#Lissi answers things

[memories-break-our-fall]

do u know @123letsgobestie? because she is my biggest opp and she should be urs too 👽

i have literally never talked to her in my life

[leclsrc]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

[lewisvinga]

new date | lando norris x fem!reader / x daughter

summary: due to low staff at work, y/n isn’t able to make it to an important gala with lando. that just means it’s up to him to find a new date and luckily, he has the perfect girl in mind.

warnings; hmm reader is mentioned to be a healthcare worker , idk what other warning

notes; girl dad lando! girl dad lando! girl dad lando!

masterlist !

As much as y/n loved to work in the hospital and help her patients, she also loved going attending galas with Lando, her husband. So, she was blown when she couldn’t go to a grand gala for the Formula One drivers due to a worker shortage in the pediatrics section of the hospital.

She wasn’t the only one upset.

Lando loved being able to show you off. He loved to show off his wife, his wife who helps people for a living. But when you broke the news that you couldn’t attend and jokingly told him to ‘find another date’, he already had someone special in mind.

His focus went to the curly haired one ( and a half ) year old girl sitting beside him on the couch. She was an exact copy of Lando, only having your nose. Her laugh, eyes, mouth, and even her curls was just like her father. If he couldn’t bring his wife, why not bring the mini version of himself?

Y/n didn’t believe him when he wanted to bring their 18 month old Evie to the gala. She thought he was joking and bursted into laughter which immediately stopped when he ran to Evie’s room.

She couldn’t help but sigh and follow him. When she stepped into the room, she didn’t expect him to be searching through Evie’s closet. “Love, what are you doing?” Y/n questions with a chuckle.

“Finding an outfit for Evie, duh.” Lando replies like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He pulls out a lilac dress. He frowns and quickly puts it back. “What should Evie wear…” He mumbles to himself.

“What team do you drive for?”

Lando turns around with a confused expression on his face. “You’re telling me after 4 years you don’t know what-“ He pauses when noticing her amused smile. He finally realized what she was trying to say. “I should dress her in orange!”

“Bingo.”

A week later right before it was time for the gala, you received a selfie taken by Lando of course with Evie next to him. She wore a white dress with orange floral print and a matching orange sweater. He even styled her brown curls into two little ponytails at the top with orange bows.

Lando was ecstatic to show his daughter to everyone. It was a special day for him and for little Evie, even if she had no idea what was going on. The moment he stepped on the red carpet with Evie in one arm and a baby bag in the other, the cameras went crazy.

He half expected her to shy away from the cameras but she’s as extroverted as her father. Evie smiled widely at the cameras and even signaled Lando that she wanted to be put down.

She immediately posed for the cameras. Remembering the past times of Y/n taking pictures of her. Although she was only a year and a half, she acted with confidence and spun around for the cameras.

Evie seemed so comfortable in the spotlight that Lando was taken aback, but nonetheless, he bursted into laughter. Once she felt like she was done posing, she went to her father to take a couple pictures with him.

At the end of the carpet, little Evie saw the familiar face is Lissie who watches her with a wide smile.

“Is that the Evie Norris?” Lissie exclaims as Lando walks up to her. She bends down to gently pinch the baby’s cheek.

“She’s my date tonight.” The McLaren driver says with a proud smile, picking her up in his arms. Evie leans her head against his shoulder.

Lissie lets out a chuckle and asks, “No Y/n? Well, I’m glad to have this munchkin!”

“Ah, you know, work got her busy but she’s savin’ people so I’m proud of her.”

Lissie proceeded to ask him a couple of questions in relation to the gala and upcoming events. By the time Lando answered the last question, she notices how Evie was patiently waiting.

“So, Evie,” She says, her smile turning wider as the one year old immediately leaned up. “Who dressed you?” She asks, holding the microphone close to her.

“Mama.”

Lando lets out a dramatic gasp which made his daughter burst into fits of giggles. Even Y/n, who was watching the live stream during her break, bursted into laughter.

“Evie Abigail Norris!” He gasps, “It’s not good to lie! Tell everyone who really dressed you.”

Evie lets out a squeal into the microphone before admitting, “Papa!” She exclaims. She points to the orange flower and mumbles, “Papaya. McLaren.”

Lando wore the proudest smile on his face as he hears the mumbles of his daughter. She was his pride and joy. Her voice, despite only being one, was so much like his. Her laugh was exactly his. Everything about her was exactly like him and he loved it.

Lissie couldn’t hold back her laugh as Evie continued to repeat her words. “Well, princess Evie, Lando, I hope you both have a wonderful night. Not too many sweets for the little one, eh?”

“Trust me, if I gave her sweets, Mom would be upset.” Lando replies with a smile. “Say ‘bye’ to Lissie.” He says to his daughter. Evie immediately waved at Lissie and mumbles a ‘goodbye’ before Lando excuses himself.

Evie lays her head against Lando’s shoulder as they made their way into the venue. He pressed a kiss on her messy curls before gently resting his cheek against hers. “We’re gonna have so much fun tonight, aren’t we Evie.”

In response, she wraps her arms as much as she could around Lando to press a kiss on his cheek. “Fun. Fun.” She mumbles, already seemingly tired.

