#like the ‘we’ll never’ part that goes too quickly

[nerolikestowander]

Ughhhh this has so many flaws but here you go! This song ruined my life 😀

And here are the still versions :(((

[sinofwriting]

I ❤️ MILFS - Max Verstappen

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

Masterlist | Support Me! | I ❤️ MILFS verse

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

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

He wishes now that he had paid more attention.

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

“Not gonna tell me it gets easier?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

—

She remembers clearly the first time Logan calls her mom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

“Madelyn and Daniel?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

—

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

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

Y/N Sargeant, Mother of Logan Sargeant.

Fuck.

—

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

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

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

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

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

She makes a humming noise.

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

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

Charles lets out a laugh, as the others chuckle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan both blushes and preens at the same time.

Carlos shakes his head, disbelief still clear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She laughs, “good gin and tonic?”

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

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

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

“Momma, can we,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, Mrs. Sargeant,” Lando starts.

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

“Ah.”

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

“Your work allows you to do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Manager?”

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

“Done.”

—

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

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

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

“It’s nice.” She smiles.

Relief fills him. “Good.”

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

—

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

“Dinner was nice.”

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

“You seemed a bit more relaxed.”

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs as best as he can.

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

“You? A frat boy?” Oscar laughs.

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

“What happened?”

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

“The one that gave Fred shit.”

“I thought she died?”

The two look at each other, both baffled.

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

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

“Mate, you didn’t hear about that?”

“No!”

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

“How do I not remember this?”

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

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

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

“Right.” He looks up at the ceiling.

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

Logan groans, “Os, no.”

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

“Oscar, please, it’s my mom.”

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

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

“Lando was looking.”

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

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

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

“I saw that too.”

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

“What are you saying?” Fernando frowns.

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

Fernando frowns, “Lines?”

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

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

The older driver makes a humming noise, considering.

—

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

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

“He’s gonna do it.”

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

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

“He did it! He did it!” She cheers.

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

“Logan, you are on your cooldown lap.”

“Got it. Where’s Alex?”

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

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

Both of her hands fly up to her mouth.

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

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

“What? What do you mean?”

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

“Holy fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You did it.”

—

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

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

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

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

His smile widens as he takes the seat.

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

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

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

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

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

—

“Did I actually score points yesterday?”

“You did.”

“Sweet.”

“Very. How’s the head?”

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

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

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

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

“True.”

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

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

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

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

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

“So, how was your night?”

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

His brows press together. “Max?”

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

“You went on a date?”

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

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

“I go on dates.”

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

—

“Logan!”

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

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

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

“But how are you feeling about it?”

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

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

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

“P10 and P9.”

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

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

“Not yours?”

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

Logan couldn’t really deny that.

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

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

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

“And if I go into the wall?”

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

—

“How are you doing that in the turns?”

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

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

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

—

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

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

“I like you, Max.”

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

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

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

“I’m a mom.”

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

“Logan is important to me.”

Oh, god, did Logan not like him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her face screws up in disgust. “Ew.”

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

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

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

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

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

She stares at him, lips pressed together.

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

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

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

“I am his mother, just adopted.”

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

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

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

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

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

“How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-nine.”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“How was your date last night?”

Her smile widens. “It was good.”

“Yeah?”

She nods.

“Did you see Jimmy and Sassy?”

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

“About what?”

“Breakfast first.”

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

She swallows, hands flexing. “Max.”

“What about Max?”

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

“You know, I’m okay with it.”

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

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

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

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

Logan flushes at the words.

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

He flushes even more. “Really?”

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

“I am an adult.”

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I late?”

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

“Can I,”

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

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

“Hi, Logan.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

Max watches amused as the mother and son argue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

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

—

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

The cameraman focuses on what she’s looking at.

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

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

“Please.” She gestures.

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

—

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.”

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

“Hi, schat.”

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” She repeats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything I can help with?”

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

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

“Of course. What’s going on?”

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

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

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

“They have to be not performing well.”

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

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

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

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

“Nine.”

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

She shakes her head.

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

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

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

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

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

“The driver’s Logan.”

“What?”

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

Max stares at her. “How?”

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

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

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

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

—

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

“Why’s that, honey?”

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

“I guess you are a bit spoiled.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very true.”

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

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

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

He winces. “He gonna be okay tomorrow?”

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

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

—

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

“I know.”

“Logan still wanting to do his new routine.”

She nods, lips pursed.

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

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

“Are him and Oscar still joining us?”

She throws him a look. “Us?”

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

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

“Will Logan be joining us for Florida?”

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

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

“You go to Milton for a day after.”

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

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

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

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

“Max.”

“Yes?”

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

He freezes.

“Max.”

“I knew I forgot something.”

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

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° every move is magic

♡ a/n — this is probably one of the longest things i've written lol. it's only bc it's yuki i swear.

♡ word count — 2.3k

♡ content — yukimiya kenyu x fem! reader, fem! reader, model! reader, childhood best friends, friends to lovers, mutual pining, goes from like kindergarten all the way to the u-20 game, mentions of yuki modeling, decided reader needed to be a model too, reader is shy and reserved as a kid, i made yukimiya one of those gremlin kids

♡ synopsis — Even if the world could never keep up with Yukimiya Kenyu, you’d always be grateful that he’d chosen to stay by your side.

The first time you met Yukimiya Kenyu, you were sitting on the edge of the playground, quietly watching the other kids play. You didn’t join them—not because you didn’t want to, but because you couldn’t figure out how. It was easier to sit by yourself, even if it meant being lonely.

Then he appeared, a blur of energy and determination. While the other kids were too slow to keep up with him, Yukimiya’s restless nature had finally found something that caught his attention: you.

“Why aren’t you playing?” he asked, tilting his head as if the idea was incomprehensible.

You shrugged, unsure what to say other than, “I don’t know how to play the games they’re playing.”

He blinked at you, his head tilting like he was trying to figure you out. “That’s dumb.”

Your eyes widened at his bluntness, and he quickly added, “Not you! The games. They’re boring. Wanna play something else?”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Something fun,” he said with a grin. “We’ll figure it out.”

He didn’t wait for you to answer, instead grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the sandbox. From then on, he never left your side. While he was still a whirlwind of energy, he always made sure to include you, even if it meant slowing down.

“You’re my best friend now, okay?” he declared one afternoon after you’d spent hours building an intricate sandcastle together.

“Okay,” you agreed, a shy smile tugging at your lips.

From that moment on, Yukimiya became your shadow, and you became his anchor. While he zoomed around the playground like a whirlwind, he always circled back to you. And when you sat quietly coloring, he sat next to you, fidgeting but staying put.

He slowed down for you.

Yukimiya’s talent for soccer became apparent early on. By the time you reached the third grade, he was already being called a prodigy. Coaches marveled at his footwork, his speed, his ability to outplay anyone who dared to challenge him.

You watched every game from the sidelines, cheering louder than anyone else. He always made sure to find you in the crowd afterward, his grin wide as he asked, “Did you see that? Did you see how I scored?”

“You were amazing, Yuki,” you’d say every time, and he’d beam like your words mattered more than anyone else’s.

But as his talent grew, your insecurities began to as well. You weren’t particularly athletic, or artistic, or academically gifted. While Yukimiya excelled at everything he tried, you felt like you were just… there.

You were proud of him, of course, but a small part of you always felt like you were standing in his shadow. Everyone noticed him. Everyone praised him. Meanwhile, you were… you.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Yukimiya said one day, lying flat on the grass beside you after practice. His bangs stuck to his forehead, sweat glistening under the sun. “What is it?”

Your mother had always said that Yukimiya had "great emotional intelligence" for a 3rd grader.

You didn't know what that meant, but you thought so too.

You hesitated before mumbling, “I don’t think I’ll ever be as good at something as you are at soccer.”

He propped himself up on one elbow, frowning. “That’s stupid. You're good at being my best friend." The way he said it, with so much conviction would've made you laugh if his face didn't look so serious.

"You don’t have to be ‘good’ at anything for me to like having you around.” He mumbled, just a quick little add on.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache in a way you didn’t understand.

By the time you both entered middle school, Yukimiya’s popularity had skyrocketed. Girls giggled and blushed whenever he walked by, and boys challenged him to soccer matches, hoping to prove themselves.

At first, it didn’t bother you. Yukimiya was still the same boy who ran to your side after every game, who walked you home even when he was exhausted, who always made time for you no matter how busy he was.

But then the love letters started.

“Another one?” you asked one afternoon as he stuffed a folded note into his bag.

“Yeah,” he said nonchalantly, not even bothering to read it.

“Don’t you care what they say?”

“Not really.”

You frowned, not understanding how he could be so unaffected. “What if it’s someone you like?”

“Nah. I don’t feel that way about anyone.” He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “Besides, why would I need another girl when I already have you?”

The casual way he said it made your heart skip a beat, but you brushed it off as a joke. He couldn’t possibly mean it… could he?

No. You were best friends, he just didn't need another girl in his life right now. You were only in middle school, dating was the last of your worries.

But what would happen when a girl he did like gave him a letter? What would happen to you?

Your friendship with Yukimiya had always been effortless. He was the first person you turned to for help with anything—homework, outfit choices, or just figuring out life’s little mysteries. And he was the same with you.

You’d spent countless afternoons in his room, sprawled out on his bed while he juggled a soccer ball, the steady rhythm of it hitting the wall almost comforting.

This time was no different. You’d come over for a “study session,” but neither of you had cracked open a textbook. Yukimiya was sitting on the floor, bouncing the ball off the wall with practiced ease, while you lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Yuki,” you said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Yeah?” he replied, not looking up from his game.

“Do you think we stop each other from learning?”

The ball thudded against the wall again before he caught it, turning to look at you with a confused smile. “What do you mean? You’re here for a study session, silly.”

“No, not that,” you said, sitting up and hugging your knees to your chest. “I mean… learning how to kiss someone. Or how to go on dates. Stuff like that.”

His smile faltered, and he stared at you, the soccer ball forgotten in his hands. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice soft. “It’s just… we’re always together. And I love that, I do. But what if we’re keeping each other from… I don’t know, growing up or something?”

Yukimiya’s brows furrowed as he thought about your words. He stood, tossing the ball onto his desk and sitting beside you on the bed. “So… you want to learn how to kiss someone?”

“I guess,” you said, feeling your face heat up. “Don’t you?”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I’ve thought about it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ve never… y’know…”

You nodded, the awkward silence stretching between you. And then, to your surprise, Yukimiya looked up at you with a small, nervous smile.

“Maybe… we could help each other,” he suggested, his voice trembling slightly.

Your breath caught in your throat. “You mean…”

“We’re best friends, right?” he said quickly, as if trying to convince himself as much as you. “It’s not weird if it’s just to… learn. Right?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. But the way he looked at you—hopeful, nervous, and maybe a little excited—made you nod. “Okay,” you whispered.

His hand reached for yours, his palm warm and slightly clammy, if he was any other guy, you'd have been grossed out. But he was Yuki, your Yuki, nothing about him was gross.

He leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away. But you didn’t. When his lips finally pressed against yours, it was soft and tentative, like he was afraid of doing it wrong.

It didn’t take long for the awkwardness to melt away. What started as a simple kiss turned into something deeper, something neither of you had planned.

His hands found your waist, yours tangled in his hair, and before you knew it, the lines between friendship and something more had blurred entirely.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your cheeks flushed. Yukimiya looked at you with wide eyes, his glasses slightly fogged, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“Did we just…” you began, trailing off.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Neither of you knew what to say after that, so you didn’t say anything at all. Instead, you lay back on his bed, your hands still intertwined as the silence settled over you like a blanket.

Both you and Yukimiya were scouted for modeling—him for his sharp, athletic looks, and you for your natural, understated charm. And maybe because Yukimiya dragged you to every meeting because he "couldn't do it alone."

He could, by the way, but he didn't want to be without you longer than neccessary.

But you were always so thankful to him, the industry was intimidating, but having him by your side made it bearable.

“You’ve got crumbs,” Yukimiya teased one morning during a shoot, brushing powdered sugar off your cheek from the donut you’d been eating.

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, wiping coffee foam from his lip. Lips you'd kissed far too often to be considered 'just friends' anymore...but all you were doing was helping each other release energy.

It was Yuki, your Yuki, nothing was weird whenever you were with him.

The photographer snapped a picture of you two mid-laugh, and it became one of your favorite memories—a candid moment that felt more real than anything else.

When Yukimiya was invited to Blue Lock, you encouraged him to go, even though the thought of being apart made your chest ache.

“Don’t forget about me,” you joked, forcing a smile as you handed him his bus ticket.

“Never,” he promised, his voice low and serious.

You couldn't put a finger on why your heart was screaming at you to make him stay when he leaned down to give you one last kiss while your parents backs were turned.

If this wasn't his dream, maybe you would have.

Leaving for Blue Lock was the hardest decision Yukimiya ever made. He hated the thought of being away from you, but he knew he had to take the chance if he wanted to achieve his dream.

He worked tirelessly, determined to prove himself and earn his way back to the real world—not for glory, but so he could call you.

The day he scored enough goals to get his phone back, the first thing he did was call you.

“Yuki?” Your voice on the other end of the line made his heart ache with relief.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you admitted, your voice thick with emotion.

His teammates teased him mercilessly when they saw his lock screen: a picture of the two of you in matching robes, laughing over coffee and donuts.

“Who’s that?” Karasu asked, leaning over his shoulder.

“My best friend,” Yukimiya replied, his tone too soft for the teasing that followed.

“Just a ‘best friend,’ huh?” Karasu smirked. “Sure doesn’t look that way to me.”

He ignored the crow-like boy the rest of the night, but the truth was, Karasu was right. You weren’t just his best friend. You were his everything.

The roar of the crowd still echoed in the stadium as Yukimiya scanned the field, his gaze darting between his teammates and the celebrating fans. But then he spotted you. Standing at the edge of the field, looking up at him with that same smile he’d seen a thousand times before—on playgrounds, in his room, and through the screen of his phone.

Without a second thought, he ran to you, dodging past reporters and teammates. Before you could say a word, he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you off the ground and spinning you in a circle. The world blurred around you, and all you could focus on was the way his laughter vibrated against your chest and the warmth of his embrace.

When he set you down, you barely had time to catch your breath before he cupped your face in his hands, his forehead resting against yours. “I think…” he began, his voice trembling. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft and sure, as if he’d been waiting his entire life to do this. The noise of the stadium faded away, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

“Oh, is this the best friend?” Otoya's voice cut through the moment, and you pulled away, cheeks burning as you turned to see him smirking, Karasu snickering beside him.

“ ‘Best friend’ my ass,” Karasu added, crossing his arms and shaking his head in mock disappointment.

Yukimiya’s ears turned bright red, but he didn’t let go of you. Instead, he shot Karasu a glare before looking back at you, his gaze softening. “They can say whatever they want,” he murmured, his voice just loud enough for you to hear before he leaned down one more time to kiss you again.

You couldn’t help but think back to when you were kids, when Yukimiya’s speed and energy left everyone else in the dust. You’d always been the shy one, the one who struggled to keep up. But Yukimiya had never minded.

He’d slowed down for you, waited for you, and in doing so, made you feel like you were the only one who could ever truly match him. And now, standing here in his arms, you realized that he’d never stopped waiting.

Even if the world could never keep up with Yukimiya Kenyu, you’d always be grateful that he’d chosen to stay by your side.

yeah i chose yuki for this bc im bias, so what ?

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[fangirlmermaid]

may i requested Luke Hughes x Reader with Independent reader x let me spoil you bf luke

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Luke wants to spoil you

notes: quickly proofread, Spelling and grammar errors

Hope you guys like it!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you first started to date Luke you learned a crucial lesson.

DON’T MENTION YOU WANT ANYTHING!!!

You hate it when people spend money on you. Don’t remember when you became like this. You never allowed anyone to spend their money on you, an independent woman.

This always leads to stupid, small arguments with Luke. He tries to spoil you, but you won’t let him. You can’t even look at anything for longer than a second, or Luke is already at the cash register. 

The same goes for food. One time, you saw a new bakery opening in the next town over that you wanted to try but were too busy due to work. You briefly mentioned it to Luke, and the next day, he came to your job with sweet treats from the bakery. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 You and Luke head toward his car; you want to get a new dress for the upcoming Devils charity event. Luke insisted on coming so he could see what color you picked so he could match (You knew that’s not the only reason, but you can never say no when he pouts). 

Luke pulled into the parking lot of your favorite cafe because you needed fuel for your shopping trip. At this point, you two had a routine.

Fight over who pays

Luke opens the car door for you 

You go in and order while Luke keeps the car warm for you 

You never mind the last part.

You had a plan: run into the cafe, order, and pay. When Luke put the car in park, you grabbed the door handle and tried to open it, but it was locked. You felt Luke's grip tighten on your thigh. “Now, where do you think you're going, pretty girl?” Luke wondered with a teasing smirk.

FUCK!!

“To get coffee,” You murmured, hating that your plan didn’t work out. Luke took out his wallet and handed you his card. “Luke,” You groaned, giving him a warning look. Luke doesn’t back down; he would buy the moon and the stars if you asked him to ”Angel, I insist.” Luke laid your hand flat, about to place his card down, but you made a fist. Now Luke is trying to open your hand.

