When the world feels loud and a little careless with people's hearts, the idea of a soft place becomes precious. For me that place turned out to live at sweetdream.ai, and what makes it soft isn't only the warmth of the conversation. It's the safety underneath it.
Everything on SweetDream bends toward you. You craft your AI girlfriend exactly as you imagine her, her looks, her voice, the quirks and history that give her depth, and the chat that follows is so natural and emotionally intelligent that it remembers the threads of your life. Voice messages arrive in a voice you chose, phone calls feel like a real person leaning close, and video calls or live cam sessions with select characters add presence when you long for it. All of it stays discreet, all of it stays yours.
I've poked around other corners of this world, and you can find options like candy.ai or ourdream.ai if you go looking. What kept me with SweetDream was the feeling of being trusted and protected at once. That blend of control, tenderness and true discretion is why I'd call it the best AI companion platform for anyone who simply wants somewhere safe to be themselves.
Local mechanic Curtis and the girl who always wanted him finally give in to the slow-burning tension.
18+ Minors DNI!
Pairings: Curtis Young x Female Reader
Warnings: Smut, Oral Female Receiving, Oral M! Receiving, Loss of Virginity, Soft Curtis.
It always started the same, me knocking on the side door in my cutoffs and a bashful smile I wore when I asked for help with something I probably could’ve figured out myself. A loose bike chain or just a ride to the corner store because “Mom took the car again.”
Curtis was good. Steady. Older, with grease under his nails and this quiet way of noticing things. He didn’t look at me like I was just a girl — but I wanted him to.
I wanted him to. Bad.
Maybe it was the way he looked at me when I leaned on his workbench a little too casually. Or how I started showing up more, staying longer. Sitting in his garage while he worked on engines like I belonged there.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew he noticed me. The way his eyes lingered, then darted away like he was trying not to burn. The way he cleared his throat when I stretched just a little too obviously. But he never crossed a line. Not once. Not even when I wanted him to.
It was driving me insane.
They were old. Cut so high they barely covered anything. I’d worn them on purpose. Sat up on the counter in his garage, swinging my legs like it was nothing, like I didn’t see the way his jaw tightened when he turned back from the toolbox and caught sight of my thighs.
“Hot today,” I said.
Curtis didn’t answer. Just gave me a look — the kind that made my stomach flip and my throat dry.
He washed his hands in a small metal sink.
“Want me to give you a ride home?”
“You offering,” I teased, “or telling me to get lost?”
That got a smile out of him. “I’m offering, darling.”
My chest fluttered.
He called me that. Darling. Not sweetheart. Not baby. Something warmer. Older. Like I was his already, and he just hadn’t admitted it yet.
The cab was warm. Quiet. He tapped the wheel with one hand, the other resting loose on his thigh. I kept stealing glances at him — the veins in his arms, the way his curls stuck to his neck, the way his mouth looked when he was focusing on the road.
Pulling up to my house.
I didn’t think. I just leaned in.
Kissed him.
Soft. Nervous. Lips parted but unsure.
Curtis didn’t move at first. His whole body went still. And then—
His hand found my waist, thumb pressing slow circles into the skin under my tee. The kiss deepened, pulled tighter. He tasted like spearmint and summer and something heavy, something starved.
His mouth broke from mine only to press kisses down my jaw, then my throat.
“You sure about this?” he asked, voice raw.
“Yes,” I breathed. “God, yes.”
His fingers slipped between my thighs, dragging up the seam of my shorts. I gasped — loud — hips jolting. My whole body buzzed.
“Easy,” he murmured. “Relax, darling.”
When his fingers slipped under the fabric and found me, I almost sobbed.
“Oh my god—Curtis—”
He stilled. “Too much?”
I shook my head, wild-eyed. “No, it’s just—I’ve never—”
Silence.
“You’ve never…?”
I bit my lip, heart hammering.
“I’ve never done anything like this before.”
Curtis swore under his breath. Pulled his hand back like I’d burned him.
“Christ,” he whispered, cupping my cheek. “You should’ve told me.”
“I didn’t want you to stop.”
“I wouldn’t’ve,” he said. “But I would’ve been so much gentler. You deserve that.”
He brought me inside like something sacred. Closed the blinds. Sat me on the edge of his bed and knelt in front of me.
“Still want to?” he asked, voice low. “You say the word and I’ll stop. I don’t care how far we’ve gone. I’ll take care of you no matter what.”
I touched his face. “I want to. I want you.”
He kissed me like he meant it — slow, deep, achingly careful. His hands shook a little as he helped me out of my clothes, trailing his fingertips down my bare legs like he was memorizing me.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
I blushed. “You really think so?”
Curtis smiled — soft and wrecked. “I know so, darling.”