“I love you, my sweet girl.”

[vettelsdarling]

Darling, thank you for the AMAZING writing for my last request. <3 I am here with…HAMILTON! Here’s the prompt: 5+1: 5 times Lewis calls Y/N by a pet name and one time Y/N finds one for Lewis. I definitely think Lewis would shower his words of endearment and I am imagining a shy, blushing Y/N? Perhaps Y/N wants to find the perfect word/nickname to call her special person. Let your creativity run wild! I leave the rest up to you because I love your writings (obviously). Have fun!

𝐏𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

Lissie note… I am so glad you like my stuff<3 Thank you for this request!!! I’ve never really written anything like it before, but it’s an interesting prompt and I’m willing to give it a try!

Things to note

This is set in the 2020 season

Lewis and reader have been dating for a year and a half before that

Reader is an accountant

Tiffany appreciation

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Tiniest bit of angst. Blink and you might miss it

Word Count: 4.2k+

Playlist recommendations: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟💗, 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

Taglist: @drugged-kitkat, @allwaysalleyway

You were walking home from your 9 to 5 job the day you met him. He’d been exploring the city he was to race in that coming weekend. With your face buried in your phone, aggressively replying to unanswered emails— you accidentally sealed your fate with the asphalt, tripping and falling onto the road. Luckily, it wasn’t an active one. He’d seen you scramble to scrape all your things together and rushed over to help you. Never had you seen such generosity from anyone before. You were used to people minding their own business if you fell or if you dropped something.

“You didn’t have to,” you’d said. He had a number of things in his arms that had spilled out of your bag… including feminine products. He hadn’t seemed to care though. He’d happily helped you load your things back to where they’d belonged.

“Of course I did.” You had managed to collect yourself before falling into conversation with him.

“You’re not from here, are you? I know most people in this town…” He was a new face. Not somebody who you’d seen before.

“Guilty as charged. I’m here for work.”

“What do you do?” It was forward and he had been taken aback but ultimately came up with something to string you along to.

“I’m an engineer… of sorts. You?” ‘Engineer’ made sense to you, as his style was very out there and the designer watches were more than your yearly salary.

“I’m just an accountant.” In stark contrast to him, you had on a white blouse and a grayscale checkered pencil skirt. Your ordinary uniform. Freedom was something you had to give up when you came in for work.

“I see… you work near here?” He had just been following you, not really paying any attention to where your feet had been taking you.

“Yeah, I do. About five minutes from here. Is your workplace near here or are you working from your house or hotel?” Your intention hadn’t been to pry, but the genuine curiosity drove you to ask him anyway.

“I guess it’s near? I can’t really say…  if I’m being honest.” That was obviously not the best answer. He had every opportunity to tell you a white lie, but he slipped up somehow. Did it even matter though? He wasn’t going to see you again… was he?

Days turned into weeks. He had given you his number after getting you home safely that day. You hadn’t been in contact with him until he finally sent you a simple text: “Hey, it’s Lewis.” It had sent you spiralling. You hadn’t been sure whether to pursue the connection or let it slip. For better or worse though, you had replied with a short quip. Not intricate enough to suggest something, but not doing a full swing in the other direction either.

It was, however, enough to spark something between the two of you. A blossoming bud that turned into a bountiful garden. That was you and Lewis Hamilton.

1. Trophy wife

The two of you had been dating for a few years. He eventually cracked, and told you about his actual job on the second date. Though his true identity was a Google search away, it came as a shock to you. Never had you ever believed him to be famous. He was so down-to-earth and humble.

Over the course of your years of dating, he had tried to make you quit your job. Mostly because he wanted to support you, but also because he wanted to spend more time with you. Every waking moment he wanted to spend in your presence. You refused and turned down every offer he gave you. Dating a celebrity was already more than enough for you to handle. You wanted normalcy in your life. Even if that came in the shape of hell sent bosses who cared very little about your well-being.

“You know I can cover you. If that won’t sell you, then Roscoe must. You could take care of him whilst I’m gone.” It was another day of his notorious begging for him to take care of you. It was a sweet sentiment, but even living with him was too much.

“I’m already taking care of him. Lewis, you can’t just make me a trophy wife. That’s not who I am. I want to work,” you said begrudgingly and seated yourself by the kitchen island.

“Trophy wife? Please. You will never be some sort of arm candy for me to show off. I love you. I just want you to take a rest, love.” Lewis decided to deploy a deadly weapon. The pet name. If there was one weakness you had— it was whenever he referred to you with a pet name. It made you all weak in the knees and your feet would feel like jelly. Forget about cloud nine, you were swimming in warmth.

“That’s not fair, Lew. You can’t just do that to me.” You scrunched your nose at him and checked your phone for incoming notifications from your workplace text chain. Or so you thought it looked like. In reality, you were hiding your face from him. It was redder than the apple in the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter.

“Hmm, you know, I’m not so sure what you mean by that, my love.” Oh, how you wished he would stop. It was hard to resist giving in. Especially when he paired it with such a precious smile. Who’d be able to peel their eyes from that?!