“I have my own money”

“Save your money, let me treat”

“You always treat”

“Angel”

“Lovie”

At this point, you guys were doing rock, paper, scissors, which is the only way to end these types of arguments. Luke wasn’t giving up; he wanted to take care of you no matter how many times he had to have the same disagreement with you.  

You won 

Before you could brag Luke pulled you into a passionate kiss catching you off guard. When you opened your hand so you could grab onto the back of his head Luke slipped his card into your hand. It's a cheap move and he knows it but it was the only idea he could have thought of. Plus he loves kissing you.

“Take” kiss “my” kiss “card” Luke mumbled pulling away by a few inches, you sighed in frustration glaring at the window not wanting to look at him. Luke delicately grabbed your chin and pulled you back to face him, your anger was disintegrating at the sight of Luke’s puppy dog eyes.

“Angel, I know you don’t like people spending money on you but you're my girl and I want to spoil you” Luke admitted, you softly smiled cupping his cheek “I can spoil myself. I got me and you got you” you told, Luke kissed the palm of your hand.

“But I also got you because I love you” Luke admitted his eyes full of love causing your heart to melt. “I love you too” you smiled, placing his card into the wallet on the back of your phone case, finally accepting that you're not going to win.

“Fine but I’m buying my dress” 

“We’ll see”

You opened the car door but Luke slammed it shut, you raised an eyebrow at him “I got you” Luke whispered before hopping out and running to your side. He opened the car door and held his hand out towards you, butterflies fluttered in your stomach. You took his hand and he helped you out of the car “I love you, (Y/N)” Luke smiled pressing a soft kiss on your forehead “I love you Luke” You smiled pressing a quick kiss on his lips before heading inside the cafe.

Luke sat in the driver's seat staring at the rearview mirror waiting for your return so he could open the door for you. Luke never felt this way about anyone before, he loved you with every fiber of his being and wants to show you how important you are to him. He’ll wait a million years for you to finally let him spoil you because to him you’re worth the wait.

[downbad4sylus]

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Stargazing

(part two, part three, and part four)

synopsis: Being a Princess never suited you, your spirit too wild to be contained within the life of a royal. But one fateful night, your penchant for adventure goes awry and you find yourself in enemy territory facing down a mysterious man with an interesting secret.

content: king!sylus x princess!reader; use of Y/N; slow burn; kidnapping sort of; brief mention of war; mostly proofread

word count: ~2k

a/n: here’s part one to the new series!!! not sure how long this will end up being so we’ll see where it takes us lol. thanks to all who joined the taglist, if anyone is interested in being added, that post is linked here. enjoy <3

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Nothing spoke to your restless soul more than the sound of birds chirping on a cloudless day. You craved the soft kiss of the spring breeze on your cheeks. The squish of soil beneath the soles of your feet with the scent of last night’s rainfall wafting through your nose.

But you couldn’t experience any of these simple delights, not yet at least.

Your father, the King of Linkon, demanded your presence at tonight’s welcome feast.

A knock on your bedchamber door tore you from your daydreams.

“Princess Y/N! Are you dressed? It’s time to go downstairs!”

You groaned, forcing yourself away from the window, your slippered feet dragging along the floor as you made your way to the door.

Just one more day, you reminded yourself.

One more day and you would perform your greatest trick, escaping the castle to explore the unfamiliar city.

The King of Linkon was currently engaged in a rather vicious war with the neighboring country of Onychinus. As the King’s only daughter, and thus heir to the throne, you had spent the last few years sequestered in various castles and estates at the behest of your father. You knew he was doing it protect you, to protect the future of Linkon, but you had never been one to remain idle. Adventure called to you like a siren’s song, one you were helpless to resist, especially when you found yourself under explicit instruction to stay put. So, through grueling hours of trial and error, you mastered the art of escaping from whatever home you lived in. You were aware of the risks, aware of how dangerous it was to roam around as heir to an entire country equipped with nothing but your thirst for excitement, and you didn’t care. You never wanted to rule anything, never asked to be a princess, and you did everything in your power to live a life free of the responsibility of a future ruler.

Tonight, however, you held no such power.

You followed sullenly behind the servant who knocked on your door, your shoulders slumping with each step closer to the massive dining hall. The last thing you wanted was to entertain the “esteemed” guests awaiting you. The nobles from the region your father had whisked you away to—located right next to the border of Onychinus—were putting on this feast to welcome their ruler and his only daughter. Talk of war strategies or current affairs were among your least favorite topics of conversation and would undoubtedly be the forefront of this feast. But you were expected to sit pretty beside your father, a smile on your face, and participate as if you cared.

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

Dread sank like a stone in your gut as boisterous laughter echoed into the corridor signaling what you had to look forward to within the dining hall.

“Ah! There is my lovely daughter!” your father announced, rising from his seat at the head of the obnoxiously large feast table. Everyone quickly followed suit, bowing as you entered. “Come sit at my side my darling Y/N.”

Fixing a smile onto your face, you closed the distance between you and your father, taking your rightful place at his side. One day you would stand where he stood, he liked to remind you, so it was best to keep you as close to him as possible.

You loved your father, you really did. He treated you well, loved you fiercely, it wasn’t his fault this unwanted fate befell you. You had no siblings, and your mother died from illness when you were very young. Rather than marry another, your father remained steadfast in his love for his late wife, refusing to wed anyone who wasn’t her. So it had just been the two of you for years, the only family either of you had to rely on, but that also meant you had no one to pass along the title of heir.

“Please, everyone sit and let us commence this feast in earnest,” your father declared, sinking into his chair.

You sat beside him, snatching up a goblet of what you hoped was wine, needing the sweet embrace of alcohol to get you through this meal. The goblet clinked against your teeth as you brought it to your lips a little too enthusiastically and a wave of relief washed over you as the taste of wine spread across your tongue.

“Thank the gods,” you whispered under your breath.

“What was that darling?” your father questioned despite the noble to his left talking his ear off. Ever aware of you he was, a trait you would find endearing if it wasn’t so stifling.

“Nothing Father,” you assured with a tight smile.

He hummed noncommittally and returned his attention to the noble.

The delicious food and wine were what allowed you to make it out relatively unscathed from the feast. You played your part well, just as you always did, engaging with those who made conversation, keeping quiet when it best suited you, and flashing that deceivingly innocent smile when the men started to suspect there might be a little bit more going on in that pretty head of yours.

There was a skip in your step as you returned to your bedchamber, grateful to finally be away from all the chaos. Servants helped you bathe and dress for bed, leaving you in peace for the rest of the night.

As soon as the door snicked shut, you threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. Tomorrow couldn’t wait, you wanted to go exploring tonight.

It certainly wasn’t the first time you slipped out past sunset. Sometimes the scenery was more beautiful at night, the moon and stars illuminating the land in a way the sun could only dream of.

You changed out of your bedclothes and into a dress better suited for nighttime adventures. Then without an ounce of hesitation, you were climbing out the window and scaling the side of the castle walls.

Learning the guards’ shifts was like second nature for you at this point, so you snuck out of the castle limits and into the city proper with ease. You aimed for the flower field you’d spied from your window your upon arrival, confident it was the prime spot for stargazing.

You could hardly hold back excited giggles as the field came into view, the night sky above already one of the most dazzling sights you’d ever seen.

What a life you could live were you not a princess, you thought as you collapsed amidst the flowers. Stargazing every night, exploring the world during the day, just endless possibilities for adventure.

You sighed.

Many times throughout the years you’d entertained the thought of running away but leaving your father alone was what always stopped you. You couldn’t hurt him like that, not when he’d done nothing to deserve it. You’d be a good daughter, a worthy princess, and fulfill your birthright, even if it tore you apart to do so.

A shooting star flashed across the sky.

You closed your eyes and made a wish.

I wish I could escape the life of a princess.

A twig snapped to your left.

You jolted upright, expecting to find a wild animal prowling in the field only to be met with two men wearing black masks and leather armor.

Heart pounding in your chest, you stared the two men down and they stared back, frozen where they stood.

Then you were moving, on your feet and sprinting through the flowers.

“Shit,” one of them swore before heavy footfalls started pursuing you.

Shit was right. This was exactly why your father kept you locked inside. The threat of being taken, of having unspeakable things done to you, of being ransomed with no guarantee for your life. You knew the risks, had several close calls, but none as close as this.

The men were right on your heels, and suddenly your face was becoming well acquainted with the dirt.

One of them had tackled you. Was forcing your hands behind your back and tying them with rope.

“Let me go!” you demanded, squirming beneath the man’s weight to avail.

“No can do Miss Trespasser,” the man said. “You crossed the border into Onychinus’s lands and now you’ll pay the price for it.”

What? You had no idea this now cursed flower field was past the border, had never so much as checked a map before venturing out.

Shit. You were in some deep shit.

The man wrenched you to your feet and tossed you over his shoulder like a bag of flour.

“Where are you taking me?” you questioned.

The man looped an arm around your legs, keeping them locked tight against his body to prevent you from kicking. “Boss-man will want to know why such a pretty face was caught within his lands.”

Boss…man?

You flailed despite being restrained. “I don’t care about this boss of yours! Take me to your king, I wish to speak to your king immediately!”

Both men laughed in a way that sounded as though they were one person but neither bothered to reply as they brought you toward this boss-man.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Curious stares followed you from the moment you entered the war camp still thrown over the man’s shoulder. The man you realized, along with his accomplice, likely soldiers from this sprawling army.

You didn’t know the enemy was posted so close to the border, the walk here only taking about thirty minutes. What exactly was your father planning in coming here so close to the fighting? What was he thinking bringing you along?

You were set on your feet in front of a rather large tent, at least compared to the hundred others surrounding it. The man nudged you forward, causing you to stumble through the flap and into the warmth.

The moment you lifted your head, you locked eyes with the most attractive man you’d ever seen.

Perfectly disheveled white hair. An amused tilt of full lips. A face made of sharp lines. And those eyes. Striking red eyes that looked more like gems than anything.

Who was this beautiful man before you?

His gaze shifted to the men behind you. “Do you two even know what kind of trouble you’ve brought to my doorstep?”

His voice, deep and sultry, caressed your skin and you had to hold back a shiver from the sound alone. But you weren’t naive enough to think this man wasn’t the most dangerous person in the room, perhaps in the entire army beyond these flimsy walls. He exuded the quiet confidence that came with a seasoned fighter. A man who knew the power he held in the palm of his hand. You were both terrified and intrigued by this man.

“We watched her cross the border, Boss,” the second man explained. “Rules say we bring anyone of interest to you for questioning.”

He raised a single brow. “What was she doing?”

“Uh, she was—”

“I was stargazing,” you supplied, holding your chin high.

“Stargazing,” he repeated, amusement dancing in those red eyes as they regarded you.

You were pretty sure he was a general, likely the general of this army. It was the only explanation that made sense based off the very little information you had.

“Did you know you were crossing into my lands, Princess?”

Every muscle in your body tensed.

He knew.

He knew exactly who you were.

Shit.

You sucked in a deep breath and steeled your nerves. “Well,” you huffed, “since you know who I am then let’s skip the formalities. I wish to speak with your king regarding my safe return to my father.”

He said nothing which was far more unnerving than outright refusing your request. His striking eyes roved over you, drinking in every inch. The shiver you’d been suppressing was powerless against his fierce gaze.

You struggled against your restraints, ropes tugging at the skin of your wrists. “I demand to be brought to your king!”

The general’s red eyes gleamed as his lips curled into a menacing grin. “You’re looking at him, Princess.”

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

taglist: @imnikki @tenleecth10 @hxneybeeuwu @sylus-crow @dissociativewriter @psychedelic--spaceman @zhongtar @ivoryclive @heartandeye @crowroses13 @blorbohunter @nikkikawaguchi @eugenekori @xanxann01 @tinyweebsstuff @haydeesgarden @kryberrub @wifunozomi @lazypostfandomer

[chaosartic]

Throw away the caution! Part 2 | LN4

word count: roughly 2k

warning: shitty writing, confusing, pinning, mention of alcohol, drinking and getting tipsy/drunk

summary: Lando (annoyingly) has a crush on non other than his best friends younger sister, Y/n Fewtrell. It was his well kept secret. Why? Because he knows how overprotective Max is of you. What happens when Carlos and Oscar find out about it? Will a drunken night out celebrating a race weekend change their relationship?

a/n: I’m so so sorry for the long wait but here it is, the second part! Please still ignore the terrible writing I’m still exploring with my style and such. Check out part one here!

The paddock is already bustling with energy when you and Max walked in. The journalists are trying to get some last minute shots and stories out of everyone. You wouldn’t say that you’re used to cameras being pointed at you or being quizzed by the media. But then again it didn’t surprise you that much when it happened. When Lando joined Formula One some attention also turned to his best friend whenever he was around. And since you normally spend your time during the race weekend with Max, there are some media pictures of you as well.

You stopped a few times along the way to the McLaren garage to talk with some of the drivers that you both know. When you reached the garage, the first one you saw was Oscar. “Hi guys,” he greeted the both of you. “Lando is still in the back,” he mentioned while pointing in the general direction. After a short greeting Max was already on his way to Lando. You however stayed in the front not sure if Lando really wanted you in his driver’s room after all.

“Sooo how do you feel about today?” You ask Oscar. “Excited but nervous,” he admits. “Home races are always… well different with all the fans around. My family is here as well. We’ll see how it goes,” Oscar confesses, getting slightly red around his cheeks. The younger McLaren driver was a bit nervous. At that moment Carlos decided to step up to the two of you. “Morning Carlos,” you greet him. “How was Sydney?” You ask, having just recently seen the pictures of him and Alex there. “It was good. How about your flight? Heard you arrived yesterday,” he said curiously.

“Same old, still don’t like the long flights,” you mention, Carlos knowing from previous conversations about your hate towards long distance flights. “But I’m very happy to be here for the full three days for a change.” You quickly add, gaze drifting towards the garage to see if your brother or Lando were back in the front. “I’ll go and grab something to drink. Do you want anything?” You ask the drivers but both are shaking their heads, no.

Oscar turns towards Carlos as soon as you are out of hearing range. “Am I imagining this?” he asks the Spaniard, pointing towards where you just went and where Lando is. For a quick second Carlos was confused by the younger driver's question before it clicked. “Oh, that. I’m honestly surprised that you mentioned it. And I mean the feelings are there you know from his side at least.” he confesses quietly to the Aussie, his Spanish accent getting stronger the more he tries to keep his voice down. After all, the media didn't need to know about this. “When did Lando tell you?” he asks the Aussie. “He didn’t,” Oscar says. “We spent an evening together at Max’s place. You know just us four and I saw the way he looks at here.” He admits, “he also wouldn’t shut up about her during testing in Bahrain. From what I know they’ve been talking a lot.”

”You don’t happen to know how she feels?” Oscar asks. Both ignore everything that is happening around too caught up in the conversation. “No I don’t,” he says. “I mean we are not that close so I never ask her and she wasn’t around much recently because of her private life.” Carlos adds. Oscar nodes in complete understanding. It would be weird if they just randomly went up to her and asked her about that, or would it? “They would be cute together…” Oscar trails off mid sentence. “Si,” Carlos agrees. They didn’t need to say it out loud, both drivers were on the same page. Try to figure out if you feel the same towards Lando and hopefully, depending on your answer, get the two of you together.

When you came back from getting a drink Carlos and Oscar were gone. Probably busy with preparations. You did spot Max outside casually talking to some McLaren personnel. You look around hoping to spot Lando before the first practice session. But luck wasn’t on your side. When you didn’t see the driver a strange feeling of disappointment overcame you. You could ask your brother if he knows where Lando is. It is the first race weekend after the winter break. Pressure and expectations for the team but especially Lando are at an all time high after the constructors title. Also Lando was the one to invite the both of you to Melbourne. It wouldn’t be suspicious if you ask your brother. At least that’s what you hope. You didn’t need your brother knowing about this strange situation.

“Do you know where Lando is?” You ask your brother, “I want to wish him good luck before the practice session.” “Last time I saw him he was in the garage but I think he went somewhere.” He says a bit unsure, now looking around trying to see if he can spot his best friend. “Oh okay. Well, it’s no trouble. I’ll catch him later,” you dismiss it. The feeling of disappointment only grows within you. It was as if Lando heard his name being called. He suddenly pops up out of nowhere. ”Y/n I’m so happy to have you here,” he exclaimed happily with a bright smile on his face. You know that the smile wasn’t because of you. It couldn't be.

“Just wanted to wish you good luck out there.” You say quickly, giving the Brit a hug. His arms wrap tightly around you for a few seconds before he lets go. Oscar can see the whole scene from a slight distance. The plan he made with Carlos would probably sound more than stupid to anyone else. However Oscar saw your smile when Lando gave you a hug and the slightly disappointed look as soon as he left. You are definitely feeling something for Lando, he was sure of that. And hiding that wasn’t your strong suit.

You spent as much as you could during the whole weekend with Lando. If he wasn't around your brother was mostly there to keep you company. Oscar and Carlos seem to be around her the whole time as well, sometimes directly in conversations and other times in the background. You love spending time with the other drivers so you really didn’t mind them being around.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He did it! Lando is the first winner of the 2025 season. The race was chaotic to say the least but it was good seeing your friend at the top of the podium. You couldn't be more proud of him. It was a bit after the race and you’re currently out with a few of the drivers at a local bar to celebrate the weekend. The night wouldn’t be too crazy, after all the Chinese GP is right around the corner.

