouldn’t have a problem but be a you’re his. to shake him from your rejection, rafe need more that just one line. his spent the last two hours drinking and smoking to calm his mind and not think of you, but he just can’t let you go.

"there she is," kelce says looking at the sexy sight. you were wearing the short pink dress rafe loved, with your pretty legs glowing and pink heels laced around your ankles. it was like a goddess appeared before him. you were his fantasy and it killed him that he could just grab you and teach you a lesson in front of all his friends.

"damn she looks hotter than normal," topper laughs wrapping his arms around rafe's neck. "rafe, dude, she looks super sexy tonight. are you going to let these guys hit it?''

"shut up dude," rafe throws topper's arm off. "i can't believe she would dress that slutty," rafe groans with anger. "i'm going to get her and teach are lesson.''

rafe gets up storming at you but not before wiping the white powder off his nose. you, oblivious to rafe's anger twirl your hair, smiling and giggling with the other partygoers, get a hard lesson when rafe randomly grabs you and pulls into the nearest coat closet.

"what the hell," you groan out of surprise. "rafe what are doing?'' rafe locks the door to the closet and stares at you out of anger but mainly desire. "i'm still mad at you for what you did." you huff and folding your arms over your chest.

it was silent for a couple of minutes until rafe broke the silence. "okay damn i'm sorry," rafe says in an exasperated tone. "i should have never beat him with my club, he just pissed me off so i wanted to teach him a lesson."

shocked, you stood there surprised that rafe apologized, which is something that he rarely does. it was kinda hot though. driven by your impulse, you grab his embarrassed face and crash your lips into his. it was passionate and wet yet just what you both need.

while one his hands was in your hair the other was slowly going down your body. "wait, rafe not here,'' you moan as he continues to kiss you. "lets go back to mine, my parents aren't home," you smile as he kisses your neck, mumbling an 'okay baby.'

[fastandcarlos]

Unexpected Pregnancy : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: your heart sinks as the positive sign appears, terrified to tell charles your unexpected news

Everything felt as if it was crashing down around as your eyes landed on the positive mark in front of you. Immediately your mind thought of Charles, your stomach dropping as reality very quickly set in for you. 

A baby was the last thing that the two of you needed with how busy you were. Most weeks you were barely in the same country, your careers were in two completely different spots, and how you were ever going to be able to come together and raise a child was a question you couldn’t even begin to answer. 

You couldn’t help but worry about how Charles would react, terrified of what might come your way. Your heart raced as you heard him walking through the apartment, knowing you were about to deliver either the best news of his life, or the worst news. 

A gentle knock at the door pulled you away from your thoughts, Charles calling through to see if you were alright. He didn’t know what was going on, but as time continued to pass, he couldn’t help but worry that something was going on with you. 

“I’m just coming,” you sighed, placing the test into your back pocket before walking out, taking a hold of Charles’ hand and leading him over to the sofa. 

“What’s going on? What’s with the rush love?” Charles questioned, barely able to keep up with you as you hurriedly sat him down, deciding to sit with a little bit of distance between you both. 

It took you a moment to find your composure, unsure of the right thing to say or do. However when Charles rested his hand against your shoulder, you finally looked up and across at him. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, watching as Charles’ brows knitted together, eyes narrowing in on you in confusion as to what was going on. 

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, you’ve not done anything to hurt me, have you?” 

The silence that followed was worrying for Charles, beginning to fret. He couldn’t think of any reason for you to say sorry, frightened that something had happened though that he knew nothing about. 

“Talk to me, we can sort whatever the problem is,” Charles encouraged, his eyes desperately searching for yours in an attempt to reassure you. 

The confidence you originally had to tell Charles had well and truly disappeared, fighting with yourself as to whether you were doing the right thing anymore or not. 

You were unaware of the affects you were having on Charles either, his heart racing as he overthought everything. It was clear to him whatever was going on had had a huge impact on you, desperate to help try and fix whatever it was that was troubling you. 

“Love, I promise me you could tell me absolutely anything and we’d be able to get through it,” Charles calmly spoke, shuffling along the sofa that he was sat right beside you. “It could be the worst thing in the world, but I’m sure that we can work it out.” 

Your head shook back at Charles, “it’s not as easy as that Charles, I don’t know whether you’d even want to be with me after I tell you this.” 

“What?” He chuckled, “whatever it is, I’m still going to want to be with you.” 

Your free hand reached back, taking the test out and placing it on the table in front of you. “I’m pregnant Charles, we’re going to have a baby,” you muttered. 

“A baby?” Charles replied, his voice sounding full of enthusiasm. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been sat there thinking that I’ll leave you because you’re pregnant.” 