“Look, we aren’t talking about this right now. I’ll be on my way now,” you scoffed and left, leaving your lover with the last laugh. Once again, you let him have his victory.

2. Flatscreen

A few months passed before he tried his luck again. With a new offer. Lewis tried to reason with you, but just like always— you simply would not have it.

“No. Never in a million years,” you snapped and closed the fridge a little too aggressively, remembering to mutter a quiet “sorry”. The Brit even got up early that morning to make you breakfast in bed— just for good measure. If you were in a great mood, surely you’d be more agreeable. Yet… he was utterly wrong. You were headstrong and did not agree one bit.

“You need it, sweets.” Again with the pet names. That was the final nail in the coffin for his begging.

“You can’t just expect me to splurge on a flatscreen simply to watch you race on more pixels! I can watch you perfectly fine on our current TV, thank you very much.” You poured him a glass of orange juice and scooped some protein powder in it as well. He drank it all in one go.

“Splurge? You won’t need to. I’ll buy it for you, okay?” He crossed his arms confidently and made sure to smirk like he always did whenever he tried to prove something.

“Okay? What do you mean ‘okay’?! You will not buy me a brand new flatscreen, Lewis.” Your face was flushed and your frustration was only piling up.

“You can’t tempt me with those things you call me. That won’t work.” Who were you kidding? You lived for his little pet names and those brief moments he’d hold you in his arms while the two of you stared into the early morning view.

“Whatever you say, sugar.” Oh, how you wish you threw the juice in his face instead of offering it to him.

3. Restaurant

You were standing next to Tiffany in the Mercedes garage. Both of you were wearing large headphones whilst watching the screens showing your boyfriends. It was hard not to make noise whenever Lewis overtook someone, but you were just able to contain yourself.

Tiffany was surprisingly calm and collected, but wasn’t afraid to groan and sigh if Valterri slipped up. You weren’t the type to show much of anything unless it regarded Lewis. It was something that you’d grown up with. A habit of sorts.

“How long have you been with Lewis by now?” Tiffany asked with a slight tug of her lip.

“A few years now… I don’t think we’ll ever get tired of each other.” You said that as if he didn’t bug you with his endless blabbering about wanting to spoil you and give you every black card he owned. 

“That is just too sweet! I can only wish that Valterri and I will last as long. I certainly love him.” In a way, you envied her position. She was a professional athlete, much like her partner, whilst you were stuck counting numbers behind a desk all day. She was gorgeous too… it was as if a strike of adoration hit you whenever she passed you in the paddock.

“Yeah… Lewis is something else.” You watched him speed past the camera on the screen. A smile spread across your face, knowing he was doing his best.

Lewis managed to secure a pole position, giving you a kiss as he saw you in the crowd with all of the Mercedes crew. Your heart swelled at the amount of attention he gave you rather than his engineers. Especially knowing he was dead serious about his career and his coworkers.

The podium celebration was magnificent. He sprayed the champagne as if he’d won the lottery. Butterflies formed in your stomach at his pure glee. He was adorable.

There was an after-party, but Lewis had other plans in mind. He wanted to take you out for the night. Even though you didn’t mind partying, there was something in him that held him back from letting you do so. It felt morally wrong of him to drag you along to his work retreats.

“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?” Your face was pressed up against the car window. His hand was on your thigh, gently caressing it. You could almost feel yourself dozing off.

“You’ll see when we get there, honey.” That one was fairly new. It felt more domestic too. That was probably why your cheeks were hotter than an iron.

“You’re crazy,” you said with a chuckle.

“Crazy about you.”

“No.”

“Okay, I’ll admit that was pretty lame.”

“Yeah, it was.” The two of you had a small laugh about it before turning some music on. The two of you had made a shared playlist. One that consisted mainly of your favourites. Since you had far too many, they outnumbered your boyfriend’s.

The ride was long, but the destination made it worth it. He’d driven you to a cliffside restaurant. It was quaint and cosy and had balcony seats. You could see the ocean and its waves cascading onto each other in a synchronized manner. It was beautiful. Lewis was a romantic. Not exactly what someone would expect at first glance, but he truly cared deeply for you and your needs. It was almost impossible to say no to him.

“Lewis… Thank you for this.”

“No, honey, thank you. I won today because you were here with me. It’s the first race you’ve come to in a while now.” The man was perfect.

“Yeah, and I’m sorry I haven’t been able to attend that many. My job won’t allow me and—”

“Hey- no- none of that. Stop making yourself the guilty party here. You’re doing what you love and you should not be worrying about me. I see you whenever I’m home and that’s enough for me.” Your fingers interlocked with his as he leaned in to peck your lips. The support he gave you couldn’t amount to anything you’d ever received from anyone. Even your own family.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you.”

4. Bath

You were dead. Completely drained from your job. It felt like your body was that of a gigantic slug. You couldn’t move a single limb. Your brain had already checked out, so you were pretty much stuck. Being too tired to move, you decided to take a rest on the couch that you’d collapsed onto upon entering your shared home.