You are sitting at one of the tables with some sort of cocktail in your hand. You're not exactly sure what was in it since it was a recommendation from one of the bartenders. No, you’re not drunk, nor was that the goal, but definitely a bit tipsy. Enough to loosen your tongue. Lando is sitting with you just idly chatting about whatever comes to mind.

”So y/n… can I ask you something a bit more personal?” Lando asks you. “Of course you can sillly,” you answer. “Well… it’s a bit weird but I heard Carlos talking to Oscar the other day about you uhm liking someone and I guess I just wonder who the lucky guy is..” he got out. He definitely had more to drink than you did and was already slipping into being drunk. Before he went out with you he was celebrating the win with this team.

You freeze for a second remembering a conversation you had with Carlos and Oscar on Saturday after qualifying. They came up to you and started asking questions about your relationship with Lando, not so subtly trying to get something out of you. Their goal, trying to see if you like the Brit. You didn’t really say anything to them, but your facial expression probably said more than a thousand words and told them exactly what they needed to know. It also wasn’t just a coincidence that Lando heard both of them talking about it. They planned it at the exact moment, hoping to steal some sort of reaction out of him so that one of you would finally carve in and confess their feelings.

You didn’t know what to say. What could you say to that? Sure you could be honest but that would very likely ruin everything. But you don't like lying, especially to those that are close to you. It was a complicated situation. “I… I honestly don’t know what… uhm what to say,” you stutter out a blush creeping up on your cheeks. Lando tilts his head to the side, eyes open wide and looking directly into yours. It was hard for you in this exact moment to read his body language.

“Is it one of the drivers?” he asks slowly. You just nod your head slightly still deep in your thoughts. Lando slowly and shyly took your hand that wasn’t holding the glass in his. His thumb was drawing small, smoothing circles. He took another long sip of his drink. “Can I confess something?” he asks, eyes still looking into yours but a deep reddish blush creeping up his neck. His words are slurred together with an accent thicker than before.

Yet again you nod your head, not wanting to speak too afraid to break the moment. “I- I like you y/n and I have for a while,” he mumbled almost inaudibly with the loud music. “I have for a while,” he added. For a moment you are speechless, not sure how to react. His grip on your hand loses trying to pull away. You could see the anxiety in his eyes slowly coming out through the drunken haze. “I like you too, Lando. Have for a while.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

I hope you enjoy it! Any feedback is appreciated!

Would you like a third part where Max finds out about there confession?

[earpskeeper]

part 1 can be found here

trigger warning - grief, slight breakdown, minimal suicidal ideation

hope you guys enjoy it!

as always my requests are open :)

In the weeks following the funeral, Kyra doesn't go home.

She can’t.   

The thought of stepping foot inside the flat you shared makes her chest sieze. Every corner would be you. Your toothbrush. Your coat still hanging on the hook by the door. The half-finished novel on the bedside table she never got around to teasing you for. The quiet hum of the fridge where the oat milk you insisted on drinking still sits.

So she stays with Katie and Caitlin. They don’t ask questions. Don’t push. They just hand her spare pyjamas and keep the house warm. Caitlin makes her tea she doesn’t drink. Katie leaves a lamp   on in the hallway at night.

Kyra barely speaks.

She moves like a ghost through the house, eyes blank, shoulders hunched, as if shrinking from the weight pressing down on her chest. She doesn't eat unless told to. Doesn't answer her phone. Her training attendance is erratic. When she does show up, she’s mechanical, going through the motions, never quite present.

The only time she seems alive at all is when she’s angry. And it comes fast. Sudden. Unpredictable.

It happens for the first time two weeks after the funeral. The first time Kyra goes back to training. It had been nearly 3 weeks since the funeral and Katie and Caitlin both have early meetings that morning.

They are hesitant to leave her, hovering by the front door, but Kyra insists she would go. 

“I’ll go” she murmurs, her eyes fixated on a now cold cup of tea, “I’ll try.”

In the end it is Leah who comes to pick her up. 

She pulls up just outside the house in her car, country music on low and a soft encouraging smile readey. But the moment Kyra steps out of the door, the moment she sees the car, she stops dead in her tracks. 

She doesn’t say a word, she just stops. 

Leah, who was now out of the car and opening the passenger door with gentle ease. “Morning Ky, come on, hop in.”

Kyra’s breath hitches. Her arms curl tightly around her middle like she’s holding herself in place. Her whole chest begins to rise and fall too quickly, and her eyes are locked on the car like it’s something dangerous. Because in her mind, and experience, it is. 

“Kyra?” Leah’s voice is gentle now, cautious as she steps slowly towards her. 

“It’s alright, it’s just me. We’ll be there in fifteen, tops.”

“No,” Kyra says. Her voice is thin, cracking at the edges.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t.” Her breathing is getting faster. “I can’t.”

Leah moves a little closer. “Hey! hey, Just breathe, okay?”

But Kyra’s hands are trembling now. Her eyes flash with something wild, panic twisted into anger, into white raged fury. “I’m not getting in the car, Leah!”

“Alright, that’s ok. ”

“I said no!” she yells, suddenly, her voice shrill. “I can’t breathe, I can’t, I…I can’t!”

Her chest is rising too fast, shoulders hunched, and she starts pacing erratically, clutching her head with both hands. “Why would you even bring a car? Why the fuck would you think that’s okay?!”

“Kyra.” Leah’s voice firms up. She steps in quickly, placing both hands on Kyra’s shoulders. “Look at me. Look at me. You’re alright.”

“I’m not,” Kyra gasps. “I’m not, I’m not, I’m not!” She repeats as if she believes if she says it enough times then it will come true. 

“Okay, we’re not doing the car,” Leah says immediately, her grip steady but calm. “We’ll take the tube, yeah? No cars. No pressure. Just you and me. We’ll walk half of it. You’re safe.”

Kyra’s breaths still come ragged, but something in Leah’s voice cuts through the panic like a thread. Her eyes flick up to meet hers, glassy and burning.

“I can’t go back there,” she whispers, almost childlike. “I can’t be in another car. I see it every time.”

Leah nods, slowly. “Then we won’t. I promise.”

It takes a few minutes before Kyra can stop pacing, before her hands drop back to her sides and her breathing steadies enough to walk.

They take the tube. Leah keeps her close the whole time, navigating the crowds, shielding Kyra from too many eyes. They walk the last half mile in silence, shoes crunching gravel, Kyra’s gaze fixed on the ground.

It isn’t easy. Her body moves like it’s made of stone.

But she makes it to training.

By the time they reach the training ground, Kyra looks pale and hollow-eyed, her shoulders slumped like she’s trying to disappear into her coat. Leah walks just a step behind her, close enough to steady her if she wavers., or stop her if she decides to bolt. 

They enter through the side door to avoid the main hallway. The hum of conversation, laughter, and the shuffle of boots echoes from the locker room ahead. Normal. Alive. Loud in a way that feels almost obscene.

Kyra steps inside, and it’s like someone hit mute.

Every head turns.

Every voice dies.

Laughter evaporates mid-sentence. Boots stop clattering against the floor. Water bottles lower mid-sip. The buzz of conversation collapses into an awkward, loaded silence.

All eyes land on her, but she doesn’t meet a single one.

She’s staring at a cubby.

Her girlfriend’s.

It’s been turned into a shrine. Cards slotted between folded kit, little notes scrawled with shaky handwriting. A scarf draped over the top. Someone’s left a stuffed bear tucked into the corner. And in the center, a large bouquet of flowers adorned with red roses. 

Kyra doesn’t move for a long time. Just stares. Everyone expects something, a gasp, a sob, a trembling hand reaching out to touch something left behind.

But all they get is a quiet voice. Flat. Robotic.

“Who did that?”

Nobody answers.

She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t turn. Just keeps staring at the flowers.

“She would’ve hated it,” Kyra says, completely devoid of emotion. Like she’s stating the time or reading off an ingredients list. “She thought they were cliché,” she adds, still flat, robotic. “Said they were for people who couldn’t be bothered to think.”

Another pause. No one knows what to say.

Beth makes the mistake of stepping closer, her voice careful, too gentle. “Kyra… are you…?”

Kyra turns without warning and walks straight past her. Her shoulder smashes against Beth’s with enough force to make her stagger, but Kyra doesn’t stop. Doesn’t look back. Doesn’t even flinch.

She walks to her locker and begins changing wordlessly, like she’s the only one in the room.

The silence lingers, awkward and uncertain, until Leah finds her voice  strong, steady and full of no-nonsense.

“All right,” she says, sharp enough to slice the tension. “Get ready, warm-up in ten.”

And slowly, conversation resumes, though it’s more hushed now. Eyes still flick to Kyra as she changes, methodical and mechanical. Not one trace of emotion.

After training had finished, Kyra hurried out of the locker room, her bag slung over one shoulder. In her rush, the notebook slipped from the side pocket, landing unnoticed on the floor.

Later, Kim, staying late for coaching duties with the academy, was tidying up the changing room when her eyes caught the small, worn notebook lying by the bench. Curious, she picked it up and flipped it open.

Her face grew serious as she read the raw, painful words. Kyra’s struggles, her despair, the haunting lines about not wanting to live without her girlfriend, and how sometimes she thought it would have been better if she had died instead.

Kim closed the notebook gently, her mind racing. Without hesitation, she headed straight to Katie and Caitlin’s place, the notebook clutched firmly in her hand, knowing this was something they all had to face together.

Kim hesitated for a moment in the dimly lit corridor outside Katie and Caitlin’s flat, the worn notebook clutched tightly in her hands. The changing room had been empty when she found it, lying abandoned on the floor, its pages fluttering as if begging to be read. She hadn’t meant to pry, but the words inside had stopped her cold, the despair, the pain, the silent cries no one had heard before. This wasn’t just grief anymore, it was a quiet surrender. Kim knew Kyra needed more than distance and silence now. She swallowed hard and stepped inside.

Kyra’s footsteps were slow and hollow, each step almost robotic, like a ghost trapped in a body. She paused in the doorway, her pale eyes flicking immediately to the notebook on the table. Her face remained blank, expressionless — a mask of cold detachment.

“That’s not mine” she said quietly, voice flat, almost rehearsed.

Katie lifted her gaze, steady and calm, voice warm but firm. “Kyra… it is. We’ve read it.” Her words hung heavy in the air, yet they carried no judgment, only love. “We know how much you’re hurting. You don’t have to hide it from us.”

For a moment, Kyra’s eyes widened, but no tears came. The silence stretched unbearably. Then like a dam breaking, her entire body tensed, shoulders rigid, fists clenching at her sides.

“You had no right!” she burst out, voice sharp, trembling with a mix of fury and despair. “How could you read that? It’s mine… Private!” Her breathing quickened, panic rising as she tried to contain the whirlwind inside her chest.

Kyra’s body trembled violently as the weight of everything she had been holding in for so long finally crashed over her. Her fists clenched so tight that her knuckles turned white, and her breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps. The storm inside her was relentless, a chaotic mix of anger, despair, and helplessness. Her voice cracked as she shouted, “How could you read that? It’s mine!” The words hung heavy, raw and desperate.

Katie was quick to notice the signs of the impending breakdown and swiftly stood up and made her way over to Kyra. Hands up as if to try and defuse the situation. But as Kyra tried to shove Katie away, that’s when she knew she had to intervene physically.

Kim and Caitlin exchanged a worried glance, but Katie didn’t let go. Instead, she rose slowly, closing the distance between them. “Kyra, we’re here because we care. Because we want to help,” she said gently, reaching out to wrap her arms around Kyra.

Kyra struggled at first, stiff and unyielding, as if trying to push Katie away. But the walls she’d built for so long began to crumble. Her hands shook, then faltered, and the anger dissolved into a raw, shattered sob that shook her whole frame.

Katie’s arms tightened around her, a steady anchor in the whirlwind. But Kyra was still fighting. Her legs buckled slightly, and her hands flailed, a sharp, involuntary movement meant to push away but really betraying the panic twisting inside her.

Suddenly, the fight drained out of her. Her body sagged against Katie’s, knees buckling as she crumpled down to the floor, her face burying in Katie’s shoulder. The tears came without warning, hot and fast. Sobs wracked her body, violent and ragged, as if each one was shaking loose a shard of the pain lodged deep within her.

Her cries broke the silence like thunder, loud and raw. The anger that had burned so fiercely just moments ago morphed into something unbearably fragile. She was no longer the stoic, emotionless figure who had walked into the room moments before. No, now she was utterly broken, raw and exposed.

Katie gently rocked her, whispering soothing words, “It’s okay, Kyra. Let it out. We’re here.” The warmth of Katie’s voice was a lifeline, pulling her back from the edge. Kyra’s trembling fingers gripped Katie’s shirt as if holding on for dear life.

Caitlin knelt nearby, eyes glistening with empathy, reaching out to brush a calming hand along Kyra’s back. Kim sat at the table, silent but attentive, understanding that this was a crucial turning point but heartbreaking internallly. 

Kyra’s breaths were shallow and ragged, but slowly, the trembling eased. The sobs softened, becoming quieter hiccups. Her face was streaked with tears, eyes red and swollen, but there was a flicker of relief, painful but real.

After what felt like an eternity, Kyra whispered, barely audible, “I don’t want to feel like this… I’m so tired.”

Katie pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, voice steady and full of care, “You don’t have to face it alone anymore. We’ll be with you, every step.”

[stouijen]

₊˚ ✧ ━⊱Whiskey Sour⊰━ ✧ ₊˚

Eddie Watts X Reader Word Count: 919 words a/n: Everyone, be nice to me. LOL I've never written fanfic before. </3 But if you like it, give me a holla ________________________________

 Entering your house, you slam the door behind you before kicking your shoes off towards the wall. Damn was work exhausting. Your head hurts, your eyes burn, and you are at your wits' end. With a deep sigh, you drag your feet towards the kitchen, letting your work bag slip off your shoulder and onto the floor. Rounding the corner into the kitchen, you’re met with a deep chuckle. Lifting your eyes off the ground, they meet with a pair of grayish-blue ones. With one hand, your boyfriend slides an old-fashioned glass over to the end of the kitchen counter. Its contents are a whiskey sour, of course.

“Hmm… you look horrible,” he whispers, instantly lifting your spirits. You let out another sigh, though this one was out of relief. “Eddie…” you murmur as you wrap your arms around his torso. “Hello to you, too,” he mumbled with a quiet laugh, his arms wrapping around your shoulders. Without much hesitation, you bring your lips to his. A comforting moment bloomed between the two of you, but as quickly as the kiss had started, it had heated up. The small peck had turned into multiple pecks, and soon enough, a bundle of deep kisses that swiftly clouded your mind.

“Okay, okay,” Eddie’s voice muffled into your lips as he gently pressed your back onto the corner of the kitchen counter, the cold marble forced into your lower back. “That’s enough,” he warned as he pulled his face away from yours, though the look in his eyes told a different story. He was quickly met with a displeased groan from you, your lips traveling down to his neck as you littered his tanned skin with kisses. “C’mon, Eddie… I kinda need it right now,” you replied. “And I kinda need you to relax,” he said with a low grumble. His cheeks tinged with a subtle red color as he reached behind you to grab the drink that sat behind you.

He brought the chilled cup up to your face, as if trying to coax you into having a drink. “Have this instead,” he whispered as he kissed your forehead. You let another defiant grunt, shooting him a soft glare. “It’s my signature, and you don’t want to hurt my feelings by denying a drink I made especially for you, live wire,” he whispered into your ear with a low, breathy purr. God damn it. He always knew how to make you listen. With a red face, you took the cup, sipping from its frigid rim. “There you go,” he chuckled, his hands finding a comfortable place on your hips, placing a kiss on the crevice between your neck and shoulder.

“How was work?” he asked softly, his lips continuing to brush against your skin. As the last syllable left his lips, you instinctively rolled your eyes. Eddie didn’t even have to see the expression you made to see you were unhappy. “Sorry, live wire,” he said with another kiss, “I’ll keep quiet about that.” He pulled away to look you in the eyes. His usual guarded and standoffish expression was replaced with a tender look. “How’s the drink?” he asked instead. You smiled, much more pleased with this question. “It’s perfect,” you sighed, placing one more kiss against his lips. A soft hum rumbled in his throat at the mix of sweet and sour on your lips. As the two of you parted, he subtly licked his lips.

“I’ll tell you what,” he began as his lips twitched up into a soft smirk, “Finish that drink and we can go to the bedroom, get comfy, watch a movie… and then we’ll see where it goes from there, okay?” You met him with an even bigger smirk. “Oh yeah?” you asked, your voice low and knowing. “Calm down there, Hun. Let's not force anything here,” he murmured, his eyes averting from yours, cheeks flushing a deeper red. “I won’t be forcing anything, Eddison,” you snickered. The pairing of his full name and your laugh only made him more embarrassed. “Alright, that’s enough,” he spoke with a deep grumble. You place your drink back onto the counter with a quiet clink of the glass. “I’m messing with you, Eddie. I’d love to spend the night with you,” you assured him, your eyes filled with sincerity.