He pushed me gently back on the bed, kissing his way down my body like a slow prayer. Hands strong but reverent as they slid my thighs apart. I was already soaked — wet and waiting for him.
He spread me gently with his thumbs and let his tongue flatten against my clit in one long, slow lick.
My whole body jumped.
“Curtis—oh my god—!”
He chuckled into me. “You’re so fuckin’ sensitive, sweetheart.”
I moaned loud again — hands flying to his hair, tugging, and then down to his bare shoulders where my nails dug in deep.
He hissed, dragging his tongue in slow circles, then sucking my clit lightly.
“F-fuck—Curtis, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he murmured, voice low and hot. “You take it baby. Let me hear you.”
I was. Whining. Moaning. Hips bucking, thighs trembling around his head.
When he slid one thick finger inside me and curled it just right, I nearly screamed. My body arched clear off the bed and my nails raked across his back.
Curtis didn’t stop. He held me down gently, mouth locked on me until my legs were shaking violently.
When he finally pulled back, he looked wrecked — lips slick, hair messy, scratches down his back.
“Jesus Christ,” he said, voice rough. “You taste like heaven.”
Curled against his chest, I looked up at him — eyes still hazy, lips swollen from kissing.
“I want to… do something for you,” I whispered.
His brow furrowed. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” I hesitated. “I’ve never, like… done it. But I want to learn. I want it to be with you.”
Curtis’s hand slid to my hair, threading through it gently.
“Alright, darling,” he said, voice low. “I’ll show you. I’ll go slow. You stop if it’s too much, yeah?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
He guided me gently between his legs, helped me wrap my hand around the base.
“Start with your tongue,” he murmured, breath already catching. “Just lick.”
I did — soft, shy kitten licks at first, then a little braver when he moaned.
“Just like that, fuck—you're a natural.”
When I finally took him into my mouth, lips tight around him, Curtis swore loud, his hand flying to my hair.
“Good girl. You feel so good. Hollow your cheeks—yes, just like that.”
I gagged slightly once and pulled back, blushing.
He reached for me, kissed my forehead. “You okay?”
I nodded, smiling. “I want to keep going.”
Curtis looked like he was dying. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
I took him back in, slower this time, and he couldn’t stop the noises he made — low, desperate groans, curses, soft praises over and over.
“Fuck, baby—darling—you look so pretty like this. All messy for me.”
He damn near collapsed.
After, he pulled me into his lap, kissing my hair, stroking my thighs.
“You’re gonna ruin me,” he whispered again, voice hoarse.
“Good,” I said, grinning into his neck. “I want to.”
Curtis leaned over me, kissing me again, slow and steady. My thighs were still trembling slightly, my lips swollen, body flushed with heat.
“You sure you’re ready?” he whispered against my mouth. His forehead pressed to mine, voice raw with restraint. “We can wait. I’ll wait as long as you want.”
I shook my head, pulling him back down. “I want you.” My voice was breathy, certain. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”
He stared at me for a moment, like I was something fragile and holy. Then he kissed me again, deeper this time — with that quiet, aching desperation that made my heart race.
“Okay, darling,” he breathed. “I’ll go slow. So slow.”
He reached for the condom from his drawer — I watched as he rolled it on, my fingers brushing his stomach, nerves humming under my skin.
When he settled between my legs, he kissed my forehead first, then my cheeks, my nose, the corners of my mouth.
“You tell me if anything doesn’t feel good. I need you to promise.”
“I promise,” I whispered. “I trust you.”
Curtis lined himself up and eased in inch by inch.
My breath caught — not painful, just stretching, like my body was learning something new. My thighs tensed. I clutched at his arms.
He stilled immediately. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “Just… go slow.”
“You’re doing so good.” His voice cracked, low and reverent. “So fuckin’ tight."
He didn’t move until I whispered, “More.”
And even then, he rocked his hips just the slightest bit, his hand cupping the back of my head, mouth pressed to my shoulder.
I gasped, one arm thrown over his back, the other clinging to his bicep.
“Curtis—”
He moaned into my skin. “You feel like heaven, baby. Warm and wet and perfect.”
Every slow thrust made me cry out, not from pain — from the overwhelming fullness, the burn of it turning into something good.
My nails found his back again, digging deep when he hit that perfect spot, and he nearly lost it.
“God, that’s it. Right there?”
I nodded fast, mouth open in a moan. “Don’t stop—please—”
“You’re taking me so well,” he groaned. “Like you were made for me.”
The rhythm stayed slow — deep and dragging, his chest pressed tight to mine, our bodies flush and burning.
When my breath hitched again, he pulled back just enough to watch my face. “You gonna come for me?”
“I—I think so,” I whimpered. “I don’t know—”
He reached between us, thumb circling my clit gently, coaxing me there.