It was the complete opposite reaction from the one you were expecting, glancing to your left and seeing a wide smile on Charles’ face. He reached forwards and picked up the test, making sure that he got a good look at the positive mark for himself. 

“Why would you ever think I’d be upset about this?” Charles asked you, chuckling away to himself. “You know how much I want to have children with you.” 

“But it’s so much earlier than we wanted to,” you reminded him, “and we’re both so busy, you’re racing around the world, there’s so many things to think about Charles.” 

“I know, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t do it.” 

“You think we can?” You quizzed, almost sounding doubtful as to how you would make it work. “I’m worried Charles, I don’t want this to end up getting in the way of your career.” 

Admittedly, you might be settling down together sooner than Charles imagined, but Charles was confident you could make it work. He’d planned how a family would work out so many times in his head, thinking about all possible scenarios so when the time came, he was on it. 

“I get that it’s a bit scary suddenly finding this out, but we can do it,” Charles told you, squeezing against your hand. “I’m not mad, I’m excited, it’s going to be difficult, but we’ve never exactly made life easy for ourselves, have we? We’re used to doing things the tricky way.” 

“I don’t want to end up doing all of this alone though Charles, when you’re at work.” 

His head shook, refusing to let you panic about such a thing. “You’re my priority from now on, you’re having my baby after all.  I’m going to be here for you every second of the way, whether I’m here or on the other side of the world, I will always find a way to make sure I’m here for you.” 

It wasn’t just words of reassurance from Charles, you knew him well enough to know how much he meant it too. He didn’t care who he upset, he always did what he needed to do, and that was especially the case now that he knew that you were having his baby too. 

“I think I’m just in shock, I never imagined this happening so suddenly.” 

Charles nodded in agreement with you, it was a shock for him too, but he was sure that you would be able to do it once the shock had subsided. 

“Whenever you’re worrying or scared, I want you to tell me,” Charles smiled, pressing a kiss against the top of your head. “The last thing that you should be doing is going through this alone.” 

“I promise I’ll talk to you,” you replied, resting your head down against Charles’ shoulder. “I’m sorry I made you panic a little about what was going on. I just couldn’t find the words, and I was terrified as to how you’d react about it too.” 

Charles’ arm wrapped around your frame, “I get it, I’d be exactly the same. I’m just glad that you weren’t about to break up with me.” 

“I don’t think I’d ever be stupid enough to break up with you, even if I had the worst news in the world. I’d have to be out of my mind.” 

Charles chuckled as you spoke, “well, you know what they say about pregnant women and hormones, who knows what you’re going to be capable of over the next nine months.” 

“You sound scared to live with a pregnant woman.” 

“Oh, I am absolutely terrified!” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[pucksandpower]

Do-Over

Logan Sargeant x Andretti!Reader

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

Logan’s hands are shaking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

September 10th, 2022.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

You.

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

But first, there’s tradition to uphold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always,” you reply, your gaze unwavering.

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

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

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

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

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

“You did great today,” you say.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither can Logan.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, he can’t help himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

***

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

The first American to do so since Mario Andretti himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I really do.”

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

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

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

He’s found a home.

A family.

And he’s never letting go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for Logan Sargeant, that person is you.

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

He’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

And with you, he’s already won.

[dazzlingjaeyun]

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 – 𝐬𝐢𝐦 𝐣𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧

bf!jake x gf!reader

genre: smut, MDNI!

warnings: mentions of alcohol, nicknames (baby/doll), making out, hickeys, dry humping?, fingering, hint of orgasm denial (?) + lmk if i missed any!!

word count: 1.3k

a/n: came across a request for this on my for you and decided to try, that's my first (and probably last lol) time writing content like this saur let's hope it's not too cringe

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mature content under cut, minors do NOT interact!

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

it must have been somewhat between one and two in the morning when you heard your hotel room's door click, signaling that your boyfriend had come back.

jaeyun's eyes fell on the bed where you shifted slightly to face him.

"you're still up?", he whispered. from the way he had slight trouble pronouncing his words, you understood that he'd had a drink or two at his work event's after party. he would have taken you with him, but you weren't official yet, so the least he could do was take you on that trip and spend the little free time he got with you.

"mhh", you replied softly – and you swore you could hear him mumble thank god under his breath.

you reached for the small lamp on your bedside table, turning it on to light the room in a dim light. when you turned back around to face him, you found his eyes on you already. god, he looked so fine – dressed in simple black dress pants and shirt, a jacket with its sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, the tips of his nose and ears slightly flushed, and his hair just a little messy from running his hands through it too many times.

jaeyun watched you as you stood up from bed and walked over to stand in front of him. you were still wearing only the shirt of his that you had put on after taking a shower in the afternoon before he had left. now, as the faint scent of your cologne mixed with his signature scent, reminding everyone who you belonged to, jaeyun wanted to rip his shirt off of you all over again. not to mention your choice of underwear – the black lace he liked on you the most.