Your boss was a nightmare. He overworked everyone to the bone, and if you happened to pass into overtime, he refused to pay you for your extra hours. Was it fair? No. Was there anything you could do about it? Also no. You had to endure him for as long as possible. At least until you could find yourself a different company to work at. Quitting had been on your mind for some time, but with Lewis travelling all the time— you felt that you couldn’t just stay home all day. You still wanted to occupy yourself with a job.

The faint sound of Roscoe’s pattering paws could be heard inching closer. You didn’t mind looking after him. He was the sweetest and didn’t require much of you.

“I’ll take you out in 5,” you mumbled somewhat incoherently to the dog. He had politely plopped himself in front of the couch, staring at you with those adorable eyes. Your hand reached out to scratch him, as it would give you more time to stall and relax.

The more you contemplated whether or not to quit, the more you started leaning towards a self-destructive mindset. You wanted to work. You had to. It didn’t feel right for you to leech off of your boyfriend. That was simply not an option for you.

“I’m home!” You heard a strong voice boom throughout the house. It was Lewis, who had been out for most of the day. He was usually stuck in a billion meetings and was often hard to reach. You didn’t care about that though. You were just proud of him for working so hard. It made you feel guilty for not working nearly as hard as him.

“Hey, there you are. You don’t look well, are you ill?” He crouched down next to Roscoe to meet your face. Your eyes were closed due to the weight of your eyelids, but you lightly shook your head.

“I’m just really tired. Sorry, I didn’t take Roscoe out for his evening walk… I’m a bad dog mum.” Lewis chuckled lightly at the term you used to describe yourself. ‘Dog mum’.

“No need to worry about that. Your well-being comes first. How about I draw you a bath? I’ll take Roscoe out whilst you soak up some relaxing aromas.” If there was a ‘Boyfriend of the Year’ award, surely Lewis would win. He cared about the little things. The things you hadn’t even thought about.

“Thanks, Lew… you’re too good to me.”

“Nonsense. You deserve to be treated like royalty.” He stroked your cheek, causing your lips to tug upwards.

“I’ve been thinking about quitting.” You announced it out of the blue, but Lewis seemed unphased. Your eyes finally had some strength to stay open, so you looked straight into his. A mix of elation and calmness. That was your Lewis.

“That’s great. You shouldn’t work with a boss who doesn’t appreciate your efforts. Trust me, I would know. I’m lucky to have Toto, but I can’t even imagine working with some of the other team principals.” You knew about Williams’ fall from grace after the daughter of the former team principal stepped in.

“I don’t know though… I don’t want to stay home all day long and do nothing. I have to work, you know?” You had to face the music. There was no way you could quit and still be able to work. Accounting wasn’t special in Monaco. You were likely not someone a lot of companies were looking for.

“It doesn’t matter to me. I can take care of you, angel.”He really deployed your kryptonite. The name made your heart flutter as if the two of you were back in your honeymoon phase. It wasn’t fair.

“That’s a dirty trick, Lew. I’m not going to quit until I find a job I can replace my current one with. I’m sorry. It may not matter to you, but it matters to me.” Lewis got up and stretched before walking towards one of the many bathrooms,

“I’ll prepare a bath for you.”

5. New job

It had been a few months since you last brought up your work situation to Lewis. You had decided to continue until you’d eventually short-circuit. All that mattered was that you were a working girlfriend instead of a stay-at-home one. You didn’t have anything against that lifestyle in particular. It just wasn’t for you.

This day was special. You were cooking a vegan curry when Lewis came out of the shower to help you chop vegetables. It was a celebratory dish, as you had just been fired. Apparently, you had been doing ‘the bare minimum’ and that simply wasn’t good enough. Under normal circumstances, it would’ve been devastating to be fired, but you were elated. It sure as hell was better than quitting.

“What’s got you in such a giddy mood?” Lewis came up behind you and hugged your waist. Your body leaned into his and it was as if you were floating on clouds. Fluffy clouds of love.

“I was fired.” He pulled away from you and got the cutting board out.

“This is great news! We should eat out tomorrow to celebrate.” He started chopping up some potatoes to dump in the pot.

“I was thinking this could be a celebration. Just you, me, and Roscoe. We could throw on a good movie and all.” Lewis didn’t oppose that idea. He smiled and nodded, continuing his feat with the veggies.

Then it hit you. You’d be jobless. You hadn’t found a job to replace the old one with. A pang of guilt hit you like a freight train. You somehow managed to overlook the fact all day. Your breathing became hard and heavy. You had to take a break.

“Woah woah woah, what’s wrong?” You saw Lewis with the kitchen knife and apron. His image was getting blurry from tears you simply couldn’t hold back.

“I thought we were celebrating? What’s going on? Are you okay?” He put down the knife, undid his apron, and pulled you out of the kitchen. Luckily nothing was boiling. 

“I just… I’m jobless,” you sniffled through your tears. The salty liquid coated your lips, and you could taste the despair. You slowly sank down onto the floor with him following suit.

“Well, that was the point,” said Lewis. You found it oddly comforting, but guilt still clung to every part of you. Like poison, you didn’t have the antidote for.

“I don’t want to burden you like that.” You were able to speak clearer after Lewis rubbed your back for support.