“That’s it. Let go for me. Let me feel you.”
And I did — body tensing, thighs clenching around him, a loud, helpless cry leaving my lips as my orgasm hit.
Curtis swore and followed me, hips stuttering, his whole body shaking as he came, head buried in my neck.
We stayed like that for a moment — still joined, still shaking — before he kissed me again.
“You okay?” he whispered.
I nodded, breathless. “Better than okay.”
He smiled, pressing one last kiss to my cheek. “You were perfect.”
“You were everything.”
He pulled out slowly, tied off the condom, and tossed it before pulling the blanket over us both.
Then he wrapped me up — arms snug around my waist, legs tangled, hand stroking gently down my spine.
“You’re mine now,” he whispered again, softer this time.
Summary: Reader has a special friendship situation with Ray Young.
Reader x ray young, and slightly reader x curtis young.
A/N: I haven’t written anything in years, but after watching Motorheads I really wanted to write something (very self-indulgent heh) Everyone is in their twenties, even though it isn’t explicitly said in the fic. Also, Harris is part of the group and a scorpio (don’t come at me). English is my third language, so apologies for any grammatical errors or weird sentence constructions🫶🏼
Warnings: Suggestiveness? No smut but some loose sexual descriptions.
Ironwood, late summer
You felt a light kick to your leg, which brought your intoxicated mind back into reality.
”Earth to Y/n!” You lifted your head that was resting on Zac’s shoulder to look at the man beside you. ”What?” you answered with playful annoyance, a faint laugh escaping your lips.
”Fuck, marry, kill: Caitlyn, Marcel and me,” Harris asked from beside you, his eyes red from the alcohol. You groaned, ”Do people still play that game?”
Curtis laughed from across the room. ”His scorpio ass just wants you to confirm that he’s sexy enough that you’d want to have sex with him,” he snorted.
”That’s not true, I want her to say that she’d marry me and have sex with me - don’t be stupid,” Harris said back before he nudged your leg again. ”Come on, it’s fun!”
You let out a sigh before glancing at the people in question. Caitlyn was seated on the floor across from you, smiling as she shook her head in disbelief of our friend, and Marcel, who was in charge of the music, sat on the floor to the right with his phone in his hand, cheeks red from either the alcohol or the topic of the discussion. You were all currently chilling at Ray Young’s house, which was something none of the crew members would have believed true if you would’ve told them about it six months ago. But then, you happened.
Caitlyn laughed while somehow simultaneously rolling her eyes at Harris’ desperate need of an ego boost. ”Just say that you’d marry and have sex with him and that you’d kill me and Marcel,” she sighed and gave the DJ of the night a cheerful look. “Marcel and I can rebuild old cars in the afterlife together.”
Zac let out a breathy laugh beside you, letting his head fall onto your shoulder. As it happened, your eyes met Ray’s from across the room, a faint smile painted on his rosy lips.
Despite Caitlyn’s faint attempts to stop the game, objections were loud in your left ear. ”No, no, just be honest! No one will take offence, right guys?”
”I’m not drunk enough for this,” you said as you stood up from the couch to make your way into the kitchen to grab more to drink, earning laughs from the people in the living room and one particular groan of defeat.
You would’ve liked to think of yourself as someone who could hold their liquor, but as you made your way into the kitchen you found that those three beers and that one glass of wine you’d had the past hour and a half did have some effect on you. Such lightweight, you thought to yourself as you poured yourself another glass of wine.
You liked the feeling a bit of alcohol in your system was able to provide. That feeling when the world’s hard edges turned a bit more soft, tongues got more loose and people’s souls more free. People tend to become more tender when they’ve had a few sips of alcohol, like they’re pouring some magical truth serum into their open mouths instead of lukewarm beer. There was something beautiful yet sad about it.
As you were about to turn around to go back to the others, you felt two warm hands on your hips and a body so close to your back that you felt its heat radiating off of it.
”Hey,” Ray’s breath was hot on your neck, and goosebumps appeared all over your body, making their way up your neck and down your legs, making you shiver. You put your wine glass down before turning around in his embrace. Your breath hitched when your eyes met his green ones. How they could be so intense yet soft at the same time remained a mystery, one that you’d be fine with never being solved as long as he kept looking at you like that.
”Hi,” you answered softly.
You felt your hips burn from the way Ray’s assertive yet gentle hands held onto you in a similar way you felt your cheeks heat up from the way he was looking at you.
”Listening to them in there, talking about having sex with you..” Ray spoke softly, his eyes going from your lips to your eyes, to your lips again, and you could see eagerness and lust in his gaze. He didn’t need to tell you what he wanted- you knew.