"you need help?", you asked gently, putting on your most innocent face as you slowly let your hands wander over his clothed torso, up to his chest where you grabbed his jacket to take it off.

jaeyun felt his blood jolting through his body at your feather-light touch and the way you looked up at him with those big, doey eyes.

once his jacket was discarded on the floor, you hesitated a second, before reaching for his belt, aiming to open it.

jaeyun's breath hitched when one of your fingers accidentally brushed against his pants. he grabbed your hands harshly, turned you around and took two big steps towards the door, making you stumble back in surprise until your back hit its cold wood.

"impatient girl", he mumbled, bringing his knee in between your thighs and pressing you against the door harder, "i was barely through the door."

his eyes were darker and his breath flatter than before, his lips slightly parted as his hands let go of your wrists and found their way under the fabric of your shirt and to your hips.

without another warning, he crashed his lips onto yours. the kiss was impatient and rough, nothing of the sweet boyfriend who had left for his work event earlier in the evening. you felt his tongue on your bottom lip, parting your lips a bit further to grant him access. your hands found their way to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer to deepen the kiss. a soft moan escaped you when you felt his knee pressing closer to your core, his tight grip on your hips keeping you steady.

he pulled away from your lips, a string of saliva connecting your lips, before kissing his way over your jawline, down your neck and to that one sensitive spot right above your collarbone, where he began sucking and biting your skin, making sure to leave a mark.

you let your head rest against the door, closing your eyes and letting out quiet moans from time to time. jaeyun left a trace of wet kisses across your neck, softly sucking here and there, covering you in as many hickeys as it would take for the whole world to finally know you're his and his only.

you felt the heat that had started pooling between your legs the second you had touched him grow more and more unbearable, so you tried to arch your hips slightly into his leg that he still kept stable between your thighs. the action didn't go unnoticed by your boyfriend, causing him to grin against the skin of your neck and tightening his grip on your hips.

"so impatient", he teased again, "couldn't wait for me to come back and fill you up, hm?"

"just wanted to help you with your clothes", you tried to object, but your body betrayed you with another moan when he grabbed your hips even tighter than before and slowly rocked them back and forth on his thigh for a moment.

"just wanted to help? so you're telling me that if i touched you now, you wouldn't be soaking?", he asked, his voice now radiating pure confidence – he knew the effect he had on you and the way your body responded to his.

you didn't reply, instead pulled your bottom lip between your teeth a bit and just looked up at him.

he pulled away his leg from between yours and let one of his hands wander from your hip to your clothed core, never breaking eye contact.

your breath hitched when he pulled your underwear to the side and slid one finger through your folds. "thought so", he said triumphantly as he felt your arousal coating his digit from just the simplest touch.

"just wanted to help, hm? didn't plan this when you wore these?", he asked as he grabbed your panties and pulled them down, letting them pool around your ankles.

while one of his hands went back to your hip to hold you in place, the other found its way back to your core, his finger collecting your arousal and moving up to draw small circles around your clit. your eyes fluttered shut at the touch, the pressure building up even more. you tried to move against his finger, but his grip on your hip was so tight you could barely move and you were sure it would leave marks tomorrow.

"j-jaeyun", you softly moaned out his name, which made his pants tighten around his length even more.

"what do you want, baby? gotta use your words", he replied in a sweet, yet demanding tone. just when you opened your mouth to reply, he worked his hand a bit faster, drawing another choked moan from you as your breath got stuck in your throat.

"hmm, maybe this?", he asked, before moving his finger from your clit down to your hole and sliding it in in one go. the back of your head hit the door yet another time as you felt the slight strech. you nodded eagerly when he curled his finger, unable to find the strength to reply to him.

"words", he repeated, this time more demanding. you gulped, trying to collect your thoughts before you replied, "yes, l-like that."

"good girl", jaeyun smiled mischievously, starting to pump his finger in and out at a steady pace and adding a second one once he felt you were ready. you leaned into his touch, your head thrown back against the door, your voice leaving a mixture of moans and his name, as your legs started shaking at how delicously his fingers hit that one spot with each pump.

"so close", you managed to mumble when you felt the knot in your stomach tightening, dangerously close to snap. you clenched around his digits, only to be left with nothing when he pulled his hand away, still keeping the other on your hip to hold you. you opened your eyes in shock, ready to complain, but he was faster.

"sorry, doll, but you i need you to cum around my cock"

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

© dazzlingjaeyun, 2024. please do not copy.