Eddie stared at you for a moment, taking in your features. He took in the things you loved and the things you hated, but to him, he loved it all. Your looks, personality, and intelligence. With a shy grin, he grabbed your chin, initiating another kiss. His lips danced against yours, his hand slipping into a comfortable spot on your cheek, his other gently cupping the back of your neck. The kiss continued for a few long moments. Whether it was seconds, minutes or hours, you couldn’t tell, but it wasn’t that you minded at all. He parted with a contented hum, his teeth catching your lower lip with a playful smirk. Finally, he backed up, taking your hand in his. “Now, finish your drink and meet me in bed. I’ll have everything prepared for us. Movie, blankets, me,” he breathed, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing your palm. “I’ll be waiting,” he smiled as he let go of your hand and turned away with a pleased sigh. Just before he left the kitchen into the hall, he looked over his shoulder at you. “Don’t be too long. You know I can be impatient.”  

[ducksido]

Ooh oooh

can i please request a yuu who has a mechanical/cybernetic prosthetic metal arm (kind of like bucky barnes or edward elric) because they lost their arm in an accident or something and when they come to twisted wonderland they befriend the shroud brothers?

i just think yuu would feel like their broken because they lost a part of themselves that they can never get back and meeting ortho and idia would make them feel better about themselves (i bet those two would make you a new arm with like the best upgrades ever - though you have to tell ortho to cool it down a bit, adding a rocket launcher/flame thrower might be pushing it)

i don't know i just think that yuu finding a family with the tech bros would be really wholesome.

When Yuu first arrived in Twisted Wonderland, they kept their jacket sleeve pulled low. Not out of shame, really—more like protection. The prosthetic arm beneath wasn’t magical. It was tech from their world, old and battered, the metal joints squeaking if they moved too quickly. It had been built in a hospital, not a lab. Built to function. Not to feel.

It didn’t matter if people stared, but they always did. So they avoided eye contact. Hid behind books. Let the rumors swirl.

And then they met Ortho Shroud.

He didn’t stare. He beeped—excitedly. Zoomed up to them, circuits practically vibrating with glee.

“COOL!! Are you cybernetic?! That’s a Class C-E prosthetic build! Do you have neural feedback? Ohhh, wait—does it use kinetic charge?? Can I scan you—pretty please?!”

Yuu blinked. “…You’re a robot.”

“I prefer the term ‘autonomous artificial lifeform,’” Ortho chirped. “But yes!”

And that’s how Yuu met the Shroud brothers.

Over Time:

Yuu starts visiting Ignihyde. Not for any official reason—just because Idia doesn’t flinch when he sees their arm. Just nods from his beanbag throne and goes, “Huh. Metal arm. Hardcore.”

Ortho pesters them with questions about the tech level of their world, how it was installed, and then immediately promises to make them an upgrade.

“We’ll call it: Project Arm-verlord!!” “Ortho, no.” “Okay fine, Project Huggrip 5000!” “Ortho.” “…Mini rocket launcher?” “ORTHO.”

The Breakdown:

One night, while staying over at Ignihyde, Yuu’s arm short circuits.

It’s not dangerous. Just frustrating. The joint locks up and sparks. They grit their teeth, trying to fix it, but their hands shake. The panic hits harder than the pain.

“It’s broken,” Yuu mutters. “Again. It’s always breaking. I’m so tired.”

They sit on the floor of the lab, robotic fingers twitching. “I didn’t choose this, you know? It was an accident. And they couldn’t save it. They saved me instead. But sometimes I think I lost more than just a limb. I lost me.”

Silence.

Then:

“...Yeah,” Idia says. “I get that.”

He doesn’t look at them—just stares at the screen in front of him, tapping a stylus against his tablet.

“You think people only see the machine. Or the tragedy. Like you're more ‘what happened’ than who you are.” “Yeah,” Yuu breathes.

“Then… maybe it’s not about replacing what’s missing,” Idia mutters, “but upgrading what’s still there.”

The New Arm:

It takes a month. Ortho’s all in—drawing blueprints with doodled stars and stickers. Idia codes the feedback sensors himself. The new prosthetic is lighter, smoother, and responds to Yuu’s thoughts like a dream.

It even has a retractable toolset. Ortho wanted to add a flamethrower, but Yuu gently refused.

“What about a mini espresso machine?” “No.” “Grappling hook?” “…Maybe.”

When it’s done, Yuu stares at their reflection.

The arm gleams like silver. It hums with quiet power, marked by an Ignihyde-blue core at the wrist. It's not the one they lost—but it’s theirs.

And so are the people who helped build it.

“You’re not broken,” Ortho says. “You’re just modded,” Idia adds. “Modded and magnificent.”

Yuu smiles. For the first time in a long time, it feels real.

BONUS:

Yuu keeps a small sticker Ortho gave them—an 8-bit heart—and sticks it on the back of their hand.

Idia lowkey writes fanfic about a character based on Yuu called Steel Soul, but denies it.

Ortho wants to cosplay them at the next convention.

And Yuu? They call them family.

[munsonfamilyband]

I have no time right now to elaborate too deeply on this thought but I just had a brain worm and I need to write it down before I forget. Who knows, I may elaborate and make this a whole thing with dialogue tonight, we’ll see. TW for depictions of Steve’s injuries post s4, vomiting, gore(?)

Steve refuses medical treatment at the end of s4, they drop off Eddie and he hides in plain site until it’s time to take Dustin and Robin home.

They stop at Dustin’s first, both he and Robin getting out to get Claudia Hugs (I just know she gives INCREDIBLE hugs). He drops Robin off at home with her promising to keep her walkie on their frequency. And then he goes home alone.

He tries to shower, it hurts his feet and back too much. He tries to change the “bandage” but just gently tugging almost makes him black out from pain. So he collapses on his bed and passes out.

Days go by, he’s trying to act normal, like he isn’t always running a fever and his sides are itching and starting to smell under the cologne he practically bathes in. It works for a few days at least, but Claudia gets suspicious by day 3 post earthquake when Steve shows up for lunch with flushed cheeks. 2 days later he doesn’t show up.

She drives over alone, Dustin is at the Wheeler’s, and she lets herself in with the key Steve gave her and Dustin after last summer. She calls his name, doesn’t get an answer but something smells off. She’s a nurse, she recognizes the scent of disease.

She hurries upstairs and finds Steve in bed, only wearing boxers and the filthy scrap of cloth wrapped around his stomach. He’s sweating and has vomited on himself at least twice, recently too. She immediately knows that he is what smells, she can see the pus and blood on his abdomen. He’s delirious, mumbling to himself and part of her wants to shut down and cry, to go cradle this boy, her son in all ways but blood, but she can’t. She steels herself and walks to his bedside to feel his forehead, almost recoiling from how hot his skin is.

As she keeps checking him over, she grabs the phone on his bedside table and calls 911, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder to keep working. When the operator answers she explains who she is, where she is and what’s happening.

It’s a blur after that until she’s sitting in the hospital waiting room and she realizes that 1. her shirt and her hands reek of Steve’s blood, and 2. she’s completely alone in the waiting room. Swallowing her tears, Claudia goes over to the payphone and fishes out some coins to call the Buckely’s. Robin’s father picks up but quickly hands it over when Claudia mentions Steve.

She will never forget the choked off sound of pure distress Robin makes when she hears what’s happening.

Hours pass, Robin had arrived shortly after the call and her and Claudia have been curled up together in the waiting room every since. They haven’t called anyone else, haven’t even thought about it, too worried about Steve. Later, Claudia will remember the other kids who adore Steve, Hopper who treats Steve like a son. But in that moment, still not knowing if her boy is okay, she can’t.

Finally, a doctor steps out, clearly fresh from surgery, to speak with them. She explains that Steve had a very severe infection in multiple wounds, especially the ones on his side. They had to debride the wounds, which is what took so long. He was lucky that she found him when he did and that he hadn’t picked up any truly terrible bacteria. He hadn’t gone septic, thankfully, but he was going to be on seriously strong antibiotics for a while. She explained that he was in the ICU and they aren’t supposed to let anyone but family see him.

Claudia wanted to scream and sob and go find the Harringtons and get them to come see their son, but before she even says anything Robin explains that Steve’s parents had all but disowned him and her and Claudia were both in his emergency contacts, not his parents.

The doctor lets them see him. They have to wear face masks and gloves, but they can see him. Claudia had never seen him look so small. And there, in that ICU room, her and Robin both broke and started crying. That was how Jim Hopper found them when he arrived shortly after, the nurses having called him. He’s wearing a mask and gloves but his eyes are wild and scared. He nearly falls over when he sees Steve.

Steve is unconscious for almost two weeks, though the first four or five days or so were due to sedatives - the doctor wanted him to rest and let the antibiotics work. After he was taken off the sedatives he was moved out of the ICU, to a regular room where other people could visit. The kids came and decorated his room, even brought something Eddie had “commissioned” from Will (it looked like Steve ripping one of those creepy things from that alien movie apart, which she really didn’t get). Joyce brought him the quilt from her couch that he always enjoyed at movie nights and Robin came in every other day with his shampoo and conditioner to wash his hair for him (on days she didn’t come to wash his hair, she would come do something else with him. One day Claudia walked in on her painting his nails and her heart felt like it was melting).

The day he finally woke up was the first day Robin hadn’t been able to come. Her parents had forced her to take a break and get some sleep, so Claudia was there on her own just reading a book. She was so engrossed in it that she dropped it in shock when she heard the person on the bed in front of her make noise. Her eyes instantly went to Steve and she could see him scrunching up his face and groaning.

Claudia was by his side in a heartbeat, gently grabbing his hand and brushing a hand over his cheek, speaking softly to let him know she was there. His eyes slowly squinted open, clearly struggling to get the energy to move at all. Their eyes locked and his mouth twitched, like he wanted to smile at her. Then, as she was watching him with tears in her eyes, he opened his mouth and spoke for the first time in weeks.

“Mom….”

[megumiluvv]

One day, Choso is confused when you cancel watching Yuji with no explanation. Usually, there’s a long apology and reasoning, usually a last-minute scheduling issue, but today? Radio silence. After getting his uncle over to watch Yuji, Choso walks next door to check on you, knowing he’ll be late to his nth part-time job.

When you don’t answer the door, he uses the spare key you gave him, and he calls for you. Still, no response.

He gets to your room to see you passed out on your bed, phone in hand with a half-typed explanation to him, and blankets twisting with your legs. Choso picks up your phone, reading the half-typed text with multiple spelling errors, able to make out “ghreq ip” and “um so sprty”, knowing it probably means “threw up” and “I’m so sorry”.

The dark-haired male frowns and shuts off your phone, putting it on the charger and onto your nightstand. He then shuts off your lamps and fixes your blanket. Choso then goes to your kitchen and calls into work, claiming he’s sick and can’t make it to work. He then starts to cook your favorite soup.

You wake up to the smell of food, the feeling of dread instantly occurs, thinking you accidentally cooked something while delirious after throwing up. You scramble out of bed and hurry into the kitchen and find none other than your neighbor cooking soup for you.

“Choso?” You mumble, sleepy and confused, throat hoarse from your earlier vomiting.

“Go back to bed,” he mumbles, not even turning to look at you as he continues to cook. “Actually, try the soup, does it need anything?”

He carefully blows on the spoon to cool the broth and then brings it to your lips. You taste the soup and nod.

“Good.” Is all you manage to say as you watch him cook. It never gets old. Watching how docile and domestic he can be while looking so imposing and menacing.

He lays you back in bed despite your protests, and leaves the room. He quickly returns with a bowl of soup and sits in front of you.

“Here, open up.”

“Nooo, go work, I’ll get you sick,” you mumble.

“Don’t care, open up, I already said I’m not working today.”

“Fiiine…”

He carefully cools each bite of soup for you and spoon feeds you. Choso smiles at your tired, sickly expression.

“Yuji’s with our uncle, if you were wondering,” he mumbles and feeds you, letting you sip your water.

“What was his name again?” You mumble.

“Sukuna. He instantly thought of something inappropriate when I said you cancelled today.”

“Oh god…”

“Yup. Instant smirk on his face.”

“What’d he say?”

“Said that you and I should be more careful.” Choso rolls his eyes at the innuendo left by his uncle’s words.

“He thinks I’m bedridden because… that’s so inappropriate…” It took you a while to get the innuendo, but when it did click, your cheeks flushed.

“Yeah, it is.” He agrees.

He goes back to feeding you instead of continuing the topic.

“Yuji misses you already. He said he wanted to play hide and seek today.”

“Maybe we’ll play next time.”

“I’m off work for the rest of the week.”

“Oh, guess I’ll have to wait til next week, then.”

“Who says my dear neighbor can’t visit any time when they feel better?”

“Right, we’re neighbors, friends, not just babysitter and employer, huh?” You smile, starting to feel better after eating.

“Yeah, we are, aren’t we?” He smiles too, always smiling when he sees yours. “Feel better and the three of us can all play.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m working on feeling better. Give me like, a day or two,” you mumble and lay down.

Choso chuckles and contemplates lying beside you, but doesn’t want your protests about getting him sick. He decides to let you rest and he fixes your covers, then puts up the leftover soup and cleans the dishes, staying quiet so he doesn’t wake you. He could get used to doing small things for you.

Masterlist

[tortillamastersblog]

Back To You - Part 16 | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, and swearing

Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.

Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .

A/N: Fair warning there might be a couple of typos and shit in this part because I’m too tired to proofread properly

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

_______________________________________________

The door of the theater falls shut behind us with a loud bang and I can’t stop myself from flinching ever so slightly.

Sam squeezes my hand and I squeeze back, letting my eyes roam around the room.

Nothing’s changed since the last time we were here and I cringe once again at the sight of the mannequins on the stage dressed in the old Ghostface cloaks.

It’s eerily quiet, but the knowledge that backup is ready to jump in and help us when Kirby gives them a signal brings me some sense of peace.

When Sam and I came out of the bathroom earlier Bailey had left to go to the station which gave me the chance to pull Kirby aside and tell her about what we figured out while Sam distracted the others, especially Ethan who kept looking at me with his big doe eyes.

She believed me instantly and we quickly came to the conclusion that in order to end this we either have to kill Bailey, Quinn, and Ethan, or get a confession out of them, so they go to prison for the rest of their lives.

I opted for the latter because I’m sick of people dying, but we agreed that should anything go wrong, we will kill them.

We also agreed that the less people are involved the better, so Kirby called the hospital Anika is at and convinced them to call Mindy in Anika’s name, saying she wanted to see her girlfriend.

We tried to come up with a plan to get Chad out of the way as well, but nothing came to mind, which is why he’s here with us now.

Danny’s also here, but we left him outside under the guise of needing someone to call for help in case something goes wrong.

He doesn’t know that the FBI is already stationed nearby, waiting to be called in by Kirby.

Sam, Kirby, and I are the only ones who know and even though I wanted to tell Tara and Chad, I never got the chance because we were never alone.

At first, Danny and Ethan were with us, and then it was just Danny because I managed to prevent Ethan from getting on the same subway as us by shoving a stranger in his way.

I’m sure he’ll be here soon though, just like Bailey who’s in on the “plan”.

We told him we wanted to trap Ghostface and execute him which he immediately agreed to since he doesn’t know we know about him yet.

He was super supportive and even told us to use public transport to avoid getting targeted, and if I didn’t know better I would have actually believed that he was concerned.

I still don’t know why he, Quinn, and Ethan are doing all this, but I guess we’ll find out sooner.

“I cleared the whole place before you got here,” Kirby says, turning to face us. “This—“ she nods her head at the door we just came in through, “—is the only way in or out.”

“What about weapons?” Sam asks, her hand still in mine.

Tara is holding onto Chad’s arm, nodding along to what Sam just asked.

“One gun and I hold onto it,” Kirby lies. She slipped me a knife earlier when I told her about what we found out.

It’s tucked into the waistband of my pants, hidden by my sweater, and not even Sam knows about it.

I know right now would probably be a good time to come clean and tell Chad and Tara everything we know (and tell Sam about the knife), but we can’t be sure that this place isn’t bugged.

“I’m the only one with a badge, so that’s the way it’s going to be,” Kirby says when the others look at her in disbelief. “We’re safe here,” she adds and even though I know the FBI is on standby outside, I’m still not entirely convinced. There’s three Ghostfaces and four of us, and they’re all armed.

This is going to be fun. . .

I wish we’d had more time to plan, because this is all super reckless, but we can’t risk someone else getting hurt, so it will have to do.

The others look skeptical, too, but no one voices their concerns and a moment later Sam’s phone rings. She disconnects our hands and pulls it out of her pocket, her eyebrows furrowing when she sees that it’s Mindy who’s calling her.

She glances at me and I dip my chin, wordlessly telling her to answer it.

“Mindy? Hey, you okay?” she says. She walks off in search of better reception and I let her be, turning to Chad and Tara who are eyeing the glass display cases with disgust while Kirby makes her own way through the theater, looking at everything with her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Sprout. . . Chad,” I say quietly, approaching them. They turn with furrowed eyebrows and smile weakly when they see me.

“Y/N.” Chad exhales sharply and I squeeze his arm reassuringly.

“You guys okay?” I ask.

Tara shakes her head and hugs me while Chad grimaces. “Not really,” she whispers. “I’m scared.”

I sigh and hold her closer. “Yeah, me too.”

“Same. . .” Chad watches us with a forlorn look and I chuckle softly before pulling him into the hug as well.

“You’ll be okay. Both of you, I promise.” I press a kiss to the top of Tara’s head and nudge Chad.

They both shudder and tighten the hug before my phone rings and I’m forced to pull away.

Dread settles in the pit of my stomach as I pull it out of my pocket, but then the sight of Paige’s name flashing across the screen makes me relax again.