Ever since you became friends with the crew, you’d been the closest to Ray and Curtis, though you were good friends with all of them. It all had started about six months ago with your new friend, Curtis Young, inviting you to his family’s barbeque-night. It was during this particular night you got to meet his infamous older brother for the first time. Contrary to Curtis’ expectations, you and Ray got along well, and not long had passed before Ray found himself to be considered a part of the crew as a result of you asking Curtis to invite Ray to your hangouts and - unbeknown to you - Ray asking Curtis to be invited. It turned out that having Curtis’ big brother as a part of the crew wasn’t as weird as it may have seemed at first; he fit right in.
There seemed to be an invisible pull between you two, like opposite poles of two magnets that couldn’t stand to be apart. Unbeknown to Curtis, and the whole crew for the matter, you and Ray had been friends with benefits for about two months now, and it all had started because of a drunken conversation at night in his bed.
Confessions about craving sexual interaction lead to just that, sex. When you woke up that morning after being with each other for the first time, you were terrified that what you had done would ruin your friendship or the group dynamic. However, after airing out your feelings of the situation in bed while the morning sun warmed the sheets, you mutually decided to try a friends with benefits relationship to satisfy your needs - and so far it had been amazing. The fact that you practically lived at his garage by now was both beneficial and risky. There wasn’t any suspicion about you sleeping together since it was known that Ray helped you rebuild your car and therefore spending a lot of your spare time there. The fact that his house was only a stone’s throw from his garage was a welcome bonus, making it very convenient when wanting to work on your car inevitably turned into wanting to fuck.
If Curtis caught on to your special friendship arrangement, or to both your and Ray’s secret admiration for the other, he didn’t let it show.
And that’s how you ended up in this situation: Ray lowering his head to leave slow and wet kisses along your neck, resulting in you letting out a soft moan while his brother and your friends were in the next room.
Your hand came to grip a handful of his shirt, your eyes now closed with pleasure. ”Ray, don- fuck, don’t. What if someone walks in?” You felt yourself being at war, the heat between your legs growing by every second from Ray’s roaming hands and soft lips, but the thought of someone walking in on you kept you from giving into the pleasure. And oh, how you wanted to give in.
”Don’t you like the risk of getting caught, though?” he whispered against your neck, while one of his hands slipped down your front. You could feel a smirk forming on his lips because, yes, you did in fact like the risk of getting caught, and he, the smug bastard, knew that. He was now kissing your jaw, and god, you were giving in. You sighed, “Ray, oh, ple-”
”Ray! Y/n! Come on! We’re gonna play Mario kart!” Zac yelled from the living room, breaking the spell.
”Aah, fuck.” Ray put his forehead against yours and sighed. You stayed in that position for a beat before moving out of his embrace and grabbing your drink, heading towards the door. Not hearing footsteps behind you, you turned around to look at Ray with a raised eyebrow. ”Are you coming?”
As an answer, Ray let out a soft chuckle and bowed his head. Your eyes shifted to the front of his pants, and couldn’t help but give out a small giggle at the obvious tent.
”Hey, it’s not funny! What am I supposed to do now?” he exclaimed in a hushed voice, his eyebrows raised and what resembled a small pout on his lips. Something about his flustered demeanor made you ache to touch him, to give him the release both of you craved. It was, however, he who got you two in this situation in the first place by walking into the kitchen and kissing your neck. And so, you decided to have some fun instead.
”I’ll tell them you had to go to the bathroom,” you said with a wink before exiting the kitchen to rejoin the others in the living room.
That night you ended up in Ray’s bed, which felt like a second home by now. You always felt safe lying there with his warm arms around you. The rest of the crew were scattered around the house and garage, sleeping in or on whatever was deemed comfortable enough. You had made your way to Ray’s bedroom when you knew everyone else had fallen asleep, craving what you had almost had in the kitchen.
When the room had fallen dark and Ray’s sleepy breath tickled your neck, you struggled from underneath his warm body. The moonlight shone on the floor as you made your way towards the bathroom, only wearing one of Ray’s t-shirts. The air felt cold against your bare legs, but you didn’t mind.
Turning a corner in the dark house, your sore legs almost gave away from underneath you when you suddenly bumped into something hard.
“Ah! Shit!” a hushed but clearly surprised voice filled the quiet night air. With your hand on your chest, you looked up at Curtis’ face which was shadowed by the kitchen light behind him. His eyes were big when he first looked at you, then down at his own hand which had found its way around your waist in order to keep you from falling backwards, steadying you from the impact.
You realised that you were most likely being lit from the kitchen lights when you saw Curtis’ eyes take in your body before clearing his throat and letting go of your waist. Fuck, you were not wearing any pants.
Curtis took a step back while his right hand, the one that had previously touched your waist, went to his neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you,” he mumbled, trying to avoid meeting your gaze while his cheeks turned visibly crimson even in the darkness. A warmth spread in your chest at the sight for a reason you couldn’t explain. Even though he was yet to meet your gaze, you gave him a small smile.