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[tender-rosiey]

pretty babies – gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: idk about yall but I love me some drunk gojo

satoru never drinks, but when he does, ohoho, you’re in for quite the ride.

today was one of the days when he was less of a chaotic handful but more of an emotional mess who apparently can’t even remember his own wife. you sip on your drink, ignoring the drunk satoru leaning on the bar.

he slurs his words as he tries to flirt, “you’re sooo pretty, y’know that?”

you nod with a hum and give him no further reaction. in situations like these, you figured out that letting him go all out until he is tired and sleepy is the best solution. it really is like treating a baby.

thankfully, after many years of being in the presence of one gojo satoru, you’ve built up some patience.

he rests his head on the counter and he looks up at you, eyes wide and in awe, “I bet,” he hiccups and it is followed by a silly little giggle, “we’d make superrrr cute babies! like all round and chubby and we’d much on their cheeks like…mochi! yes! mochi…now I am hungry.”

a smirk makes an appearance on your face as you glance at satoru who is blabbering about building a family with you and spoiling you rotten.

a little teasing won’t harm anyone. so you quip, “you know,” and his attention is already on you, “you already gave me three super cute babies.”

his mouth is wide open in disbelief as he sits up, “no way!”

“yup! and they’re waiting at home for us.”

his eyes crinkle because of his wide grin, “really?!” he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, “you got photos?! please tell me that you do!” and he switches to a pout so quickly, it gives you whiplash.

however, you gladly pull out your phone and show him the multitude of photos you have.

ones ranging from him being in a crib to help the youngest one sleep to ones with two of the three kids ganging up on him and him desperately calling for your help. satoru goes through every single photo, head on your shoulder and cheek squished.

he is silent throughout it all and when he is done, he looks up at you, “so that means that you’re my wife?”

you nod and your fingers, naturally, find their place on his head. he feels a little shiver of satisfaction before he smiles, one lovesick and silly smile, “I really hit the jackpot.”

you laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “I guess you did.”

so you take him back home where the kids are already asleep. satoru crashes on the bed right away, steady breaths filling the room. slowly, you take your place beside him and you feel his arms wrap around you.

he pulls you closer and buries his face in your hair. and you close your eyes, letting yourself be lulled to the land of dreams.

when you do wake up, you’re greeted by satoru literally on top of you and deep in sleep. you would like to let him sleep more especially since he looks so comfortable, but you’re going to suffocate at this rate. so you pat his back lightly, “satoru, honey, wake up.”

he groans and buries his face in the crook of your neck, grumbling something along the lines of ‘five more minutes’.

not budging? then fine, you decide. you take as deep of a breath as you can then call for your kids, “who will help mama?!”

it’s quiet and you can feel satoru smirking against your skin. it looks like he won, but then a bunch of footsteps are heard and it’s your turn to smirk.

your husband lifts his head to glare at you—of course, not without sporting one of his famous pouts.

the door is then slammed open and your eldest son is there, “WHO DARES HURT OUR MAMA?!”

he gasps, very dramatically like a certain someone, and points at his dad, “PAPA?! you’re suffocating mama!”

“again?!” your daughter pops up from behind her brother, staring at her dad in disbelief.

they both stand beside your bed glaring at him and he glares back, the three of them forgetting why you called for your kids in the first place. so you do them a favor and remind them, “satoru…I AM GOING TO DIE LIKE THIS!”

satoru is pulled  back by his shirt and your kids take turns in—trying—to beat him up. you get up, greedily breathing air till you’re satisfied. you ignore the screams of your husband until you’re done with your morning routine.

luckily enough, when you got out of the bathroom, you found no one except your husband.

laying on the ground.

presumably dead.

with a bunch of drawings on his face and his hair contained with multiple hair bands.

you snap a picture of him very quickly then you sit on the ground next to his corpse. you poke his butt and he groans, making you giggle, “what happened to the strongest sorcerer?”

he turns towards you with a small frown, “his pretty wife didn’t kiss him good morning so he had no energy to fight,” his head snaps towards the two tiny figures giggling behind the door, “these monsters.”

they squeal and run away once again before he catches them.

you gently take the hair bands off, “you’re lucky that our youngest devil is still asleep,” you then smooth down his hair and pat his head, “I love the smiley faces on your cheeks.”

he whines and rests his head on your shoulder, “stop bullying me!”

you hum and stroke his hair, “you know, you did something pretty cute yesterday.”

“I am always cute; what’re you talking about?”