“You could never be a burden to me, okay? You are the reason I’m still standing here today with win after win. You motivate me to keep being strong and keep aiming for higher heights. How could you ever be a burden to me?” His words were like a warm hug. Your tensed muscles relaxed a little bit.

“I don’t know… I’ve never not worked before. I don’t exactly come from wealth,” you sighed. As much as it was about burdening your boyfriend— it was about your own values. Coming from what most would consider ‘middle class’, you always had to work harder than your peers. Monaco didn’t have time to wait around for you, so you always tried so desperately to catch up. It felt embarrassing. Your home country was just as forward and busy. There was never time for you. Working hard was a lifestyle that you had to pull off.

“Do you think I came from wealth? I didn’t. I worked my ass off to get here, and now that I have the means to spoil you. I want you to feel that you can take a rest, okay?” His reasoning was flawed to you. There was something about it that just couldn’t sway you.

“Lewis, I can’t be your trophy wife. I can’t.” You shook your head and swallowed hard.

“You won’t be. Think of this as your new job. You’ll have the responsibility to take care of Roscoe and keep the house clean and habitable. Is that not considered work?” There was no other offer on the table and there was no other option. The only way for you was that.

“Basically a housewife.”

“Darling, please.” Your stomach did cartwheels and the butterflies tumbled around in there.

“It’s okay. I’ll just have to make do,” you sighed and rested your face in your hands.

“Hey, at least you’ll be able to come to more of my races— if not all.” Wow, what a consolation… but he wasn’t exactly wrong.

“You know what? I have to make a call. I’ll be right back.” Lewis got up and made his way to the guest room for privacy. Meanwhile, you stared into the white ceiling. You felt so tiny. As if you were just a small speck of dust. An inconvenience. Muffled sounds were coming from the room Lewis had gone into. You could tell that it was about his job. Something that you already missed. Your boss was terrible, but at least you had something to do every day. At least he let you have 10-minute lunch breaks. Which, in retrospect, was far from enough time.

It took a while, but Lewis finally came back. His face looked as if he couldn’t contain himself. He seemed excited?

“Guess what.” He crouched down to meet your eyes.

“What?”

“You have a job.” He smiled and reached for your hand, helping you stand by supporting your waist.

“No need to rub in my new position as a housewife. I get it, Lew.”

“No. I pulled a few strings, and you’re going to be in the accounting department on my team.” Your eyes flew open in shock.

“What? Wait what?!”

“You get to work from home too, so it’s sort of like a compromise. You’ll be able to come to my races and you’ll be working like any other person. Your pay is higher than your last job too.” It was all too much, but you couldn’t turn it down after he’d just done something so grand for you. It’d be rude.

“Lewis, I genuinely don’t even know what to say. I mean, this is just amazing.” Your tears were all dried up on your face, and your eyes were gorgeous from them.

“You didn’t have to do this for me, you know?”

“I’ve told you so many times now; that I would do anything for you, darling.” Lewis was truly out of this world. His generosity and humbleness were his character. That was him. That was all yours.

+1. Handsome

The time had come for the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix to commence. Lewis was in the running position to bring home yet another championship. He had been dominating all season, so there wasn’t really a question of whether or not he’d win. That fate was sealed. It was just a matter of if he could snatch the last win of the season. You certainly didn’t doubt his skills paired with his car. He was basically unstoppable.

“You did great in the qualifying sessions, I’m sure you’ll do great now. You’re starting from pole position. You’ve got this in the bag, I’d say so.” You smiled as he got into his race suit.

“I have no doubts. I’ve got my lucky charm with me.” He looked at you with a silly smile plastered onto his face. Cute.

“I believe in you, handsome,” you cooed and winked at him before walking away, leaving him with the effects of having been called a pet name, when he’s usually the one to get the fun out of you. He felt his chest tighten and tingle. Perhaps the race would be in his favour after that one.

You were seated next to Tiffany again. The two of you were too focused on the race to have an actual conversation. You were completely immersed in your boyfriend, hoping that he’d not only win but also stay safe. You were convinced he wouldn’t do anything reckless though. That wasn’t like him.

He didn’t win, but at the very least he scored a podium finish. You were still proud of him. He was the 2020 world champion.

The crowd surge towards the podium stand nearly crushed you several times, but you were able to get in front of everyone else to receive a heartwarming kiss from your lover.

“You did so well out there, baby, I’m so proud!” His heart nearly stopped when you called him that. You pulled him in for a hug, before letting the engineers embrace him. The smile on his face was immaculate, and you couldn’t wait for the ceremony where he’d rightfully receive his trophy. You had been to the same ceremony a year prior, but something felt much more special about this year. Both you and Lewis had grown so much over the span of it, it didn’t feel real, but at the same time— you couldn’t remember how it felt before.

Safe to say, you were definitely going to stick around for a long time. Losing his lucky charm would be detrimental after all.

𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻…

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩! (𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙣, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨, 𝙙𝙢𝙨, 𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙨: 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧(𝙨) 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚(𝙨) 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣.)

[writingmysanity]

Did I miss it?

Pairing: Zoro x reader

Word count: 1600

TW: drinking, reader is tipsy for sure.