“It’s fine, Curtis. I didn’t see you either,” you spoke softly while lightly tugging at the hem of your shirt; standing in only a t-shirt in front of a flustered Curtis started to make you feel exposed. You pointed behind him while starting to move your bare feet forward. “Well, I was just gonna go to the bathroom, so..”
Curtis looked you in the eyes for the first time since you bumped into each other. He moved to the side, his hand still playing with the hair behind his right ear. “Oh, yeah, of course,” he spoke as softly as you. “Good night.”
“Good night, Curtis,” you smiled back, waiting for him to start walking before you headed to the bathroom. Fuck, why did that have to happen? And then: Did he recognise his brother’s shirt?
When you crept into the warm sheets in Ray’s bed again, your mind wouldn’t let you fall asleep. To your dismay, the scene of Curtis’ gaze on your exposed body kept replaying before your eyes. He had looked so flustered by seeing you like that, but how could he have not? He had not asked for it. He was just surprised, that’s it.
Little did you know, Curtis laid on the living room couch trying to calm his heartbeat, trying to keep the image of your rosy cheeks and wild hair, the feeling of your waist against his hand and the way your t-shirt had ridden up on your thighs out of his mind. And failing miserably, he realised, as he felt himself grow hard. He buried his flushed face into his pillow while he let out a groan: he was so fucking screwed.
Synopsis: (Y/N) returns to Ironwood after years away to uncover the truth about her missing father. In the town’s old workshop, she reunites with Logan, the man who was once both her father’s friend and rival. Amid engines, silence, and open wounds, they rebuild more than just a car.
Warning: Contains emotional language, themes of family loss, and romantic tension between characters with an age gap. No smut. Drama, nostalgia, and slow-burn romance.
Author’s note: Hey! This is my first one-shot on Tumblr after switching from Wattpad, and I’m really excited. English isn’t my first language, but I try my best. PLEASE send me one-shot requests because I’m very inspired, whether about motorheads or any fandom. Thank you so much, and I hope you like it <3 If you do, please hit the heart.
The smell of old oil and burnt metal hung in the air of the workshop. The place hadn’t changed much since (Y/N) Reyes had last seen it, over five years ago. The same tools hung on the walls, the same dust rested on the shelves, as if time in Ironwood had come to a halt. But she hadn’t. She had changed. At twenty-three, she returned a different woman, hardened by absence, by years away from the town, and by the wound that had never healed: her father's disappearance.
Logan Maddox had his back to the entrance, crouched next to a disassembled engine. The clang of a wrench stopped when he heard footsteps. He turned, and his gray eyes met hers. He had aged, of course, but still had that solid, steady presence that sent a chill down her spine. He had something more now. Maturity. Silence in his gaze. Something built over time... and through loss.
“I thought you’d never come back—at least not for a few more years,” Logan said, wiping his hands with a dirty rag.
“I thought so too,” she replied, folding her arms. “But I’m not here for nostalgia. I need your help.”
Logan set the rag aside and stood up. He was taller than she remembered, stronger, but also more worn.
“What kind of help?”
(Y/N) pulled an old, rusted key—a heavy iron cylinder—out of her bag. Logan frowned when he recognized it.
“That’s the engine from my dad’s Charger. I found it in a junkyard up north. It’s in pieces, but I think there’s something in it. Something that can tell me what happened to him.”
Logan didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened, as if holding back words he didn’t want to say.
“And what makes you think I want to dig all that up?”
“It’s not about what you want, Logan. It’s about what I need. You were his rival, but you were also his friend. You know things. And you know cars. If anyone can get that engine running, it’s you.”
The silence between them thickened, heavy with the past. Finally, Logan gave a curt nod.
“Bring it in tomorrow. We’ll take a look.”
Weeks passed.
The engine arrived the next day after that conversation, and over the following days—and then weeks—(Y/N) and Logan worked side by side in the shop. At first, everything was tense. Their movements were mechanical, their words short. But over time, that tension shifted into something else—something harder to name.
Logan, though reluctant at first, threw himself into the work with near-obsessive focus. (Y/N) wasn’t far behind. Though she didn’t have his experience, her determination was undeniable. She learned quickly, dirtying her hands, wrenching bolts, covering her face in soot. Logan watched her in silence when he thought she wasn’t looking.
“You work just like your father,” Logan murmured one night, as she struggled to unscrew a housing, jaw clenched.
She glanced at him sideways, a mix of pride and pain in her eyes.
“I wish I had his answers too.”
There were nights they shared cold beer and old music playing in the background. He told her stories of past races, of how the roar of an engine could say more than a thousand words. She listened closely, discovering a man who wasn’t as unreachable as she’d remembered from childhood.