“you flirted with me, your wife, and said we would make ‘super cute!’ babies,” you reveal and satoru seems unbothered. in fact, he seems proud and very happy with himself so you continue, “so I had to remind you of our three little devils and then I showed you pictures.”

he stands up, posing all confidently, “what can I say? I excel at everything even being cute—“

“then you cried like a little baby when I showed you my picture post labor and kept apologizing.”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[ivoirerose]

designated driver | charles leclerc

a reworking of an old fic of mine. no warnings except drunk idiots and mentions of sex. you have to pick up your drunk boyfriend from a night out.

Come pick your idiot up, he just started rapping Baby Got Back.

The text had come through from Carlos attached to a video of Charles singing along, trail of shot glasses surrounding him, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you watched the passionate way he belted every word.

You rolled off the couch, shoving your feet into your shoes and grabbing your keys off the counter, answering Carlos with a firm order to not let Charles have any more to drink.

You try stopping him, he’s a menace.

Well you couldn’t argue with that. You tapped in the address Carlos had sent you, pulling up outside of a bar, music blasting from the door as it opened, letting out a group of girls stumbling over their heels.

You texted to say you were outside, watching the door, and when they hadn’t emerged after ten minutes, you decided to go in and get your pack of drunks.

You spotted them almost as soon as you walked through the door, sitting in the corner. Charles had his arms around Pierre's shoulders, the pair now both singing along to Vanilla Ice while Carlos recorded them.

You shook your head as you made your way over to them.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Charles’ gaze shot to you immediately, smile lighting up his face.

“Baby!! Guys, look, it’s my baby. You’re here!” he stood up and stumbled over to you, hands on either side of your face, and you caught a strong whiff of tequila as he leaned close. “You. Are so. Pretty.”

“Thanks Charlie, you too,” you answered as you peeled him off you, raising your eyebrows at Carlos over his shoulder, the other boy just shrugging and gesturing to the glass-littered table.

“Aww, you think so?” Charles blushed, and you fluffed up his hair.

“The prettiest. And you know what pretty boys need? Their beauty sleep. What do you say we get you back, huh?” You asked as he turned to Pierre.

“She thinks I’m pretty,” Charles smugly told Pierre.

“You know who I think is pretty? Kika,” he mumbled. “Hey, I’m gonna call her.”

He went to take out his phone and you rushed over to grab it from him.

“No you’re not because Kika has a big job in the morning and if you wake her up just to tell her how shiny her hair is, she will kill you.”

“Boo! No fun,” he grumbled. “It is shiny though, isn’t it?”

“Super ahiny,” you gave in, pulling him from his seat to stand next to Charles. “Okay, Carlos, you get Pierre, I’ll get Charles.”

“Got it,” he answered, and as he stood up, he stumbled against the chair, crashing to the floor. You watched as he pulled himself up by the table edge. “Woah, Y/N, did you see the way the floor just rose up then?”

You sighed, rubbing your hand over your face.

“Okay, never mind, I’ll get all three of you.” You reached over to grab him, linking your arm through his, Pierre on your other side. “Charles, link with Pierre. No letting go, children, come on.”

You led them through the bar, saving them from a stumble every few steps. You got to the exit when Charles stopped you.

“Wait, wait, baby, this bouncer? Here? He didn’t believe I had the prettiest girlfriend in the world. Can you believe that?” He gestured to the guy manning the door. “And now, she’s here, see, isn’t she the prettiest?”

You blushed, apologising to the guy as you pushed your way through.

“Wait, but he said…”

“Charlie, you’re gonna be the death of me!” you opened the door for him, shoving him into the passenger seat before wrangling the other two boys into the back.

You climbed into your own seat, clicking the child lock before setting off.

“Hey, can we put the radio on?” Pierre called from the back, and Charles reached out before you could answer, cheering as the sound of Bob Marley came from your speakers.

You smiled as they all sang along, and before you knew it, you were pulling up outside their hotel.

“Can you guys get in okay?” You asked, ignoring Pierre’s offended scoff at your question as he pulled at the door handle before turning to you with a sad look. “It won’t open, Y/N.”

You smiled as you clicked the button to unlock the door, and they climbed out of the back of your car. You and Charles watched them wobble their way to the door and stumble in, giving big waves as they stepped inside.

“Idiots,” you mumbled.

“I agree,” Charles answered sleepily.

“I was including you in that.”

“Hey! I’m your idiot.” He defended, and you couldn’t help but nod at that. “Can we stop for fries?”

“Are you gonna order four portions and then eat two bites before falling asleep again?”

“No?”

“Charles.”

“Okay, no fries.”

You rolled your eyes, signalling to pull in the nearest drive-thru, ignoring your boyfriend’s elated cheer.

“One portion, Charles, One.”

“Deal. Give 'em.”

He stuffed four into his mouth at once, groaning at the taste.

“God I love you.”

“You talking to me or the fries?”

“Honestly, right now, I’m not even sure.”