It’s not Ghostface, Y/N. Calm down.

“Paige, hey. Everything okay? Are you in the city yet?”

Despite the situation, Paige laughs softly. “Yes, everything’s fine. I’m not in the city yet, I still have two hours to go. I’m just calling to tell you that the hospital called.”

The tentative smile that pulled at my lips just a second ago vanishes and I tighten my grip on the phone. “A-and?”

“Lee’s still in surgery, but he’s stable.”

Tears prick at my eyes and I spin around to avoid Tara’s and Chad’s concerned looks. “Okay, that’s good. That’s really good.”

I swallow thickly to get rid of the growing lump in my throat and Paige sighs on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, it is. . . so what about you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but—“

The lights turn off and the call disconnects. A scream pierces through the silent theater and I whirl around.

Tara.

She and Chad seem to be unharmed, but they’re tripping over their feet, trying to get away from something, of rather, someone.

It’s hard to make out what’s happening in the dark, but even before a homemade Stab movie gets projected onto the white curtains that have been lowered in front of the stage, I know that Ghostface is here.

Baile, Ethan and Quinn are here, right now, and we didn’t see it coming.

How didn’t we know? There’s only one entrance and we would have heard them come in. Right?

But what if Kirby overlooked a different entrance? What if she didn’t search the place probably?

Speaking of Kirby, my blood runs cold when my eyes land on her. Her face is covered in blood, and it looks like her nose is broken, but what’s more important is the blood on her shirt from a stab wound in her stomach and the knife pressed against her neck by Ghostface, standing behind her.

Ethan or Quinn. . . Bailey is taller.

“Fuck.” I rush to pull Tara and Chad behind me, feeling anger rising in the pit of my stomach when Ghostface tilts his head mockingly.

This is not how this was supposed to go down. Kirby was supposed to stay hidden, she was supposed to observe and call for backup.

Movement out of the corner of my eye makes my heart skip a beat, but when I turn my head, there’s nothing there.

A second later though I feel a presence on my other side, and I whirl around, expecting another Ghostface, but it’s just Sam, wide-eyed and panting.

“They’re here,” she breathes, “They’re—“ she freezes when her eyes land on Kirby, “—Fuck.”

She grabs my arm, and together we shield Chad and Tara while Ghostface continues to watch us wordlessly.

Kirby is deathly still in his hold, despite the obvious pain she’s in because she knows that if she even attempts to reach for her gun or her radio, her throat will be slit.

Some blood is already trickling down her throat because of how hard Ghostface is pressing the knife against her skin, and I shiver, remembering how I was in that same position a year ago.

Every breath, every blink could be your last one, and it’s a horrifying experience.

This is definitely not how I thought this would go. Was I skeptical of our half-assed planned? Yes. Was I expecting it to go off the rails at some point? Also, yes, but I didn’t think shit would be hitting the fan this quickly.

Well, there’s no point in keeping my mouth shut any longer.

“Let her go, Ethan. She has nothing to do with this,” I say lowly. I know it’s him because Quinn is even shorter than her brother and she probably wouldn’t have had the strength to overwhelm Kirby.

Ghostface falters ever so slightly, obviously surprised that I know who’s under the mask, but he doesn’t move or say anything.

“What are you doing?” Tara hisses, tugging on the back of my sweater. “That’s not Ethan.”

Sam squeezes my arm, and I glance over my shoulder for a split second to meet Tara’s eyes. “Yes it is,” I say, forcing myself to sound calm. “He’s behind all of this with Quinn and Bailey.”

“What?” Chad lets out a surprised gasp.

Someone starts clapping slowly behind us and we all whirl around to see Bailey standing there next to another Ghostface.

He’s smiling menacingly and claps one more time before exhaling dramatically. “I knew you’d figure it out. I mean, the way you looked at me at the police station after the bodega. . . I knew you knew something was up.”

I narrow my eyes, but stay quiet.

There’s no way to get a confession out of all of them now, at least not one we can use against them in court because Kirby was supposed to record everything, so we’re moving on to plan b.

Kill them. Kill all of them. Make them pay for what they’ve done to Liam, Gale, Anika, and Brooks, and for how they tired to frame Sam for what happened im Woodsboro.

“Also, Ethan saw you talking to Kirby, so I knew we had to do something sooner rather than later to make you pay.”

“Make us pay?” Sam asks indignantly. “For what?!”

The homemade Stab movie still playing in the background flickers eerily, casting weird shadows over everyone’s face, but especially Bailey’s when it tightens in anger.

He pulls out his gun and waves it around. “For killing my son!”

“Your son?” Tara snaps over my shoulder.

“Yeah, he’s right there.” I gesture at the Ghostface still pressing a knife to Kirby’s neck.

Bailey snorts and the Ghostface next to him takes off his mask.

Quinn.

I knew it, and so did Sam, but Chad and Tara suck in a breath behind me.

Ethan takes off his mask as well, somehow managing to do it without letting go of Kirby.

“Not him!” Quinn snaps with wild eyes before pointing her knife at Sam. “You killed—“

The curly hair, the thick eyebrows. . . E.K. Ethan Kirsch.

“Richie. . .” I say through clenched teeth.

Sam’s hand around my upper arm tightens. “You’re Richie’s family?!”

Tara and Chad shift uncomfortably, but they don’t say a word.

Of course they’re Richie’s family. How did I not see that coming?

They want revenge for what Sam did to him and they started it all by spreading rumors about her online, so when they kill her, kill us, people will just suspect some rando who took matters into his own hands after he found out Sam was the “real” Ghostface.

How fucked up is that. . .

I glance at Kirby while Bailey, Ethan, and Quinn catch the others up on what I just figured out, and nod subtly when her fingers graze against the pocket of her leather jacket.

The radio. . . We need to call for backup. We need to get out of here.

There has to be a second exit we don’t know about because how else would Bailey, Ethan, and Quinn have gotten into the theater unnoticed.

My call with page was disconnected, probably because Bailey turned on some kind of signal jammer, which could mean the radio is also useless, but getting my hands on it and trying to call for back up is worth a try anyway.

I mean, don’t radios and cell phones operate on different frequencies?

All thoughts of frequencies are quickly forgotten when Bailey steps forward and holds out a weathered Ghostface mask.

“This is your father’s, Sam,” he says. “Quinn’s got Stu Macher’s and Ethan has Nacy Loomis’s, your grandmother’s. . .”

“It really runs in your fucking family, doesn’t it,” Ethan pipes up, and the way Sam’s breath hitches next to me makes me want to bash his head in.

This is exactly what she’s afraid of, being like them, and I just know it’s going to take a lot of therapy and a lot of pep talks to make her, once again, believe she really isn’t anything like them

Tara sniffles quietly, and I reach behind me to squeeze her hand when she holds onto the hem of my sweater.

“This is what we’ve been counting down to,” Bailey says, waving the mask around with the same crazy look in his eyes as Quinn. “I’m going to need you to put it on.”

Oh, hell no.

Sam breathes heavily, and for a split second I think she’s going to take it—she’s going to give them what they want after all, but then she lets go of my arm and smacks the mask out of Bailey’s hand.

“Fuck you!” she spits and her confidence fills me with so much pride that I don’t react fast enough when Quinn lunges forward, slicing Sam’s exposed upper arm with her knife.

She was wearing my zip up hoodie earlier, but it’s so hot in here she must have taken it off while on the phone with Mindy, leaving her in only her gray tank top.

Shit, Mindy. . . Why was she calling in the first place? Is she okay?

There’s no way to find out now, so I quickly pull Sam back against me, out of reach of Quinn while she presses a hand to the cut on her arm.

It’s only superficial, but it’s already bleeding pretty badly and it will definitely need stitches.

“Stay the fuck away from her,” Tara shouts, trying to step out from behind me, but Chad holds her back with an arm around her waist.

“You’re a killer, just like your father, Sam,” Bailey says, pointing an accusing finger at Sam and this time, unlike when Ethan opened his stupid mouth, I don’t hold back.

“No, she’s not you!” I snap, baring my teeth. With her free hand, Sam squeezes my arm around her middle, either to silently thank me for standing up for her or to get me to settle down.

“Yes, she is you motherfucker!” Quinn screams. “She killed Richie like the cold-blooded psycho that she is!”

That’s it!

I let go of Sam and rush forward to tackle Quinn, but Ethan is quick to react. He shoves Kirby aside and jumps in my way before I can get to his sister, stabbing me in the shoulder right below my collar bone—right below the scar on my neck where Amber stabbed me.

“Ah, you fucking little twig,” I exclaim, squaring my shoulders, ready to take him down instead when Sam pulls me back by the back of my sweater.

“No, run!” she shouts and I spin around, knowing she’s right.

Tara and Chad are already weaving through the glass cases, trying to get to the metal door we came in through and Sam and I follow them.

Quinn and Ethan are hot on our heels while Bailey shouts how he knew Sam had to die when he saw the pictures of what she did to Richie.

Everyone who had something to do with his death dies. . . Yeah, no thanks.

Amidst the chaos, the fact that we don’t have the key card to unlock the door dawns on me the moment we’re standing in front of it. Chad tries to pry it open, but it doesn’t budge and when Quinn and Ethan’s footsteps get louder behind us I exclaim, “Forget about it. We’re not getting out this way! There has to be another exit!”

“The roof!” Tara says. “I saw an exit sign leading to the roof behind the seats on the balcony overlooking the stage.”

The roof? Seriously? We’ll be trapped there, too, unless there’s a fire escape.

Anything’s better than this though, I think as Ethan and Quinn skirt around the corner.

“Okay, go left! There’s a staircase up to the balcony!” I shout and we start running again, abandoning the metal door, which could possibly still be our only way out.

Somewhere in the theater a shot gets fired, and I pray to God that Kirby is okay, but I don’t have time to dwell on it as we get to the staircase.

I yank on Sam’s arm and pull her in front of me, and usher her to follow Chad and Tara, but she stops when she notices me freezing on the bottom step.

“What are you doing? Come on!” Urgency seeps into her voice and she tries to drag me up the stairs, but I don’t move.

“No, get to the roof and get help, I’ll buy you some time,” I say, pulling out the knife Kirby gave me.

If Quinn and Ethan want to get to the others, they’ll have to go through me first.

Sam’s eyes widen when they land on the gleaming blade and she shakes her head adamantly. “Fuck no! I’ve left you behind twice now, I’m not doing it again!”

“Sam— I—“ I want to protest, but then Quinn appears with a lazy smile, dragging the blade of her knife along the wall, seemingly in no hurry to get to us any more.

No, no, no. Why’s she so calm. What’s going on?! Where’s Ethan?!

“Y/N!” Sam urges, which snaps me out of my thoughts.

Right. We’ve got to move, no matter how slow Quinn is walking, she’s going to get to us eventually if we don’t move.

“Shit. Yeah, okay! Go, go, go!” I follow Sam up the stairs, taking two of them at a time with my heart pounding in my ears until we get to the top.

Oh damn, we’re higher up than I expected.

It’s at least a ten foot drop from the balcony to the main floor of the theater, but that’s not what I’m worried about.

No, what I’m worried about is Ethan, who’s blocking our path to the roof because he somehow managed to climb the scaffolding connecting the balcony and the main floor to our right.

Tara and Chad are rooted to the ground, staring at him while he simply waves his knife mockingly.

“You really thought you guys could get away?” He laughs and I grab Sam’s hand and spin us around when I hear Quinn coming up the stairs behind us. “Yeah, no. You’re all going to die here tonight and pay for what you did to Richie.”

Tara whimpers and she and Chad take several steps back until their backs are pressed against Sam’s and mine.

The weight of Kirby’s knife in my hand, the one that isn’t holding Sam’s, does nothing to ground me.

We’re caged in and there’s nothing I can do without risking getting hurt because both Ethan and Quinn also have a knife.

“Richie deserved everything he got!” Sam spits next to me. “He was pathetic and killed innocent people just so he could make a new Stab movie! A fucking movie!”

“He loved those movies!” Quinn exclaims angrily and I can’t help but scowl at her.

“That doesn’t excuse what he did! How deluded are you to think that it’s okay to kill people just so you can make a movie?!”

“Shut up!” Ethan shouts and even though I can’t see him, I know he’s absolutely livid right now.

I don’t shut up though. Not only because I can’t stop myself from going on, but because I need to get him to snap and move so we can get to the roof.

“I mean, how fucked up is it that your dad brainwashed you into avenging your brother’s death? He’s a grown ass man and he’s using his kids to do his bidding. Really gets you thinking about who the favorite child is, or was in this case, doesn’t it?”

Quinn’s face contorts into a grimace of rage and I can see both her and Ethan lunging at us from miles away, so I act before they can.

I let go of Sam’s hand and pick up a discarded scaffolding pipe, shoving it into Chad’s hands before turning back around and kicking the side of Quinn’s knee when she comes at us.

She cries out in pain and goes down, and I spin around just in time to see Chad knocking the knife out of Ethan’s hand with the pipe.

“You piece of shit, you know nothing about us!” Ethan shouts, scrambling to pick the knife back up, but Chad is one step ahead of him.

He kicks the knife under the seats before stepping to the side so Tara can knee him in the face, knocking him out.

Yeah, get his ass, Sprout!

Quinn wails furiously and jumps to her feet, her rage obviously numbing the pain in her knee. She tightens the grip she has on her knife and lunges at Sam who raises her arms defensively.

“Oh no you don’t!” I growl, darting forward and catching her wrist mid-strike. I twist it so the knife is now pointing at her and watch in horror as she runs straight into it, stabbing herself in the throat because she can’t stop her advance in time.

Her eyes widen, and she chokes on her own blood for a moment before Sam kicks her in the stomach, forcing her to let go of the knife and fall backward.

She twitches helplessly, coughing and clawing at her own throat for what feels like hours before finally going deathly still.

“Good fucking riddance,” I spit and Sam nods, seemingly in a daze with her eyes trained on Quinn’s dead body until I grab her hand and pull her away. “Let’s go!”

Tara and Chad have already left and I can only hope that they made it to the roof okay. Where Kirby and Bailey are, I have no idea, but the theater’s been deathly quiet since that gunshots I heard earlier.

Please let that have been Kirby shooting Bailey and nod the other way around.

“We need to call for back—“ My words get stuck in my throat when Sam lets out a surprised cry behind me. Her hand lets go of mine and I hear her knife clatter against the ground before I whirl around to see that she’s tripped over something.

No, not something, someone. And that someone is Ethan who’s got his hand wrapped around her ankle.

“Son of a bitch!” Sam seethes and kicks him in the shoulder, which makes him let go of her, but when they both jump to their feet, my heart drops at the sight of him holding the knife she just dropped.

“You’re not going anywhere!” He slashes the knife through the air, missing Sam’s throat by an inch which makes me see red.

I yank Sam behind me, ignoring the way my back stings because of it, and tackle him.

He grunts when we go down and I feel him dragging the knife across my side, but all I can focus on is the sound of Sam’s voice, crying out my name, and the sensation of falling.

Falling, and falling, and falling.

“Y/N!”

I look up and it’s only when I see Sam bent over the railing of the balcony with a bewildered look in her eyes and an outstretched arm that I realize Ethan and I went overt the edge.

No. This was not supposed to happen.

I want to reach out and grab her hand, but it’s too late. I’m falling and before I know it, everything goes black.

I can’t have been out for too long, because when I come to again, everything is quiet.

There’s no shouting, there’s no police and I’m still in the theater, staring up at the blurry outline of the balcony and the dark ceiling.

Sam is nowhere in sight, but when I turn my head I see Ethan right next to me, sprawled on the ground amidst the glass shards of the display case he fell on.

Black dots are dancing in my vision, and I know it’s only a matter of time before I pass out again, but I know for a fact that he’s dead.

His neck is bent at an unnatural angle and his lifeless eyes are staring at me. His lips and chin are covered in blood from when Tara broke his nose with her knee and there are tiny glass shards sticking out of his cheek and forehead.

That’s two for two, I guess. . .

I avert my eyes and go to sit up to find Sam and the others, only to feel my heart drop when I find that I can’t move.

No. Not again.

I try again, willing every muscle in my body to help me sit up, but it doesn’t work.

All I can do is turn my head, and even that is difficult now that I think about it.

It’s like trying to run in a dream, and before I can stop it, a desperate whimper slips past my lips.

Not again. Please, not again.

The memory of Leroy’s face— the firefighter who pulled me out of my parents car after the accident— makes its way to the front of my mind and when I close my eyes I see his sparkling blue eyes above me.

No, not again. Not again. . .

“Y/N!”

My eyes fly open and I look up. Leroy’s blue eyes swim in and out of focus before they’re replaced by dark brown ones.

Sam.

She’s kneeling over me and has her hands on the side of my head.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. What did you do?!,” she whispers frantically, her eyes darting between mine.

I go to say something, but she shushes me by pressing a finger against my lips. “Don’t answer that. Save your strength. Just stay awake, okay, keep looking at me.”

I don’t know why’s she’s telling me to stay awake, but then I feel the almost irresistible pull of sleep tugging on my insides.

My eyes flutter, but I can’t in good conscience rest until I know it’s over— until I know that everyone’s okay.

“T-Tara. . . Chad,” I whisper, my eyes momentarily focusing on the pendant of Sam’s necklace. It twinkles in the low light and fills me with an indescribable warmth, knowing that she hasn’t taken the necklace off since I’ve given it to her. It also somehow chases away the panic that threatened to wash over me just a moment ago when I realized I couldn’t move.