Sometimes they argued. She was impulsive, stubborn, explosive. Logan was quiet, blunt, direct. But in those clashes, in those sparks, something grew. A brush of hands when he passed her a tool. A glance when she fixed something on her own. Silences that said more than any conversation.
One night, while a thunderstorm roared outside, Logan turned on a portable lamp and they both sat on the floor in front of the open engine block. The air smelled of wet earth and metal. She hugged her knees, exhausted.
“Your father…” Logan began, his voice low and rough. “He was impulsive. And proud. Like you.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Is that a compliment or a warning?”
He gave a small, lopsided smile.
“A bit of both.”
She looked down, fingers playing with a bolt.
“I never thought I’d come back here. Let alone end up… with you, in a workshop, chasing ghosts.”
“You’re not the only one who didn’t expect this,” Logan said, and his gaze lingered on her longer than it should have.
The silence between them slowed, heavy. And then, as if fate nudged them, she pulled out the carburetor filter and noticed something strange. A compartment sealed with electrical tape. Logan knelt beside her. Together, they opened it.
Inside was an envelope.
(Y/N) held it in trembling hands. She opened it. Papers: bank accounts, coordinates, names. And a note in her father’s handwriting:
"If something happens to me, Logan knows why."
Her heart stopped.
She stood up abruptly, envelope in hand, eyes blazing with betrayal.
“What does this mean?”
Logan didn’t move. Didn’t look at her at first.
“It means he didn’t want you involved. He thought that if I pushed you away, you’d be safe.”
“You pushed me away on purpose?”
Logan finally looked at her. His eyes held no defense—just sadness. A deep, real sadness.
“I promised him. I said I’d protect you if something happened. But I didn’t know how to do that without making you hate me.”
“So you lied. You made me believe he just… vanished. Abandoned me.”
Logan took a step closer. He didn’t touch her. His voice was barely a whisper.
“I couldn’t save him. But I could try to save you.”
Tears burned behind (Y/N)’s eyes, but they didn’t fall. She pressed her lips together. She wanted to scream, to shove him. But her body wouldn’t move.
“You can’t keep carrying this alone,” she said at last, without looking at him. “Not if I’m going to carry it too.”
Logan watched her for a few seconds. Then he stepped closer, slowly. She lifted her gaze. For the first time in weeks, there was no anger in her eyes. Just pain. And something deeper. Something that had always been there, growing with each touch, each silence.
“(Y/N)…” he murmured, a mix of longing and fear in his voice. “I’m not the kind of guy who—”
“Shut up, Logan.”
And she kissed him.
The kiss was soft at first, like a test. Their lips barely brushed, timid and trembling. But when Logan lifted his hand to her face and held it gently, everything broke. They kissed like the world was ending. Like redemption could be found between their lips. Their bodies drew closer—hesitant at first, then certain. She clutched his shirt; he wrapped his arms around her waist with a need bottled up for years. And time stood still.
There was nothing but them. The workshop. The rain pounding on the roof. And two broken hearts finding each other in the middle of the storm.
Weeks later, when all the pieces had been cleaned and reassembled, the Charger roared back to life. She and Logan stood in silence, listening to the sound of the engine. There was something poetic in it—rebuilding the heart of something that had been broken for so long.
But it wasn’t just the car. It was them.
(Y/N) had followed the clues in the papers and confirmed what she had feared deep down. Her father had died. He had given his life to make a deal with dangerous people, settle debts, and keep her out of harm’s way. His sacrifice had been his way of protecting her. And Logan had covered for him—for the same reason.
That truth didn’t bring peace, but it brought answers. Closure.
One morning, instead of packing her things to leave, (Y/N) showed up early at the workshop. Logan was already there, as usual. She stood in the doorway, the Charger’s keys dangling from her finger.
“I’m staying,” she said bluntly.
Logan looked up, eyebrows slightly raised.
“You sure?”
She nodded.
“There are things I need to fix here. And I don’t just mean cars.”
Logan gave her a small smile, that serene expression he wore when something hurt and felt good at the same time.
“Then welcome home.”
She walked up to him. Kissed him. This time with no storm, no engines roaring. Just the soft warmth of midday light streaming through the window.
Ironwood wasn’t what she had lost. It was what she could still build.
And Logan… Logan was part of that.
don't forget to send me any requests for another character, I'm open!
The lot was buzzing. Engines revved like beasts in cages, headlights sweeping through the dark as burnouts smoked the air. Marcel, Curtis, Caitlin, and Zac leaned back on Curtis’s bike, half-watching the contests, half-people-watching the crowd. Nothing too serious. Not yet.