You giggled and he turned to look at you, eyes drunk and hazy.

“I do love you. A lot. You’re so pretty. And nice. And smart. And funny. And great in bed.”

“Charlie!”

“It’s true!”

“God Carlos was right, you’re a menace.”

“Yeah but you love me.”

“Yeah. I do.”

…

“Speaking of great in bed?”

“Charles, no!”

[aphelionwrotes11]

(MDNI, dubcon) (not edited)

Thinking about stalker!john price who retired early and can’t stand spending his time in his big ol’ house all by himself :(

Wanders across a pretty little dear like you, working retail in one of the little stores in the small town you live in. Can’t help falling in love with those tentative eyes that look up at him through your lashes, all shy and soft.

He just can’t control the way he feels like he has to keep you safe, your his now, doll. Follows you home every night, just to make sure you’re safe. Puts a few cameras around your house, only to make sure no unwanted visitors are hanging around, of course!

But he can’t help himself when he finds himself in your room when you’re sleeping, gazing at your relaxed figure. Oh, so peaceful and gorgeous.

You start getting a bit paranoid when you begin noticing a few things out of place. A door closed that you could’ve swore you left open when you left, a few missing shirts, a few missing panties, and now you come home to an apartment just a bit cleaner than you left it. Your bed made a little neater, no dirty laundry hung from a chair or lying on the edge of your bed.

At first you think you’re losing it. This shitty job must be taking too much out of you. But, on a night when an especially shitty shift happens, everything comes crashing down. Some rando decided to take out their frustration on you which then led to you bursting into tears and running off to the back room, frustrated and humiliated. A few minutes later your manager comes to tell you that you can go home, that bloke was dragged off by some guy into the night, she’s certain he won’t be a bother again.

So, you make your way down your usual path. Sniffling every now and then, pausing only to wipe your puffy eyes. When you get to your front door, you find that it’s already unlocked. Blinding hot fear lodges itself into your throat. Did that guy follow you home? (No lol)

You push the door open to be hit with the smell of your favorite take out. You take a few cautious steps in, scanning the kitchen and living room. It’s empty, but spotless. Dishes are put away, the counters looked like they’ve been scrubbed clean, the floors are swept. On the table rests a bag from your favorite restaurant, a note lies beside it reading, eat up little dear :)

John watches you from the crack in the door of your small hallway closet. Watches you walk through your house, kitchen knife in hand, looking for any potential threats. You look everywhere, besides the closet in the hallway. Oh honey, what would you do without him? What if there had been a real intruder and you had just missed him? Gosh. But, John’s upset is quickly replaced with joy as you settle into a seat and eat your still hot dinner. He can’t help but shiver as a relaxed look comes across your face, more relaxed than you’ve looked in ages. That must mean that you accept him now right?

Well, he takes it that way. Starts getting more bold. Leaves gifts on your counter for you to come home to, your favorite foods, books you like, items from stores you looked at just a bit too long. Keeps your apartment tidy, clothes washed, dishes laid to dry. At first, fear grabs you by the heart each time you come home from work to find another gift and a clean apartment. But after a week or so you decide that whoever it is that’s been watching you has been more of a help than a nuisance, and if they wanted to hurt you they would’ve by now, right? So you stupidly allow yourself to relax into this routine. Had to decide not to call the cops when you came home to find a few pairs of lacy panties laid out on your bed, matching bralettes resting beside them. In your size of course.

So, on one of your worst nights of the year, a shitty shift, shitty day, shitty week. You find yourself sobbing into a pillow in the darkness of your room. Sleep just couldn’t find you. You gasp when you feel the other side of the bed sink. Lying there, frozen. You feel a big, warm hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly. John sucks in a breath just at the feel of you. You start to cry more, “no- no please-“ you sob, terrified.

And John just coos at you.

“Shh, shh, don’t worry honey. M’not gonna do anythin. Just wanna hold’ya, make you feel better.”

He lays down behind you, warm arms encircling your waist, pulling you closer to his broad chest. And despite better logic, you allow him too. Find yourself relaxing in his warm grip, melting from his low coos. This is bad, very bad. Extremely dangerous. But at this point you just don’t care.

John holds you like that for a while, rubbing his hands up and down your sides, pressing his nose into your hair.

“What’s got you all worked up, honey? Hard day? Could make you feel a lot better. Could make that all go away.”

He whispers into the soft skin of your neck, and you whimper. Starts squeezing the fat of your hips, placing little kisses along the length of your throat. Your hands find his hair and tug, he takes that as a sign to keep going.

S’not long before he’s spearing you with his hot, heavy cock. Thrusting into you at a languid pace from behind. His calloused fingers rub your clit. Your whining and moaning, melting from his touch.