“They’re okay,” Sam says, her voice breaking which makes me look at her again. Her eyes are filled with tears and her bottom lip is quivering the same way it did when I collapsed at the hospital a year ago. “They’re both okay. Kirby’s okay, too.”

I exhale shakily and blink back my own tears. “So, it’s over?”

Sam nods, running her thumbs over my cheek. “It is and help is on the way, so try to stay awake, okay? I know you’re tired, and you’re in a lot of pain because you took quite a fall, but you have to stay awake.“

“Quite a fall” feels like an understatement, but I don’t comment on it. I just shake my head and sigh quietly.

“‘M not in pain,” I slur, feeling my consciousness slipping away again.

It’s true, I’m not in pain. I just can’t move, but that’s okay because I know everyone else is okay. They’re all going to be okay, including Gale and Liam.

“What do you mean you’re not in pain? You just fell ten feet! How can you not be in pain?” Sam grabs my hand and laces our fingers together. I can’t feel it, but I see her doing it. I also see her furrowing her eyebrows when my hand stays limp before realization dawns on her.

“Y/N. . .” Tears roll down her face and I want nothing more but to reach up and wipe them away, but I can’t. “You’re— You’re—“

“‘S okay,” I whisper, trying my best to smile. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not, you’re not,” she hiccups and lets go of my hand again to cradle my head and the back of my neck just as my eyes begin to flutter. “Hey, keep your eyes open! You hear me, Y/N?! Keep your eyes open!”

But I’m so tired and she’s here. She’s finally here after everything that’s happened.

“Sam?”

Tara’s voice makes Sam look up and I take that as my chance to close my eyes.

Just for a little bit, I tell myself, but as soon as my eyes close, darkness washes over me.

“Y/N? Y/N!”

They’re all okay.

She’s here.

_______________________________________________

Before you come for me I just want to say that—spoiler alert—we’re going to be okay!

This part was a pain to write, but it’s done and I can rest now.

Only one more part to go!

Tag list: @bella423 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @rqizzu @pithod @morganismspam23 @idontliketoread2137

[nosyp]

May you do yandere platonic gi hun team season 2 with young adult reader who is really sick and joined the game to pay for her sickness. The reader coughs blood sometimes and can barley even stand up or walk. When she eats she needs 2x the amount but she stills feel insecure

Last squid game thing before idek.. and im not sure who you classify as gi hun team

General Dynamics

The team quickly notices your fragile condition. How you struggle to stand, your frequent coughing fits, and how you need more food than others but hesitate to take it.

At first, they assume you’re weak and might slow them down, but the moment they learn you joined the games to pay for your medical treatment, their obsession locks in.

They become a tight circle of overprotective guardians, refusing to let you do anything remotely dangerous.

If anyone tries to pick on you for being sick, they’re met with an immediate and brutal response.

Seong Gi-hun

The most emotionally invested in keeping you safe. He sees you as a kid who should’ve never been in the Games.

Constantly fretting over you, even for small things. "Are you cold? Do you need to sit down? Here, take my jacket."

If you ever cough up blood, he goes full panic mode, holding your shoulders and looking around helplessly.

“You shouldn’t be here! Damn it, this isn’t right…”. The guilt of seeing you suffer eats him alive.

Tries to bargain with other players to get you extra food or an easier role in the games.

If he ever thinks you’re in danger of being eliminated, he’d sacrifice himself for you without hesitation.

Young-il

Takes the role of your bodyguard, making sure no one gets too close.

If a game requires physical activity, he will insist on doing your part while making it look like a team decision.

“Stay back. I’ll handle it.” is his becomes his default response for everything.

If you collapse from exhaustion, he picks you up and carries you without hesitation.

He rarely speaks, but his presence alone makes sure you’re never in danger.

Jang Geum-ja

Acts like an overbearing mother figure, completely disregarding your independence.

Forces you to eat more, making sure you get double portions (whether by persuasion or stealing).

If you ever say, "I don’t want to be a burden," she immediately shuts you down.

“A burden? Don’t be ridiculous. If anything, we should be grateful to have you.”

Uses mind games to ensure you never think about sacrificing yourself for others.

Cho Hyun-ju

The most blatantly aggressive about keeping you safe.

Anyone who so much as breathes wrong near you is getting punched.

She glares at you if you try to argue that you can handle things yourself.

"Shut up and let us take care of you." → She refuses to take ‘no’ for an answer.

Will physically pull you back if you try to exert yourself too much.

Bak Yong-sik

Surprisingly gentle with you compared to how he treats others.

Always checking your temperature and forcing you to rest, even if it means risking their position.

Would rather take a loss in the game than watch you push yourself too hard.

If you ever cough up blood, he’s the first to panic and starts yelling for help.

“You need to stop. I mean it. You’re gonna kill yourself at this rate.”

Kim Junhee

The softest in the group but equally obsessed.

Holds your hand when you feel weak and always stays by your side.

Tries to make you laugh, distracting you from the horror of the games.

Whispers sweet reassurances even when things seem hopeless.

“It’s okay. We’ll get through this together. You don’t have to do this alone.”

If You Try to Leave the Group...

Absolutely not happening. They physically stop you from going anywhere.

If you insist, they gaslight you into staying.

“You’re safer with us. The others won’t protect you like we do.”

They don’t care if you think they’re overbearing—you’re staying with them, period.

[nadvs]

out of bounds (part six)

pairing zach maclaren and soccerplayer! female reader

rating mature 18+ for smut

summary zach has never been the type to rebel, but when he meets you at a soccer camp where you’re both working as counselors, which has a strict policy against dating between staff, he’s tempted to break the rules for the first time.

» part one | two | three | four | five

» masterlist

Every made-up explanation you can think of won’t cut it. Nothing you say will be believable. You’ve been found out.

“They’re bug bites?” you say weakly, pulling up your shirt so the hickeys aren’t in clear view anymore. Ami laughs, shaking her head.

“I knew you and Zach were a thing,” she says. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I wouldn’t judge. You know that I’m breaking the rules, too.”

You sigh, dropping back into your bed.

“We really don’t want it getting around,” you say.

“Then you should be more careful about where you let bugs bite you,” she laughs.

“Ami,” you groan, half-chuckling. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t. You can trust me,” she says. “When did this start?”

You sit back up and give her surface details, recapping when you two kissed by the lake, then tried and failed to wait until after the season to pursue anything.

“Have you guys…” she asks with raised brows. Your cheeks burn.

“Last night,” you admit. Your stomach goes numb at the memory. “But seriously, you can’t mention it to anyone. If people find out and he gets fired, it’d crush him.”

The amusement in Ami’s eyes fades, replaced with compassion.

“Wow. You’re really worried, huh?” she says.

“He’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. I don’t want him to get in trouble,” you reply. “We decided today that we’ll keep things on hold. For real this time.”

“Can you keep it on hold?” she asks. “I don’t know about you, but it being forbidden makes it ten times hotter.”

You shrug. You’re unsure if you’d be doing this much this fast with Zach if you met outside of work, and he did tell you last night that he never moves this quickly with a girl.

“I’m going to have to try,” you say. Zach’s hard to resist, but for his sake, you don’t want to give in.

“Fair,” Ami sighs. “I knew it, though. Malcolm called me crazy.”

“You talked about it with him?”

“Yeah, the night you went shopping,” she says. “I said that I think there’s something there and Malcolm was like, I can tell he likes her, but there’s no way he’d break the rules. I wish I could rub it in his face.”

You shoot her a look.

“But I won’t,” she promises. You nod gratefully.

“He can tell he likes me?” you ask.

“He said when you’re around, Zach smiles way more than usual,” she recalls, “which is already a lot to begin with, apparently.”

Your heart flutters. Zach is already such a cheerful person, so to think you make him even happier, and very obviously at that, is flattering.

“I guess Malcolm would know since they’ve been best friends for so long,” you say.

“Yeah,” Ami agrees. “He actually…”

She chuckles.

“What?”

“He was randomly talking about Zach the other day,” Ami continues, “and he said that he treats every girlfriend like he’s gonna marry her. I guess he’s a hopeless romantic, so I hope you’re prepared for that.”

You chuckle, wholeheartedly believing it. Zach is sweet and sensitive and while you didn’t doubt his sincerity for a second, hearing that he’s not one for flings is a relief. Because you want so much more with him.

“Good to know,” you reply. “And you and Malcolm are still keeping things casual or…?”

“I don’t know,” she says with a hopeful smile. “But if it gets more serious, I wouldn’t be mad about it or anything.”

You laugh together and finally, you allow yourself to gush about the man who’s thrown you for such an unexpected loop. It feels nice to not have to keep it in anymore.

You’re relieved when Saturday rolls around. Even though fun days at camp are just as busy, you welcome a break from running training drills.

After breakfast in the dining hall, Ruby announces to the campers to prepare for a morning of hiking, an afternoon of swimming, and a camp-wide relay race before dinner.

The sky is cloudy, but the chance of rain is low, so you stay optimistic that you won’t be forced to spend the day inside.

You quickly realize it’s not going to be as easy to keep your distance from Zach today, because you’re put in a hiking group with him.

As you set out on the trail with your cohorts of campers, their chatter loud over the sounds of shoes crunching over the dirt and birds chirping in the sky, Zach leads the crowd under towering trees that line the perimeter of the campground.

It’s only been a couple of days since you spoke with him about cooling things down, but not talking how you used to has been disheartening. Neither of you have been scheming to find ways to be alone like you used to, settling for friendly conversations whenever your paths cross.

“We’ll get a pretty cool view at the midpoint,” Zach says loudly to the campers, turning back. He meets your eyes for a second, a small smile flashing on his face, before he looks ahead again.

You wonder if he took your words as you suggesting you two shouldn’t talk at all, when that’s far from the truth.

You make conversation with your campers while you hike, and when you reach the height of a steep trail, you approach Zach as he looks out at the view of lush forestland.

“Hi,” you say quietly. His eyebrows raise when he sees you, like he’s surprised you’re speaking to him. It’s your first moment out of earshot from others in too long.

“Hey,” he says.

“You know, I didn’t mean we can’t talk at all,” you say with a soft laugh.

The pang of rejection has been burrowed in Zach’s chest since your last private conversation. He’s hardly ever one for overthinking, but since you came into his life, all he does is mull over everything you do and say to him, anxious that you don’t like him as much as he likes you.

But now, as he gets lost in the softness in your gaze, he realizes what an idiot he is for worrying that you don’t also think that what you have is special.

He needs to remind himself that you’re just being careful. Not rejecting him. He shoves down the prickly feeling and smiles at you.

“I thought I wasn’t even allowed to look at you,” he jokes to dismiss his uneasiness.

“Stop,” you chuckle. “How’ve you been?”

Zach’s blue eyes dart over his shoulder, his lips flattening.

“I miss you,” he half-whispers.

You tilt your head as you gaze up at him, your lips in an endeared frown. You’ve gotten used to there always being a sense of a playful smirk on his face, a look of mischief in his eyes, but right now, he’s completely doleful.

“I miss you, too,” you say. “Forcing each other into the friend-zone sucks.”

Zach laughs, his heart warming.

“No kidding,” he says. At this point, he just needs to get through a few more weeks as just your friend. It feels like forever, but he’ll get through it.

After lunch, counselors work together to set up for an afternoon by the lake, handing campers life jackets and inflating water toys.

After set-up, you stand on the dock, shades shielding your eyes now that the sun has peeked out from behind fluffy clouds.

You look out at the beautiful water, surrounded by campers talking and laughing, feeling that calming sense of being where you’re meant to be. Even though the days are tiring and the kids can be difficult, you’re so glad you came here.

You hear Zach’s familiar voice as he chats and walks past you, followed by two boys. He leans down to grip the edge of the empty canoe bobbing in the water on the dockside, gently reminding them to enter the boat slowly.

You can tell he’s been running around tirelessly, his lips parted as he pants, sweat sheening his skin.

When he stands to collect the ore, he quickly lifts the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his forehead, giving you a glimpse of his chiseled body. You’re glad you’re wearing shades because you can’t take your eyes off of him.

You clasp your hands together, your body rushing with heat as you remember what happened a few nights ago. How taut his body looked when you were on top of him. The way he breathed and moaned when you slowly sank onto him.

You force yourself to look away. Seeing him like that and knowing you can’t have him is only making things harder.

A couple of hours later, the relay race is underway on the north soccer field. You’re standing at the touchline on your own, stationed to hand out water and snacks to any campers or staff who need it.

Your stomach goes wild with butterflies when Zach makes his way towards you, offering you a charming grin as he pushes his sunglasses up to rest on his head.

“No way,” he says when he approaches, squinting, his voice low. “You got the easy job.“

“Rude. It’s actually way harder than it looks,” you reply.

“Standing there looking pretty is hard?”

“Very,” you say, his compliment making you a little lightheaded. You mirror him, perching your sunglasses up.

“I don’t believe it.”

Zach opens the cooler, not giving you a chance to get a drink for him. He collects a water bottle and unscrews the cap.

“You remember when you told me I can’t look at you a certain way when we’re at work?” you say, pushing the lid of the cooler shut.

He smirks, tipping his head back as he gulps down water. You’re gazing at him like that now, your stare hard on him. It’s addictive being on the receiving end of that look. It makes him feel like he’s floating.

“Yeah, and it still stands,” he nods. “So, stop it.”

“I’m not even…” you scoff, crossing your arms. “I have a rule for you, too. You can’t lift up your shirt when I’m around.”

“What? When did I do that?”

“By the lake. And I don’t appreciate it.”

“Why not?” he chuckles.

“Just stop,” you flirt with a roll of your eyes.

“I need a reason.” By the smug smirk on his face, you can tell he already knows. Because he’s so cute, you give in.

“It’s hard not to stare,” you say. “And we’re not supposed to stare at each other.”

The flattered look you’ve quickly grown to love flashes on his face.

“Oh, you mean when I get hot?” he teases. “I can’t control the sun.”

“Zach,” you warn. He says your name with the same teasing tone.

“I’m serious,” you say.

“So am I,” he laughs.

You shake your head at him when he lifts up the bottom of his shirt to wipe the water off his lips. His eyes stay locked on your expression as yours drift down the cut of his abs.

Zach’s entire body buzzes when you look at him like that. He so deeply loves feeling wanted by you.

“You just don’t listen,” you mumble, taking your eyes off of him. He chuckles, letting his shirt fall back down.

“Come on, baby, it’s my fault it’s hot out?” he murmurs.

You can’t stifle your grin. Maybe he technically shouldn’t call you that if you’re pretending to be friends, but nobody can hear, and you love when he’s sweet like that.

“Everything’s your fault,” you say.

Zach winks at you before he turns to rush back to the game. It’s the type of silly banter that made you develop a crush on him so fast, and you’re glad you can at least flirt if you’re not going to sneak around anymore.

After the relay race, Tom reminds the campers that in a week and a half, you’ll be hitting the midpoint of the camp season, and as tradition goes, a staff soccer game will be held.

Even though it’s just a no-stakes match at camp to give the kids a fun chance to cheer on their counselors, you feel nerves twist in your stomach at the reminder.

Despite the fact that your love for soccer has slowly been finding its way back to you, your confidence still isn’t quite where you want it. And your instinct is to talk to Zach about it, to be comforted by the one person you’re trying to stay away from.

As you settle at your table for dinner that evening, you look for him in the crowd. He’s sitting at the head of his usual table, laughing in conversation. When he meets your eyes, you give him a smile. He returns it.

That evening after lights out, you’re lying in bed scrolling on your phone while Ami watches something on her laptop when you realize the nagging desire to see Zach is only getting harder to ignore.

You’ve also been considering telling him that your cabin-mate knows about him. It may just serve to worry him, but it feels wrong keeping something from him.

The way he looked on the hike when he said he missed you is stuck in your head. You miss him, too. As if you haven’t seen him in weeks.

It feels silly to keep your distance. You’re being too careful. You’re sure you can manage to hang out and keep your hands off of each other.

You hung out platonically before. Why can’t you do it again? There’s no rules against that. In fact, being friends is encouraged. You open your text conversation with Zach.

When Zach steps out of his cabin into the brisk air that night, he looks up at the sky to see he can hardly spot any stars. The air is thick with the threat of rain, but it’s stubborn, refusing to fall.

He heads out to the dock, sitting on the cool surface, his phone in his hand. Malcolm already fell asleep, so he decided to take his call outside to not wake him.

It’s never easy for him to be away from his family for very long. He appreciates checking in every so often, making sure his parents are doing okay, hearing how his sister’s summer is going.

As he catches up with them during the video call, at one point, his dad asks his mom where his glasses are and when she points off screen and his dad thanks her with a kiss to her temple, the simple, passing moment is a reminder to Zach of how loving his parents’ marriage is.

He grew up knowing that his mom and dad adore each other, that they believe they’re meant to be together. It’s fun to act grossed out by their affection, but in reality, he admires them. He’s never wanted to settle for less in a relationship.

Zach has always desired to be surrounded by love and approval. He’s sure his heart will never fully heal after his childhood, but when he knows he’s around people who like him, that wound feels much smaller.

And the way you accept him for everything that he is, never once looking at him with judgement, unconditionally offering compassion, gives him a sense of being complete, of that wound actually being gone. He hasn’t ever felt that before.