A/N: Happy Birthday, Lissie!! Okay, lets try this again. My computer crashed half way through what I was writing and I lost… everything. I know I asked you a tough question the other day, and you answered lol much to your own pain – so here you go. I truly hope you enjoy. Thank you so much for being my friend and enabling me in my deranged thoughts in our messages. You're such a kind soul, and such a good mum.

I hope you’re spending your free time re-watching the video from Taz and resting. Perhaps thirsting. @stray-kaz

A/N continued: this is the first time i am writing for Zoro, I am pretty sure he is ooc here. i claim being out of practice.

=========

Despite how the shouts and cheers of your crew mates seem to linger around you, their laughter resting in the gusts of wind, the night is quiet. Their words are whisked away without thought or care into the night, seeming to echo back from the depths of the bay as nothing more than whispers. Obsidian waves lap at the hull of the ship, rocking the ship slowly to the tune of what your mother called the whiskey lullaby.

Taking a deep breath, you melt into the side of the ship, sinking to your knees to rest against the railing, still cradling your own glass to your chest. Moonlight washes over the deck, casting the whole of everything you can see with a blue-ish hue. The sight never ceases to amaze you, a gentle smile resting on your lips as you take in your crew, littered about the open space in various rather uncomfortable positions that make you laugh.

If you were a little less drunk, you would move to try and help them shift into at least more comfortable positions. But as things stand currently, you find you are unable to stand properly when the ship and your vision continue to move. Slowly, you shift to face out towards the water, slotting your legs through the railings to allow them to dangle, resting your head against the wood with a sigh.

Celebrations aren’t uncommon for the straw hats, and you have come to even enjoy their rambunctious energy since you joined the ragtag group of pirates. You are certainly still learning to accept their willingness to celebrate you, they certainly have made you feel as part of their family, safe and accepted,but something is missing.

A certain head of moss colored hair.

Not two weeks prior, Luffy had sent his first mate off on a special retrieval mission. Zoro had been nervous to leave, knowing he wouldn’t be able to be there for his crew, but also the certainty that he wouldn’t be able to be there for you.

Normally, he would have already crowded you away in the crows nest or back in the kitchen hiding behind the island, finishing off the last of the liquor with you, his attention solely on you. Those dark eyes locked on your form beside him as he listened to you drunkenly ramble about whatever seemed to have caught your fancy that night. The thought of not getting to celebrate with him weighing heavier on your heart than you expected it to.

You have long since stopped trying to deny your feelings for the swordsman, and though unspoken, you know he feels the same – though neither of you have tried to push it further.

Sitting in silence, you let the rush of the waters below over take your senses, the distant push and pull dancing beneath your feet coupled with the distant cry of a sea bird lifting from the oceans surface. So engrossed in your thoughts and the siren call of the sea, you don’t hear the steps rushing up the plank of wood connecting the ship to the harbor, nor the gentle bumps of the body stumbling up onto the deck as they make their way to you. You don’t hear any of it, until his voice startles you from your reverie, the depths of your thoughts lingering on him more than you would ever admit to anyone else.

“Did I miss it?” his voice is slow, measured as you yank yourself around with a gasp, nearly throwing your glass at him in surprise. At this, he chuckles, slowly moving to kneel before you, careful of his swords and your hold on the cup as he tugs it from your hand.

“Zo…” he nods slowly, gaze softening in a way that you've learned is meant only for you. “You startled me.” you confess, the drunken tilt to your words making him frown slightly. You're out here, drunk, and the only one awake.

“I noticed,” he states calmly as he slides closer, sitting beside you, relaxing at the near awestruck look painting your face, eyes wide and glassy with emotions you've yet to speak on, lips parted. “I’m sorry I’m late.” he starts again. “Did I miss it?”

“I thought you weren’t meant to be back until next week,” you stumble out, reaching for him, completely ignoring his question. Or not hearing it. Chuckling, again, he lets you tug him closer, one hand resting on his arm, the other taking the opposite hand.

“I took larger steps,” he half jokes, running his thumb over your knuckles with a gentleness no one else would believe he is capable of, your laughter earning one of his rare smiles. “Now, please answer me this time, pretty girl.” he asks slowly, catching your attention as he rests his free hand on your cheek. Nodding slowly, your eyes lock with his, immediately lost in the depths of the blackened seas washing in his gaze.

“Did I miss it?” he asks again, gently emphasizing each word. At this, you frown slightly, looking up to the moon, as if trying to discern the time. Between your addled brain, and your excitement at seeing him again so soon, you shrug with a crooked grin that leaves him dizzy.

“I don’t know,” you state honestly. “we can say no,” you offer, eyes softening as you match his gaze again, able to see that this means something to him. Sighing in relief, his shoulders sag a bit before he moves away from you, earning a soft whine. His shoulders shake at the sound, eyeing you amused.

“patience, princess,” he chides, pulling a box from the bag at his side, setting it in your lap. Its not big, it can fit in the palm of your hand, but it is expertly wrapped, a beautiful bow resting on top. Frowning, you lift it to your face, shaking it.

“What is it?” you hum, tilting your head at it. He huffs a bit, amused. He has never dealt with you when drunk, at least, not without the both of you being drunk together.