“Would do anything for ya honey, promise’ya I would, so perfect..” he groans into your ear, a hand coming up to roll your nipple between his fingers.

He’s moving so perfectly, his thrusts hitting a spot inside of you that sends ripples of pleasure up your spine. When you finally come, shuddering and clenching on his cock, he whimpers.

He doesn’t stop there, flips you onto your back and starts thrusting into you like a battering ram, no more soft love making. That’s when you see his face, that ruggedly handsome regular that you’ve had the biggest crush on, who just so happened to also be your stalker.

Your too fucked out too care, and he’s too pussy drunk to think. Fucking himself into you like an animal.

“Been waiting to touch you like this sweetheart, waitin so long- fuuuck-“ he sounds drunk, his voice thick. His eyes are glassy as he stares down at you.

“Need ya, I love ya..” he mumbles deliriously, getting closer to filling your tight cunt by the second.

“Cum in me..” you whisper. And that’s what throws him over the edge.

He cums, hard. Thrusting his seed into you, milking his cock with your clenching cunt. He’s crying, a few tears dripping down his cheeks. :((

“Love you, love you, love you, love you-“ he repeats like a mantra, fucking himself into you still despite the overstimulation. Looks utterly wrecked.

Takes a few weeks, but eventually he manages to coax his little sweetheart into living with him. It’s a lot easier, isn’t it? I mean he’s always with you regardless, been following you around for a while. Now he gets to see you constantly. Has you quit that shitty job, promises to take care of you. Deposits money into your bank account each week to ease your nervousness, just so you don’t feel too trapped, not that he’d ever let you go.

Follows you around like a lost puppy, always an arms length away. Eventually you mind less and less.

Months pass by in a blur and it’s not long till your stomach is fat and swollen with a little baby, and he’s on one knee in front of you with a ring. Doesn’t matter what you say though :( you’re his girl, forever.

(Gaaahhhhh I love him so much. NEEEEEED HIM.)

[stunie]

“POST HORROR CUDDLES!”

WINDBREAKER BOYS + COMFORTING YOU. ft. hayato suo, sakura haruka, togame jo, & umemiya hajime x f!reader

filled request: “hello hello! may i request bofurin boys and shishtoren boys x scared!reader? reader had been watching too many scary ghost/strange videos and now theyre all shivered up but wont stop watching. what would they do to comfort their sweetheart? please and thank you!!! <333”

sfw / fluff . 1.5K wc. thank u for sending this in :>

HAYATO SUO.

“oh? are you going to follow me everywhere?”

suo's teasing tone doesn’t match the sweet smile he gives you when your hand shyly tugs at the back of his sweater, your frame trailing only about a half step behind his own as you follow him down the hall.

he stops when he’s directly in front of your bathroom, and you suddenly realize that maybe you should have listened to him earlier. your poor tolerance for horror was well known to him— but in your defense, you weren't expecting the stories to be that scary.

there was just no way you could have known.

“..just don't wanna be alone right now,” you mutter, cheeks hot with embarrassment—but you're too scared to care, “and you can fight better than me.”

“i can just wait here if you're fast,” you quickly add, deciding against following him all the way into the bathroom; but rather just wait outside. because if you did, he'd never let you hear the end of it. not that your situation is much different now.

suo hums in agreement.

“you're so cute,” he coos, amusement coloring his voice as he glances back at you. “oh, but be careful.”

he raises a finger to warn you, “a truly skilled serial killer would be able to get to you in the one minute i spend in the bathroom.”

your eyes widen at the information, and he stifles the chuckle that threatens to come out. “oh, but you already knew that, didn't you? don't mind me then.”

the way you gasp and latch onto his arm immediately after he turns to leave is endearing. “wait,” your voice is urgent, “i'm scared now.”

of course you were.

it's only now when you start to realize just how dark your hallway is at nighttime. the purses you have hanging on your doorknobs suddenly look a lot like what a humanoid figure would look like. your eyes dart around you, and a part of you wishes you had never left the comfort of your own bed to follow him here in the first place.

“i was kidding,” his voice cuts through the tension, and he’s smiling in amusement, hand coming to interlace with yours before giving you a reassuring squeeze. “come on, let's go back to bed.”

“you don’t need to pee?” you ask, arms latching around his as you follow his steps closely.

“don’t worry about that.”

SAKURA HARUKA.

“stop—don't touch me!”

your hands instinctively fly up to shield your face as the bedroom door swings open with a bang, the doorknob slipping from his grasp and crashing loudly against the wall. there's a grumbled curse that follows, and through the gaps in your fingers, you spot your boyfriend standing frozen in the doorway, utterly bewildered.