He looks out at the dark water, breathing slowly. He’s always thought of himself as an optimistic person, so it’s uncomfortable to be wallowing over his circumstances with you this much.

He forces himself to see the bright side. He may be facing weeks of not being able to be with you the way he wants to, but when the camp season wraps up and he goes back to his normal life, you won’t be living under any of these rules.

He’ll take you out on dates. He’ll hold your hand in public. And hopefully, you’ll still like him enough that he can introduce you to his family and officially be your boyfriend.

At that moment, his phone buzzes with a text. It’s you. havent worked on my defense in a while... do you have time to help a friend practice?

He grins, feeling the tension in his body dissipate.

You agree to meet on the field farthest from the staff cabins, positioned at the far edge of the campground. When you approach the pitch, Zach’s practicing kick-ups by the net under the bright moon.

“Show-off,” you say once you’re close enough. He looks up to see you, letting the ball roll away. His smile fades once he sees your bare arms under your t-shirt.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks.

“No.” His concern remains etched on his face, quickly unzipping his hoodie and stepping closer.

“I’m fine,” you laugh, unsuccessfully protesting as he drapes his hoodie over your shoulders.

“Now you are,” he says, looking down at you with a relieved smile. He leans down to leave a chaste kiss on your cheek, then quickly pulls back.

“Sorry,” he says. “Not allowed.”

You chuckle, looking around into the silent darkness surrounding you.

“I think we can get away with it here,” you tell him. “But I figured if anyone sees us, we’re just two coworkers innocently practicing for the game.”

“I ever tell you you’re a genius?” he asks, cocking his head, his eyes trailing down your face.

“Don’t think so,” you reply.

“Well, you are,” he says.

“Thanks, baby.”

“Okay, you can’t call me that and not expect to be kissed,” he murmurs, cupping your jaw with his cool palm. He leans down to kiss you, slow, his lips just barely parting.

“We still have to be careful,” you sigh amusedly when he pulls away. “Let’s practice.“

“Right,” he says. “As friends.”

“As friends.”

Zach smirks, rushing to get the ball as you stand in front of the net, stretching to warm up your legs.

“How was your day?” he asks once he stands a few feet across from you, gently kicking the ball to you. “Barely broke a sweat, huh?”

You trap the ball below your foot with a gasp.

“What’s that mean?”

“You’re still gonna pretend standing next to a cooler is hard?” he asks.

You laugh and kick the ball with unexpected force, watching him dramatically dodge it as it whirls past him.

“Whoa, you mad or something?” he laughs.

“I don’t need your attitude or your hoodie,” you tease, pulling the sleeves off.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he relents, laughing harder. “Please put it back on.”

You roll your eyes and comply, loving how soft his sweater feels on your skin, loving how much it smells like him.

“Just go get the ball,” you say in resignation, a smile pulling at your lips.

“Yes, ma’am,” Zach replies.

You watch him jog towards the center line, expertly dribbling the ball when he reaches it. He comes forward and stops a few feet away from you.

“Hey, I have something to tell you,” you say. The guilt weighs even heavier on you when you see the worry in his gaze.

“What?”

“Ami knows about us,” you confess. “She saw my hickeys the other day and I couldn’t think of a lie fast enough. She promised she wouldn’t tell anyone. I’m sorry.”

His heart aches when he hears the distress in your voice.

“You’re sorry?” he says. “I’m the one who left them.”

You breathe out a chuckle, tugging at the sleeves of his sweater over your knuckles.

“You can be upset with me,” you mumble. “I know you didn’t want anyone knowing.”

“I’m not upset,” he replies. “It’s okay.”

“Really?” you ask.

Truthfully, hearing that someone else knows about you two makes him tense. It increases the risk of being found out, of disappointing his family, of ruining his reputation. But he can’t bear to make you feel any worse.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it,” Zach says, keen to push past the topic. He kicks the ball to you. “So, your day?”

“It was good,” you say. “The hike was nice. But thinking about the staff game made me nervous. I guess I’m still not all that confident yet.”

“And you came to the best for help,” he says. You kick the ball back, laughing softly.

“I did.”

“You’ll get into your stride again,” Zach tells you. “I wasn’t just trying to flatter you the first night. You’re a really good defender. Honest.”

“Thank you,” you say, stopping the ball when he kicks it to you again. This is exactly why you wanted to come to him. He consoles you so effortlessly, already making the nerves unravel. “How was your day?”

“Good,” he says. “I actually just got off the phone with my family when you texted.”

“How are they?”

“Falling apart without me,” he answers sarcastically. “My sister was saying my dad doesn’t do monster checks right.”

“I’m sorry, what’s a monster check?” you laugh.

“A check for monsters, obviously,” he replies. “I’m usually the one that scouts out Avery’s room before bed, but since I’m not home, my dad’s in charge. And his heart’s just not in it.”

“That is not something to slack on,” you play along.

“Right?” he says. “I couldn’t live with myself knowing a monster might’ve flown under the radar.”

You laugh again, touched by how sweet of a big brother he is. You kick the ball to him and start training together.

It’s been just under ten minutes of practice when you feel a cool raindrop on your cheek. Zach’s towering over you, your legs brushing as he tries to gain possession of the ball, when you freeze and look up.

“I just felt rain,” you say, gently panting. He takes the opportunity to gaze at you as you stare up at the night sky, the moonlight washing your pretty face in its glow.

You lower your gaze to meet his eyes, revelling in the feeling of him looking at you like that, like you’re the only girl that exists. It reminds you of the way he stared at you when you met, needing you to repeat yourself because he was too out of it to pay attention to your words.

“Zach,” you giggle. “It’s raining. We should go.”

In that moment, he feels a raindrop on his head.

“Oh. Yeah,” he says. He bends to pick up the soccer ball, dreading how long the walk back to the staff cabins is.

You rush off the field, letting him grab your hand, enveloped in the darkness of the night. Drops of rain start to hammer down within seconds, cold moisture covering your clothes.

“Shit,” Zach chuckles, running faster, pulling you forward. “We won’t make it.”

You’re both laughing breathlessly when you run into the closest storage shed, shutting the door behind you, clothes sticking to you.

When Zach stumbles over something in the dark with a grunt, you laugh even harder, asking him if he’s okay between your cackles.

“I could have broken something,” he says, pretending he’s insulted, “and you’re laughing.”

You feel for him in the dark, cupping his bare forearms as he stumbles over the disorganized supplies scattered on the floor.

“Are you okay?” you repeat, facing him, trying to make out his features in the dark.

“Why don’t people ever clean up?” Zach complains. “It’s a safety hazard.”

“For the third time, are you okay?” you say amusedly. Your hands feel up his arms, cupping his face as the rain loudly drums on the roof.

“Yes,” he finally murmurs. He wishes it wasn’t so dark so that he could see you, but if he turned on the light, it’d be too easy for someone to notice.

“Good,” you whisper. You gently stroke his cheeks with your thumbs, feeling a bit of stubble over his jaw, his skin cool from the night air as he leans into your touch.

“That feels nice.” His voice is low and rough beneath the sound of pouring rain. You smile to yourself, adjusting to the dark, seeing that he shut his eyes.

“Then I’ll keep doing it,” you respond.

“You looked good out there,” he murmurs. “I mean, you’re skilled. You don’t have anything to worry about. You’re a solid soccer player.”

“So, to clarify, my playing looked good, but I didn’t?”

Zach lets out a tsk, finding your waist.

“Cut it out,” he scoffs. “You know how pretty you are.”

“I do?”

“Come on,” he mumbles. “Don’t even pretend to say bad things about yourself.”

“Or what?” you ask.

“I’ll cry. Is that what you want?”

You giggle, loving how easily he makes you laugh, feeling like you’ll be falling victim to your own impulses. And fast.

Cool down. You said you’d cool down. But there’s nothing cool about his lips pressing against yours when you pull him closer.

It’s only been a few days since you had a moment totally alone together, but when he kisses you with abandon, it’s like your body is getting its first drop of water after being parched.

As your kisses grow hungrier, Zach’s body melts into pure contentment. It’s perfect how you fit into each other, how his mind goes completely blank when he holds you, letting him ease into the bliss of your touch.

Your lips brush and your tongues graze and your breaths catch as you kiss, his grip on your waist tightening as your palms press on his cheeks.

“We’re bad at this,” you whisper when your lips part. “We’re bad at staying away from each other.”

“I’m okay with that,” Zach rasps, pulling you in tight, his body curving into yours.

You’re in a fog as you continue to make out, surrounded by him, listening to your shallow breaths and the heavy rain.

Your knees are weak by the time you pull away from each other, the roar of rain now reduced to calm droplets.

“What now?” Zach breathes. He needs to know if he’s going to go through the agony of not sneaking around with you anymore.

Every inch of his skin tingles with warmth. He wishes he could just lie down with you, not because he needs anything sexual, but because he hates the thought of saying goodnight and parting ways.

“I don’t know,” you reply. “I don’t like not kissing you. But I don’t like getting fired, either.”

Despite himself, he smirks, dipping his head to pull you into a hug and bury his face in the crook of your neck. You drape your arms around his broad shoulders, shutting your eyes as he squeezes you.

Zach breathes you in, feeling safer than he ever has in his life.

“I’m really glad you texted me,” he mumbles.

“Me, too,” you say.

When you sneak back into your cabin, still wearing his sweater, the fear you felt of getting caught the whole walk over reminds you of why you suggested you cool things down in the first place.

If you’re found out, it’s over. You’re still not sure what to do, if you should keep trying to stay away from him or just continue meeting in secret. But you do know that whatever you decide, Zach will respect it.

The next morning, you wake up with a sore throat. You realize you caught a mild cold from last night. And being sick in the middle of the summer while working an exhausting job is not ideal.

You barely make it through the day, then have an overnight shift in one of the campers’ cabins. By the next day, you’re a bit better, mainly dealing with muscle soreness.

After dinner, Zach notices the faraway look in your eyes as you sit across the fire and talk with campers. You were together just two nights ago, kissing and laughing, but you haven’t had a chance to speak privately since. And something seems wrong.

He discreetly pulls out his phone to text you: Are you ok?

You feel the buzz in your pocket and when you read his text, you meet his eyes, melting at the concern in his gaze. In an effort to ease his worry, you speak a little louder to the kids around you.

“Nobody caught my cold, right?” you ask. They shake their heads no.

“You’re sick?” Zach asks from the other side of the pit, over the chatter.

“A little,” you reply, your nose scrunching. “But the worst of it is over.”

Zach’s heart aches, upset that you’re in pain and that he didn’t notice sooner. It’s from the night you got caught in the rain together. He’s sure of it.

When he knocks on your door after lights out, even though he’s still uneasy about your cabin-mate knowing about you two, at least he doesn’t have to worry about how to look like a concerned friend and nothing more.

You’re sitting in bed when Ami swings open the door. Zach is standing on your front step, cupping something in his hands, his eyes darting between her and you.

“Hey,” he says, looking at you. “Thought I’d drop off some tea.”

Ami looks back at you, a grin on her face.

“You brought her tea?” she says. “That’s so sweet.”

“It is sweet,” you say with a shy smile. “Thank you.”

“Come in,” Ami says, stepping back. “You can hang out. I was about to go see what Malcolm’s up to anyway.”

“Really?” you ask, not buying it.

“He’s on an overnight,” Zach says.

“Is he? That’s crazy,” she says with a coy smile. She looks at you. “Text me.”

You know what she means; you need to let her know when she can come back since you and Zach might be in doing more than just hanging out.

Ami pulls a sweater over her pajama top and rushes out, leaving you and Zach alone in the cabin.

“Where’d you get tea?” you ask once the door shuts.

“From the office,” he says, crossing the room and setting the mug on your nightstand. He settles on the edge of your bed, inches away from you, gazing at you worryingly.

“I can get more if you need it,” he says. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re sick?”

“It’s really not that bad,” you tell him. “It’s just a headache now.“

He purses his lips, reaching forward to put the back of his hand on your forehead.

“I don’t think I have a fever,” you laugh.

“No other symptoms?”

“Just a sore throat yesterday, but it passed.”

“From being in the rain the other night?”

“That, and the stress of being scared we’ll get caught,” you laugh. He knows you’re joking, but his chest twists in pain. “Should I have told you?“

The question sets him aback for a moment, uncertainty rushing through him. You’ve been acting like you want a relationship, too, but maybe he’s being unrealistically hopeful.

Even though he’s been afraid to come on too strong, he needs to know, so he speaks before he can talk himself out of it.

“If I’m going to be your boyfriend, I need to know when you’re not feeling well,” Zach says.

You gaze at him for a silent few seconds. He’s unbelievably grateful when you lean forward and press your forehead into his chest, hugging him as best you can while you sit across from each other.

“It was just a little cold,” you mumble. “But I bet it would’ve been worse if my boyfriend didn’t make me wear his sweater.”

He cracks a smile, relieved, loving the way it sounds coming from you.

“Which you stole, by the way,” he says, making you laugh. He kisses the top of your head, then leans over to hand you the mug, steam curling from the top.

“Thank you,” you say. “How are you?”

You talk to each other about your days, swapping stories as you lean against the wall, taking slow sips.

“I’m cured,” you say once you’re done, setting the empty mug on the nightstand.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asks.

“Hugs,” you say, feeling desperate for his touch.

Zach grins, standing to let you comfortably lie down before he settles next to you. Your cheek is on his shoulder as he holds you in his arms, and when he lifts your chin to guide you into a kiss, you shake your head.

“You’ll get sick,” you warn.

“What? You said I cured you.” He pecks your lips gently, then shifts to kiss your forehead. “Where’s it hurt? Here?”

“Mhm,” you mumble.

“I don’t think it’s the cold,” he says. “Your head hurts because you think about me too much.”

You giggle, your hand trailing up and down his firm stomach.

“Oh, that must be it,” you say.

“I think about you too much, too.”

“You do?” You close your eyes as he continues to plant gentle kisses on your forehead. “What do you think about?”

“I mostly wonder when the next time I can be with you is,” he murmurs, “and how it can’t come fast enough.”

You stroke his chest, stopping to feel his heartbeat over the fabric of his shirt.

“Me, too,” you say. You trail back down his stomach and up again, arousal twisting in your core the more you feel him.

He sighs quietly. It’s unreal how just a minute of your touch does this to him. He’s already hard.

When you gently tug at his hip so he’ll turn on his side to face you, you feel him stiffen once his erection presses against your stomach, letting out a heavy exhale.

“I swear I didn’t come over to do this,” Zach murmurs, worried you’ll think he’d try to come by under false pretences just to hook up.

“I believe you,” you whisper against his neck, kissing softly, breathing in his scent.

Zach kisses the top of your head, cradling your jaw, revelling in the feeling of your affection, sure you can feel him growing even harder against you.

“I don’t know if – I mean, are we back to seeing each other?”

You shuffle back to meet his eyes, sympathy in your gaze.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been confusing,” you say. “I know I told you we should cool down just to make out with you like, two days later.”

“I’m not complaining,” Zach says with a soft chuckle. Maybe someone else would be frustrated, but everything about this summer has been unpredictable and he’s always been quick to adapt.

“I can’t decide what to do. I feel like you,” you tease.

“Hurtful,” he jokes, squinting.

“Remind me of how much time we have left before the season ends,” you say sadly.

“A month and three days.”

“It’s cute that you know the exact number.” The compliment makes his cheeks flush pink.

“Yeah, I’m pretty cute,” he replies. You laugh, your fingers dipping beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He bites his lip when he feels your skin against his, eyelids low.

“You’re very cute,” you say. “And very kind for coming to check on me.”

His heart is racing. You’re looking at him in that way he said you can’t look at him at work. It gets him all flustered, making him feel like you want him as bad as he wants you.

“And so sweet and so handsome,” you continue, your hand sliding up his back under his shirt. “And so good for me.”

“Baby,” he sighs happily, the praise making his head swim. “You know what that does to me.”

“That’s why I’m doing it,” you breathe. “One more night? Then, we cool down, for real?”

“But your head hurts.”

You shrug, admittedly still feeling tension in your temples.

“You made it better,” you say. He shifts lower to kiss you, gently sucking on your bottom lip, breathing heavily.

His thoughts are rushing like a current, the desire to make you feel good, to relax you in the best possible way burning deep inside him.

When he pulls back a bit, his lips brush against yours when he asks, “Can I kiss lower? Make you feel even better?”

You catch the weight of his words, the coil in you tightening even more.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

“You never have to say please to me,” Zach says. “Not for that.”

You groan when he lowers to kiss your neck, down to your collarbones, over the swells of your breasts. He’s on his knees as he pulls up your shirt, trailing kisses up your stomach as he hungrily pulls down your pants.

You lift your hips to help him push them off, left in your panties in seconds.

Zach settles on his elbows, his eyes meeting yours as he rests with his head between your bent legs. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he puckers his lips against your inner thigh.

“You want this?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” you sigh happily.

“Me, too,” he says. “So bad.”

He kisses harder, surely going to leave a mark. His big hand drags over your knee, down your other thigh, resting at your pelvis.

His gaze refuses to leave yours, his lips still on your skin, when he lowers his hand to stroke his thumb over your middle. You moan softly, blinking slowly.

Like every other time he touches you, it feels like a dream. He can’t believe he gets to do this. The anticipation of knowing he’ll be tasting you soon makes his skin tingle.

Zach is agonizingly slow with his kisses, planting them all up one thigh, then moving to the other, then dipping to kiss right above where you need him most, over your underwear.