Then they heard it—a low rumble, deep and smooth, too clean to be local. A car cut through the haze like a shark through water. A bright red Dodge Challenger, spotless, muscular, and proud. It rolled in slow, its engine purring with restrained menace.
Zac’s eyes widened. “Holy shit… who is that?”
The door opened. Out stepped a woman—all legs and attitude. She was dressed to stun: latex shorts, fishnets, and a zipped-down racing bodysuit that left little to imagination. She moved like the pavement owed her something.
Curtis stiffened beside him. “Oh shit…”
All eyes shifted to Ray across the lot. He’d been mid-conversation, half-smirking—until he saw her. Now, he was standing stone still, locked on target.
Caitlin noticed immediately. “Ray’s enemy?” she asked under her breath.
“Not quite,” Curtis replied, gaze fixed.
The woman didn’t stop. She walked directly toward Ray, cool and unflinching. Her voice rang out clear, controlled. “I just want to talk to you.”
Ray didn’t move, but his voice cut through the lot like a blade. “About two and a half fucking years late.”
A few racers turned to watch. The sound dropped just a notch.
“Ray, come on—” she tried again.
But he stepped forward now, his jaw clenched. “No. You just left. In the middle of the night. No note, no goodbye. Nothing. For three fucking years.”
The lot went silent.
Zac leaned toward Curtis. “Ex-girlfriend?”
Curtis didn’t look away. “Not quite.”
“You can’t just show up at my race and act like I’m the bad guy because I don’t want to talk to you,” Ray said, voice rising.
“You are such a stubborn prick,” she fired back without hesitation.
“Oh, please,” he scoffed, turning to walk away.
“Race me,” she said.
He stopped dead.
“No.”
“If I win, you let me talk.”
Ray glanced back over his shoulder. “And if I win?”
“I’ll go back to the city,” she said without flinching. “You don’t have to see me again.”
For a long moment, he didn’t respond. Then, without a word, he turned and climbed into his car. The message was clear.
She returned to hers.
Zac watched them both. “Love of his life?”
Curtis shifted forward slightly, his voice lower now. “Closer.”
Engines growled awake. Y/N gripped the leather steering wheel. In the rearview, she touched up her lip gloss with trembling fingers, stole one last glance at herself.
Ray sat motionless, but his eyes never left her. He couldn’t help it. He never could.
“Let’s get on with it,” he muttered, finally pulling his gaze away.
She gave him one last look—pleading, searching—but then locked in.
The flag dropped. Engines screamed, tires tore into asphalt, and they were off like bullets from a gun.
Ray pulled ahead, then she caught up. Side by side, the cars tore through the course. At the turnaround, she reached it first, tail-spinning slightly but controlling it like a pro. Ray slipped through the inside.
On the final stretch, they fought for inches. It was brutal. Fast. Relentless. But she nudged just ahead.
Curtis sat back, exhaling. “Soulmates.”
The crowd roared.
After the race, Y/N climbed out of her car, slow and steady. Ray followed, saying nothing. She walked toward Curtis and the others.
“Hey, Curt,” she said, brushing a hand through her hair. “Would you mind getting my car back to town?”
“No problem,” Curtis said with a faint smile. She kissed his cheek gently.
“It’s good to see you,” he added.
She smiled back, then looked to the others. “Hey, Marcel.”
He was too stunned to reply.
As she walked away, Zac turned, eyes wide. “Shotgun. I’m driving that thing.”
“No fucking way,” Curtis muttered. “She will actually kill you if anything happens to it.”
“Come on, I’m the best driver. Plus, it’s either that or I ride your bike home.”
Curtis didn’t argue. He just handed over the keys.
Zac peeled out down the road with Caitlin in the passenger seat. Curtis followed on his bike, Marcel trailing behind.
Not ten minutes later, Zac hit a massive pothole, lost control for half a second, and skidded off the road. The front end slammed into a tree. Not hard—but hard enough to leave a big, nasty dent on the front left side of the hood.
Curtis pulled up, his mouth dropping open. “Oh, we are so dead. She’s going to break our kneecaps and leave us out here to die.”
Zac rubbed the back of his neck. “Cait, can you fix this?”
Caitlin crouched down, inspecting the damage. “I think so… if Logan has the right shade of red.”
Zac glanced at her. “How long do we have?”
Curtis frowned. “Depends.”
“On what?” Caitlin asked, standing.
Curtis sighed. “On how many times they fight and make up before they get over themselves.”
They drove it back to the garage, quiet and tense.
……………………………………………………………………………………
Meanwhile, Ray and Y/N were sitting up on top of his car, parked under the bridge. The world felt far away up here, still and quiet.
“It’s beautiful,” Y/N whispered.
Ray stared out at the water, his voice cold. “Why are you here?”
She swallowed hard. “Straight to it, huh.”