“Open it and find out,” his normal measured voice laced with an amusement he would deny later. Beaming up at him, you nod, tugging the bow lightly, watching it fall away with ease before tugging at the corner of the beautiful silver paper that gleams in the moonlight. Inside is a small box. There is nothing too special about it, a simple smooth brown box. Humming in curiosity, you tug it open, peeking in as if something would jump out before the top fumbles off completely. Inside is a thin silver chain.

Frowning, you tug it up, watching in awe as the charm swings to the end.

At first, all you're able to discern is that the charm is a silver circle. Clumsily, you grab at it, wanting to look closer, oblivious to zoro’s anxious shifting beside you. On one side, there is a compass etched into it, careful practiced lines marking each direction with a small brilliant emerald resting in the center. You stare at it for a moment before realizing you can feel the same raised edges on the other side.

Flipping it slowly, your eyebrows furrow as you try to read it, scrawled in perfect cursive.

Lets get lost together

head whipping to him, your eyes are wide, gaping at him. He shifts slightly, moving away from the railing now, eyes flitting between you and the necklace.

“Do.. do you like it?” his voice is quiet, all of his insecurities and internal doubts swarming him as you sit there, staring. After a minute of tense silence, he shakes his head, jaw tense as he moves to stand. “I knew it was a bad idea” he sighs, moving to take the offending item from your grasp, but you refuse to let go.

“you mean it?” your voice almost whisked away by the wind its so soft. This is as close to a confession as hes ever gotten other than a drunken “I like your face” or one of his pet names you’ve come to adore. He pauses again, uncertainty resting clear in his eyes as he nods slowly.

“Yeah,” his voice is quiet, watching as your demeanor switches from quiet and contemplative to bright and excited – the brilliance he finds himself melting for. Quickly, you turn, scootching the best you can, drunk and sitting, to turn your back to him while holding the necklace up impatiently.

“Put it on me,” you nearly demand before pausing, looking at him pleadingly over your shoulder. “Please.” shaking his head at your antics, he takes it from your hand gently, slowly shifting to his knees to raise it over your head and around your neck from behind. Once its clasped, he tugs it loose, allowing it to rest over your shirt, his touch lingering on your neck as he leans down slowly to whisper in your ear, the sensation making you shiver.

“Happy birthday, Princess.”

======

happy birthday, my friend. It was super quick, but I really hope you enjoy it or at least get a chuckle out of it. I hope your day is the best.

[daxerian]

Assignment done

Lando Norris x Reader

Warnings: nothing just extra pure fluff 😏

Words: 3.4k

A/n: I love this piece❤️

You and your boyfriend Lando Norris were visiting your hometown, so that mean why book a hotel when you can stay with your family in your childhood bedroom. Now you and Lando were just talking about life when your little sister burst open the door panicking.

"Y/N I need your help, I don't know what to do" Avery said it fast but you understood, "What happened Avery? Why are you panicking?" you asked her. "Since it's one of the last days before end of the school year my teacher assigned this project I forgot about and I have all the materials ready, I just can't do it alone" Avery spoke with stress in her voice, of course she is stressed, who wouldn't be? "What's the project about Ry?" Lando asked her even though he was tired, "I need to make this thing like a miniature room but I need to make the room inspired by what I want to do in the future" Avery told him, "Okay, then what are we waiting for?" Lando answered her.

“So what is your vision for this Ry?” You asked, “I want to work in F1, not like a driver of course but mayble like an reporter? Avery answered you.

And Lando couldn't contain his excitement as Avery revealed her dream of working in Formula 1. His eyes sparkled with admiration and pride, knowing that his passion had ignited a similar fire within Avery's heart.

"Avery, that's incredible!" Lando exclaimed, unable to hide his enthusiasm. "You know, there are so many opportunities in the world of Formula 1. I'd be more than happy to help you explore different career paths and introduce you to some amazing people in the industry. Like Lissie or Nathalie"

Avery's face lit up with a mix of excitement and gratitude. She couldn't believe her luck. Not only was she fortunate enough to have a supportive sister like Y/N, but now she had Lando Norris, a Formula 1 driver, willing to guide her on her journey.

Over the next few days, the dining room transformed into a bustling workshop. Y/N, Lando, and Avery worked tirelessly, bringing Avery's vision to life. They meticulously crafted tiny race cars, a miniature pit lane, and even a tiny press conference area, complete with reporters and cameras.

As they worked, Lando shared stories from his own racing experiences, giving Avery a glimpse into the thrilling world of Formula 1. He explained the importance of teamwork, dedication, and perseverance, inspiring her to chase her dreams fearlessly.

Finally, after 4 days of hard work, the miniature room was complete. Avery's eyes shimmered with joy and pride as she surveyed the intricate details and vibrant colors. It was a testament to her passion and determination. With tears of happiness in her eyes, Avery hugged Y/N and Lando tightly.

"Thank you both so much," she whispered.

"I couldn't have done it without you. This project is not just about a miniature room, it's a symbol of my dreams taking shape."