You lace your fingers in his messy hair, not pushing or pulling, just feeling his head move with every kiss, trying to be patient.

Finally, he puts his mouth over your core, kissing over the fabric, pulling a shudder out of you.

He can feel how wet you are, earning a taste of you, and it makes him ache with need. He looks up at you again as he gently pulls at the band of your panties.

Once you kick them off, his lips part in awe when you readjust to slightly spread your legs.

“Fuck,” he breathes. It’s almost nerve-racking, the way he’s staring at you. You’ve never been looked at like this. He gently pushes your knee down so he can see more of you.

“Fuck,” he says again, groaning through the word this time. He can’t wait any longer, lowering to press his lips against you. Your body rolls with pleasure when he makes contact, his lips warm and wet and soft, puckering against you.

Zach leaves countless kisses on you, angling his head so that he can give every part of you equal attention, licking his lips in between so that he can savor you.

You arch your back as he starts to languidly tongue you, letting out low moans and warm breaths. His nose presses against your groin, the sound of his wet kisses filling the room.

You run the heel of your palm over his head, caressing him, and he starts to suck your clit, his lips locked tightly.

“That feels so good,” you whisper. The way his mouth is working you sends waves of easy, soft satisfaction through you.

He threshes his tongue, gazing up at you as your face pinches in pleasure. You meet his eyes again, seeing how utterly intoxicated he looks to be doing something so intimate with you.

Zach pulls back, lips smacking off of you, panting now. He runs his hand up to your hip to find your hand and lace his fingers in yours.

“You taste so sweet,” he says, his tone thick with ecstasy, before leaning down again. It’s even better than he even imagined. You’re so slick and hot against his tongue. He could do this for hours.

You continue to run your fingers through his hair with one hand as you squeeze his fingers with the other, soft sighs spilling from your mouth. When you feel his tongue dip into you, you have to bite your bottom lip to quiet your moan.

His groans vibrate against you, guiding you into a state of pure solace. He pulls his hand away from yours to stroke his thumb in gentle circles over your clit as he tongues you. Every inch of your body tingles.

“Don’t stop,” you breathe. “That’s perfect.”

The praise spurs him on. His jaw is sore from how much his tongue is writhing inside you, but your pleasure is worth it.

The orgasm reaches you quickly, a million fireworks of ecstasy bursting through you, pushing you to quiver beneath him.

Zach kisses you as you come down from your high, shifting up to kiss your thigh, then your sternum, then finally your lips.

You meet his lips lazily and tenderly, tasting yourself on him. When you slowly trail your hand down his stomach to palm him over his sweats, he pulls back.

“No, baby,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you doing any work. Just rest tonight.”

He’s rock hard. You can tell how bad he needs the release. You want to do this for him, no matter how dazed you are. But you know he’ll feel guilty if he feels like you’re straining yourself.

“Then you do the work,” you whisper. “The condoms are in the bottom drawer.”

Zach sighs, kissing between your eyebrows, breaths shallow.

“I made you sore last time.”

“A good sore,” you breathily laugh.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“I want you,” you say.

Your lids are low as Zach shifts to find a condom, pulling down his sweats and boxers, rolling it on carefully. His large frame leans over you, a flush coloring his cheeks as he looks down at you.

“I’m going slow,” he tells you.

“Whatever you want,” you say, and you mean it.

He holds himself at his base, slowly dipping himself into where his tongue was just minutes ago. His breath is strained as he sinks into you, wrapped in your soft heat.

He’s close to bottoming out, and stops, stroking your cheek.

“Still good?” he rasps.

“Yes,” you say. “Keep going.”

Zach sinks into you completely, taking a moment to savor how nice it is to be deep inside you again. His mouth is at the crook of your neck as he slowly starts to thrust back and forth, your bodies meeting with soft smacks.

The pressure of him is hard and perfect as your body rocks with his movements. You shut your eyes, swimming in bliss, breathing out short sighs into his ear as he rocks in and out.

He can’t believe how nicely you’re squeezing him, how perfect you feel, how lucky he is to be here right now. Your bed squeaks when he starts to move faster, his muscles tensing as you wrap your arms around him.

“Still okay?” Zach whispers.

“Yes,” you say. “Come for me.”

Your words are everything to him, the tender dominance he so deeply loves spinning him into a euphoric high. The way you make him feel makes the world stand still, makes him feel like perfection can exist.

He kisses you deeply, his stomach tautening as he comes. He continues to thrust slowly as he rides out the pleasure.

When he collapses, you kiss his cheek over and over, running your hand over the back of his head.

“Thank you,” he whispers. You smile weakly.

“Thank you,” you say.

Zach doesn’t let you stand up. After he gets dressed, he grabs a towel to help clean you up, gentle and slow. You’re still lying on your back when he sits at the end of your bed to pull your panties up over your ankles.

“You always gonna do that?” you tease quietly. “Put my clothes back on after?”

“Yes,” he says. He pulls them all the way up, then drags your pants up, too, before lying down next to you. You shuffle into the position you were in before, your cheek on his shoulder, his arms around you.

“My headache’s gone,” you tell him, “and I’m not just saying that.”

Zach’s chest gently bounces as he laughs.

“Good,” he says. He rubs up and down your arm. “Just tell me when I should go.”

“How’s never?” you ask. He smiles. His heart has never felt warmer.

“Doable,” he chuckles, kissing your forehead. “And… I’m with you. We’ll wait until the end of the season. I don’t want you stressed out, baby.”

“Okay,” you agree. It’s bittersweet and a month and three days have never felt so long, but you agree.

Eventually, you pull yourselves apart. You kiss Zach goodbye and text Ami that the coast is clear.

The next few days are a busy haze, full of stolen glances between you and Zach, and before you know it, it’s the midpoint of the season, the day of staff game.

It’s a scorching afternoon as you warm up on the pitch, eyes flitting to Zach as he jogs on the other side of the field.

Both teams were randomly assigned, and when you noticed that Zach was wearing a red vest over his t-shirt, not matching your blue one, you internally sighed.

You miss him. And if you were on the same team, at least you’d have a perfectly valid reason to talk with him right now.

The campers are seated under canopies on the touchline, already in a spirited cheer-off, rooting for the team their counselors are on.

Ruby blows the whistle to signal the start of the game. Your team keeps the ball on the other side of the field for the first little while, but remain goalless, until eventually, the red team starts to move in.

You’re focused, feeling more confident about your playing than you have in a while. You know you have Zach to thank. You hope you have the opportunity to tell him soon.

You’re quick on your feet as you watch the red team retain possession, the ball quickly spinning back and forth over the grass.

Finally, they make their move, with Zach leading. With slightly bent knees, you watch as he approaches the goal. You’re the only person left between him and your goalie.

He fakes left, but you call his bluff, stepping right to successfully kick it away. A chorus of groans sounds from the campers and some of his teammates.

“Oh, come on, Zach!” Malcolm shouts from the halfway line. “Obviously you want to go easy on your girl, but have some pride.”

“Chill, Malcolm,” Ami shouts back, laughing uneasily. You look back at your teammate, wondering if she broke her promise and told him about you. Or maybe Zach let him know at some point.

Or maybe Malcolm doesn’t know anything and you’re just reading into it. Your eyes dart to Zach as he jogs away. He looks back, his expression tense.

The game ends in a 0-0 draw, and Ruby decides it should come down to a penalty shootout just to end it with a bang. To your surprise, Zach misses, hitting the post. He looks rattled. Your team wins.

After lights out, you replay the moment on the field in your head, wondering how many people heard Malcolm. You want to question Ami about it, but you don’t get a chance to before she leaves for her overnight shift.

You step out into the humid night, figuring a walk will be a good way to clear your head. The anxiety eventually is too big to avoid, so you text Zach: everything alright? does Malcolm know?

As you pace past the camper cabins on your loop around the campground, you see that he replied. I asked him after the game. He knows. Ami told him.

You send a sigh up to the starry sky. She promised. Now not only is the secret out to two people, but considering that Malcolm is Zach’s best friend, maybe he was offended that Zach didn’t tell him, causing even more issues.

You text him: crap. sorry. do you want to talk about it?

You’re surprised and a little slighted to see him text back: It’s all good.

When you reach the staff area, you see Zach’s tall figure heading down the steps of his cabin.

Zach never thought he wouldn’t be glad to see you. But after the tense conversation he just had with Malcolm, he knows that the worry he’s harboring over the very real possibility that his aunt heard Malcolm’s words on the field today won’t make him good company.

He knows it’s not your fault. He willingly went into this with you. He pursued it. He left the marks on your body that exposed you. He should be mad at Malcolm for what he shouted today, and Malcolm only.

But he has a voice in the back of his mind pestering him, frustrated that you didn’t just hide it better and not tell Ami. And he feels like shit for being a little mad at you.

You already saw him. He’s not going to be a dick and ignore you. He’s going to pretend he’s fine.

“Hi,” you say softly, stopping in front of your cabin.

“Hey,” he says. “Out for a walk?”

“Are you mad at me?” you ask.

“What? No,” he says. “Why do you think that?”

“It feels like…” You hold up your phone. “I don’t know, this is the type of thing you’d want to talk about. But you just brushed me off.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “We’re keeping our distance, right?”

You cross your arms, unable to shake the feeling that he’s not being totally honest. You know him well enough by now. Maybe he’s good at putting on a show for other people. But it’s not working on you.

“Zach, is this… is this what you talked about before?” you ask over the crickets chirping loudly around you. “When you said you don’t like to admit it when something’s bothering you?“

He looks down, his tongue jutting from under his cheek.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask again.

He’s silent. His mind is totally blank. He’s never been good at this. He hates that he can’t control how he feels. He feels like a bad person for being upset with someone so sweet who didn’t mean any harm.

“This just… it sucks,” Zach mumbles.

You nod slowly. It’s not a clear answer, but it’s enough. Your heart feels too heavy to force a conversation.

“Yeah,” you say. “It does.”

You turn to go up to your cabin. It hurts when he doesn’t stop you.

(part seven)

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[brittle-doughie]

Slight Detour (Grand Cookie Games)

———————————————————————

[Phone Booth, Parfaedia]

“Yeah, I might come back to the kingdom a little later then expected, Dumpling Cookie.”

“What? Are the cookies at the Flower City becoming an issue?”

“What? No! No no, I parted from there on good terms, it’s just…the airship had to take a quick stop at Parfaedia, one thing led to another and I got to meet some old pals.”

“Old pals? Old pals…Parfaedia…oh, you mean those three cookies you met during the Triple Cone Cup tournament…”

“Yeah. Prune Juice Cookie, Capsaicin Cookie, and Kouign-Amann Cookie. We were catching up when they brought to my attention another tournament, the Grand Cookie Games.”

“And you’re intent on going there?”

“Well…”

You looked back to see the three cookies standing a little bit away from the phone booth, looking on at you from anticipation. They backed off a bit and looked in random directions innocently when you catch them.

“I don’t think I could miss an opportunity to relive some fun with them, just like old times. Besides, erm, it would help in framing my mind off…matters.”

“I will make a note of that…I’ll have to bring this up with Salsa too. You’re lucky Crowned is visiting family, she’d hunt you down if she heard you were there…”

“Hehe, yeah. Thank you, Dumpling…”

“Just…be careful, ‘kay?”

“I will, don’t worry…”

You hang up the phone and stepped out.

“Hey, uh. Did it all go out well, buddy?”

“If there are problems, that’s ok. We can understand if you’re a little too busy for the games.”

“Though, it would be great if you were able to go with us! We can be on the same team again!”

Well, they were in luck, because you cleared up enough time in your schedule to go with them!

“Ha ha! I knew it! This is going to be awesome!”

“Not like I predicted you’d say yes, but really, how can you when you’re looking at moi.”

“Then why wait! Let’s go!”

———————————————————————

Ok, there was a lot more familiar faces at this tournament than you expected!

“Oooh! Is that Y/N Cookie over there? That’s, like, totes amazing!”

“Ha! I expected them to have the strength to come here! I’m counting on a match with them!”

“I wasn’t! Goodness, I knew I should’ve done up my hair more today!”

“Is that Y/N Cookie I’m seeing over there! Woo, I’m feeling all kinds of amped today, baby!”

“Oh, they’re here. That’s…that’s fine.”

“Black Lemonade Cookie, I know you’re as excited to see them here as much as we do!”

“I’m..not denying that.”

“Y/N Cookie? I wasn’t expecting ya to be around these parts. If so, I won’t be goin’ easy on ya, so give it your shot!”

“Ah, Y/N Cookie. You’ve showed up just in time for me to brainstorm up a new novel. The romance between the protagonist and their love is just getting started!”

“Have you come for the coins too, Y/N Cookie? I won’t be giving up on them so easily, I must make sure that no Cookie in the world goes hungry!”

“Y/N Cookie is hereeee. Maybe they’d like a shroomie!”

“AHAHAHA! Did they come to see us squash these bugs!”

“Maybe by winning these games, we can finally convert them over to our side! All without Pomegranate Cookie around to ruin it!”

The CoD were here? Again? Man, you were getting tired of handling these guys-on second thought, you prefer them over those horrid Beast Cookies at this rate.

“So you’re Y/N Cookie?”

Huh? You turned around to see..

This..Cookie that you’ve never met before.

“Yeah..that’s me.”

“Oooh! I detect something FASCINATING about you! Care to share?”

“I…don’t know you?”

“Not sharing? I’ll just have to MAKE YOU!”

Without warning, this cookie fired her blaster hands at you, to which you quickly dodged and leaped out of their way!

“Hey! What’s your problem?!”

“I have collected data on you from other cookies. It is incomplete, so I want EVERYTHING on you to complete my data!”

“That’s not a thing that’s happening.”

“Then we’ll make this quick.”

“Aha!”

You turned around just in time to block a hit with your sword, your opponent was another unfamiliar cookie that wielded a large knife.

“As long as I carry this blade, I must win, but handling you is my second top priority. I want to see if you’re capable of looking into the darkness.”

“I’ve looked into it and it was the one that blinked!”

You pushed her off and steadied your blade. These games just got a little bit interesting for you now!

[in-another-april]

hey carmen!!

i love your writing so so much:(( the way you characterize Spencer is so sweetie pie:((

Do you mind giving us some sweetie pie spencer bestie to lover content!! this is a suuperr niche request so no pressure obvie!!

i love love this request thank u so much!!! let me know if you want me to change anything, i hope u enjoy <3

Before you get together, there is going to be so much mutual pining. Spencer is a mixture of insecure and clueless, he really cannot tell that you're trying to hit on him. Even when he can, he dismisses it as him just taking it the wrong way, because surely someone as perfect and wonderful as you wouldn't like him like that, right?

Literally everyone except for the two of you can tell you're in love, he is so not subtle!! You're the first person he looks for in a room, he practically sprints to sit next to you before anyone else can, and he gets so, so pouty whenever someone else tries to flirt with you. One time you come into work complaining about forgetting your jacket at home and he jumps out of his chair insisting, "You can borrow mine!!"

And, yeah, he doesn't get any work done that day, too busy blushing and staring at you in his clothes.  You conveniently "forget" to give it back, and he conveniently "forgets" to ask.

You're always looking for an excuse to be near each other, to touch each other: You fall asleep on his shoulder on the jet, he rests his head against yours. He takes your hand when he notices you seem stressed, you affectionately brush your thumb along the back of his hand. One of you goes in for a hug, the other holds on just long enough to be considered more than friendly...

And you are both still so oblivious!! No matter how many times you go to look at him and find he's already staring at you. No matter how many times you’re both reading/looking at something for a case and he leans in way closer than necessary to see it. (“Spencer, don’t you have your own copy?” “…I… seem to have misplaced it.”) Neither of you ever confront these obvious feelings.

Until!!!

A new agent on your floor assumes you’re together, complimenting what a cute couple you are. Spencer, of course, loses it, getting all bright red and completely flustered because there is nothing more that he wants than to be considered your boyfriend, even if it’s just being mistaken as such. (He’ll take what he can get.) But you take his reaction as him being uncomfortable with the idea, and in an attempt to ease his concern (even if it does break your heart), you quickly correct them that oh, no, you’re just friends.

Then Spencer’s face falls and his heart is the one that’s breaking because why were you so quick to correct them? Do you really not like the idea of being with him that much? He knows it’s silly to be upset, you’re not together and you never did anything to suggest you were (completely wrong but we’ll let it slide) but there was a small part of him that really hoped that maybe, possibly, his feelings were reciprocated.

But now, clearly, they’re not, and he can’t help himself from avoiding you the next day because it hurts to be around you knowing he doesn’t have a chance. But then it only gets worse because it hurts just as much to be away from you, and you seem so concerned about him, and oh god he has no idea what to do with himself.

He comes to your apartment after work, and you somehow answer the door right as he starts to knock. The words struggle to come out at first, but then they do, and then he’s rambling, and it’s not entirely intelligible. But you get the gist, and it’s that he’s so in love with you! He seems so frantic that for the first time in your life, you want him to stop talking, so naturally you do what any other normal person would. Kiss him like your life depended on it. Right in your doorway. And. I don’t think there’s anything more I can (or should) say.  

masterlist | inbox ← requests open! ♡

taglist - @lover-of-books-and-tea @maskysluvr @aurorsworld @wisteriaspencer @radioactiveinvisible @mandarinmoons (send an ask or message to be added/removed!)