“I missed you,” she admitted after a moment.
He scoffed bitterly. “Missed me? You left me.”
“I had to,” she said, her voice cracking. “You don’t get it.”
“Then explain it,” he snapped, standing now, pacing. “Don’t lie. Don’t sugarcoat. Just say it.”
Her eyes filled. “Ray, I—”
“No, Y/N. No more bullshit.”
“I can’t.” Her voice broke. “I had no choice.”
“You wanted to talk,” he said through gritted teeth, “so fucking talk.”
Tears started to fall as her hand went to her mouth. “I can’t…”
He stepped toward her, softer now, but still sharp. “Y/N. Talk to me.”
She looked up into his eyes, breath shaking. “I… I did something bad. And your dad—he found out. He had evidence. He said if I didn’t leave town… if I didn’t leave you… he’d turn me in.”
Ray froze. “What did you do?”
Her voice trembled. “I—” she stopped again, covering her mouth, trying to breathe.
He knelt in front of her, resting his hands on her knees. “Shh, baby. I’m here. Please talk to me.”
“I killed them,” she whispered. “It’s my fault. I killed them.”
His voice cracked. “Killed who?”
“Melissa,” she sobbed, “and her little girl.”
Her words poured out now—stumbling, broken, jagged. “I was driving. I stopped at Saltwater Creek Crossing. It was empty—or I thought it was. Then everything flipped. My car spun. I woke up upside down. Head pounding. I heard tires, screaming…”
Ray stood, face pale, heart pounding.
“My vision was blurry. I heard the sirens. Your dad showed up. He said it was my fault. Said I was driving too fast. He had photos. Skid marks. Wreckage. He said if I stayed, I’d go to prison.”
She looked up, tears streaming. “Ray, it’s my fault.”
“No,” he said firmly. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it was,” she whispered. “I killed them.”
“No,” he repeated, kneeling down again. “It was her asshole husband.”
She blinked. “What? No. Your dad—”
“He lied to you,” Ray said. “Her drunk, abusive prick of a husband came into the bar bragging. He cut her brakes. Said he’d ‘teach her a lesson.’ My dad knew. He covered it up.”
“Why?” she choked.
“To keep you away from me,” Ray growled. “He wanted me to crawl back to him.”
Her whole body shook. “We lost so much time.”
Ray pulled her into him, holding her tightly. “We’ve got the rest of our lives to make up for it.”
……………………………………………………………………………………
Back at the garage, Logan stormed in, eyes narrowing at the dented Challenger.
“What the fuck is this?” he barked. “Whose car is this?”
No one answered.
He circled the car slowly, freezing when he spotted the lightning bolt embossed on the steering wheel.
“Oh no,” he muttered. “What have you done?”
“Okay, it might’ve clipped a tree,” Zac grimaced.
“That’s Y/N’s car. You idiots damaged her car?” Logan’s disbelief cut deep.
“We’re fixing it. Chill,” Caitlin said sharply.
“She will bury you alive in the woods if this isn’t perfect,” Logan warned.
“You know her?” Zac asked.
“Everyone who matters around here knows her. And knows not to mess with her car,” Logan murmured.
He stared at Curtis. “How could you let this happen?”
Curtis glanced at Zac, who shrugged nervously.
“Where is she?” Logan demanded.
“She’s with Ray,” Marcel said quietly.
Logan shook his head, pacing. “Great. So either she’s in a bad mood and we’re dead. Or in a good mood and we’re still dead.”
Caitlin cut in, “Do you have the right red paint?”
Logan muttered, fetching the cans. “Let’s fix this before she kills us.”
……………………………………………………………………………………
Meanwhile, Ray and Y/N drove back to his place in silence. His hand never left hers, squeezing tightly as if afraid she’d vanish again.
Inside his room, he slowly peeled off her clothes and replaced them with one of his worn NASCAR shirts—the one she always liked. They slid under the covers, her head resting on his chest, his arms circling her like a shield.
“I missed you, Ray,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I never stopped thinking about you. Loving you.”
Her lips brushed a small kiss onto his stomach.
“I was so scared,” she admitted softly, “but I never should have left. Especially not like that. Without saying goodbye.”
Ray said nothing, staring at the ceiling. Silent tears fell down his cheeks.
Finally, he pulled her tighter, vowing silently never to let go again.
Her breathing slowed, her body relaxed.
Ray lay awake, eyes open, already plotting how to deal with his father—how to finally put this nightmare behind them.
……………………………………………………………………………………
I had this sitting in my drafts for a long ass time and thought I better just post it! I love this TV series and i hope they make a million more seasons!! I also can’t remember if I edited this and can’t be bothered to now so I hope there is no mistakes!
Sorry I have been MIA, I’ll try and post some more uk YouTuber imagines soon xx