“h-huh?”

he's holding a bag of bubble waffles, his other hand trying to balance both boba drinks without dropping them onto the floor. “sorry,” he grumbles, “my hands were full.”

that's right— he did head out earlier to pick up your boba order for you. it was only a few minutes after he left when you started putting on scary stories to pass the time. something you shouldn't have done while you were alone, you realize.

“oh...” you let out a relieved sigh, your shoulders relaxing. “it's just you. you scared me.”

he raises a brow in confusion before his gaze finally shifts to the fortress of pillows around you, cocooning your figure with what looks to be his very own hoodie pulled all the way over your head. your lips tug into a knowing smile when he breaks out into a furious blush at the sight. “perfect timing. you're gonna protect me now, right? baby?” you tease, emphasizing the nickname that never fails to make his cheeks flush.

“f-from what?” he's stammering, making his way towards your bed to set down the snacks onto your nightstand with stiff and awkward movements.

“and why are you calling me…” his eyebrows furrow deeply, “t-that?”

you look cute in his clothes, and you look cuter hidden underneath all those pillows. seeing you like this makes him want to pull you flush against him, hold you close and make you feel protected— but he would never say that aloud. he would absolutely never be able to get the words out if he tried.

there's a choked noise of surprise when you lean over your mattress, arms enveloping his frame in a cheerful embrace.

“what, you don't like being called baby?”

the red deepens into a deep shade of scarlet at the name.

he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to work up the courage and admit that he does like it. he’s liked every single pet name you've ever called him (which was probably all of them by this point). he just hates the way they take away his ability to speak.

his arm extends towards you in one rough motion, the ice in your drink sloshing around as he tears his gaze from you, glaring at your wall instead as he waits for the heat in his ears to die down.

“j-just drink this already.”

TOGAME JO.

you don't understand how your boyfriend is able to lounge so comfortably in complete darkness.

he's seemingly unfazed by the horror unfolding on the screen in front of him. and you, on the other hand, are sitting wide-eyed directly beside him, your heart racing with each scene that plays. you have to remind yourself that the shadows moving around you are just your imagination, and that the eerie creaks in the wooden floors are definitely not because of footsteps.

“togame,” you pull on his sleeve with urgency as soon as you notice eyelids starting to droop, your boyfriend dipping in and out of sleep. “togame.”

“hmm?” he hums out lowly, eyes still shut as his hand rubs circles on your lower back to calm your nerves.

it was something he's always done when the two of you took naps together. he likes to trace up and down your back, drawing little shapes and circles on the skin with his fingertip as he listens to your voice.

“please don't fall asleep,” you plead, “i can't watch this all by myself.”

there's a little grunt that escapes his lips when he stirs, shifting a bit before propping himself up on an elbow to look at you. the movie wasn't scary to him, but clearly that wasn't the case with you, because you're peering up at him through teary lashes, lips jutting out in a pout as you plead with him to stay up.

it makes his heart flutter.

“come here,” he finally says, pulling the bottom of his sweatshirt up for you to crawl underneath. you’re staring at him for only a brief moment before you're immediately slipping underneath the fabric, nestling yourself against his chest and letting his warmth envelope you. a small smile tugs at his lips when he feels you let out a content sigh, hands coming to balance themselves on the strong muscles of his chest.

“better?” he asks, arms coming to lay loosely around your waist.

“mhm,” you sigh, “thank you.”

UMEMIYA HAJIME.

“here, come here.”

umemiya is gentle when he pulls you onto his lap, hands guiding your thighs to straddle his own as he wraps you up in a suffocating hug, smiling when you return the embrace. “all better?”

you give him a small nod.

“good, because you're stuck with me now,” he grins, strong arms flexing when they tighten their hold around your frame, and he leans back against the wall with a satisfied hum.

“thank you, ume,” you mumble softly, burying your face into his chest. he knows this has always been your favorite way to cuddle with your teddy bear of a boyfriend, and he's the same way. he likes when you latch onto him like a koala, and he likes when you press your ear against his chest to listen to his heartbeat.

he likes having you close like this.

“of course,” his voice comes out as a soothing rumble, and he leans down to press quick kisses to the top of your head before his fingers come to gently massage up and down your neck. “but you know— they aren't real. they won't hurt you.”

you lean into ume a little more, letting out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding. “i know... but it's still scary.”

“that's okay,” he chuckles, “that's why i'm here with you.”

his presence helps you relax a bit, finally loosening your grip around his middle as your breathing steadies a bit. “maybe i'll play something else for you,” he suggests, grunting as he reaches over to grab the remote. “you like the dancing fruit?”

you lift your head to meet his eyes, lips spreading into a little smile. “let’s watch the dancing blueberries today.”

a/n: read choji’s part here!