Y/N and Lando beamed with pride, knowing that they had played a small part in helping Avery discover her passion. They knew that this project was just the beginning of an extraordinary journey for Avery, one that would lead her to the world of Formula 1 and beyond.

As they celebrated their accomplishment, the dining room filled with laughter and love, reinforcing the unbreakable bond between Y/N, Lando, and Avery. Together, they knew they could conquer any challenge and support each other's dreams, no matter how big or small.

[smooth-perceval]

“My love, my life.”

“It’s okay- it was nothing important anyways.”

Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

PART THREE

Max Corner

Summary: [Max and reader crossed the line in their 3 year friendship, resulting in 2 positive pregnancy test. And 1 baby on the way.]

Max runs once again, leaving you questioning his true intentions. It wasn’t until Lando invited you along to Silverstone, home GP, you finally understand what’s going on.

Warnings: swearing, angst, Max being a dick, Max&Kelly together, fake relationship, mentions of J.Verstappen, Google translate, no proof read, my bad writing.

Key: Y/N (your name) Y/L/N (Your last name)

Word count: 3,256

A/N: So I put ‘Max&Kelly’ as a warning, not because I dislike any present or previous wags, it’s just like a pre warning that Max is not ‘solo’ I suppose- it’s just there so we’re not shocked when it happens. 🌝 Hope you enjoy 👀 let’s pretend the photo of Lissie is us 🙂

Well once again Max went awol… and I was finally washing my hands with him, the hot and cold, cat and mouse it wasn’t going to end well- it never does.

He won the Canadian GP, and out of pure kindness I sent him a congratulations message… only for it to be seen and not responded to.

That’s when I knew Max was only down for one thing- and every word he said was pure bullshit.

Lando kept me updated on everything happening around the paddock, a few times mentioning Max, sure I wanted to know how he was… what he was up to… why has he just left so much stuff unsaid… why the fuck is he leaving me in the dark- but instead of asking- I would simply type back a short message, or a little smile and nod of my head…

“Landiniho 🏎️”

I’m gonna ft in 5 x

Sending a quick reply, I held my phone nearby grabbing the tv remote and turning the volume down.

Within less that 5 minutes Lando was calling. And just as quickly I answered, both smiling wide at each other.

“Hey, what are you doing next week?”

“Hello to you to Lan-” laughing a little I then shrugged my shoulders picking at the cushion next to me. “Nothing planned- except watching your home race.” Smiling a little I side eyed him. “Are you excited?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Quickly waving me off, I then noticed the background of where he was- he wasn’t even in his hotel room but sitting in the lobby.

“How about you come with me to Silverstone?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, before laughing a little.

“Come back home…?” Humming I titled my head- it seemed quite a simple answer… I could see my parents, visit some friends… and I can be with company instead of alone at home.

“Yeah, back home!” He sat up straight already knowing my answer.

“Okay, you’ll come with me to my parents right?…” he nodded his head quickly.

“I haven’t seen them in ages… so your gonna definitely come?”

“Yes, I suppose soooo…” rolling my eyes playfully with a smile.

“Okay good! I’ll sort everything out just get packed cause I kinda need to fly you out like tomorrow…” nodding my head slowly, “I’ll have to bring all my work stuff Lan- laptop the lot…” mumbling I start shuffling some paperwork together.

“That’s fine- just get pac- yeah?” He turned away from the camera looking over at someone else.

“Yeah- she is coming to Silverstone…” furrowing my eyebrows my eyes darted around the screen to try and see who his talking to.

“No. Call her yourself.” Lando moved his phone now I was looking over his shoulder at the seat behind him.

“No.”

“Lan- what’s going on.” Quickly moving the phone back to his face.

“I’ll text you the details- I’ve gotta go… Max fuck of-” the call ended, leaving me sitting there confused and in shock.

Lando was right he can call me himself… why wouldn’t he just pick up his own phone and dial my number… dickhead.

Shaking my head I tossed my phone aside going upstairs to start packing, I packed enough for a week, hoping to spend enough time with family, and packing a separate bag for all my work stuff. The perks of working from home!

Within the hour Lando sent me all the details over telling me he will meet me at the airport, him only arriving around 30 minutes before me.

When laying in bed I could only think what Max had wanted… why was he trying to take Lando’s phone, why couldn’t he just call me himself or even text… I tossed and turned before finally rocking myself to sleep. I guess I’ll soon find out.

** 6:15 A.M **

The sound of my alarm cracked through my dreams pulling me back to reality, my eyes slowly opening and adjusting to the light creeping in my room.

Switching the alarm off I slowly climbed out of my bed getting ready for the airport. I should’ve gone to bed earlier… my body ached- and I felt my stomach churn, making quick effort to go down and get my anti-sickness tablets taking one and stuffing the rest in my carry on.

Anti-sickness tablets are like my breakfast at the moment… the first thing I take when I wake up. It’s now somewhat a routine, this baby is really doing it’s number on me, if I wasn’t tired all the time and being sick, I was angry or crying…

Now I’m sitting at roughly 8 or 9 weeks, a few more weeks and I get to see the baby again- and I cannot wait. It’s crazy to think what a woman’s body is capable of doing-

I was away with the fairy’s while walking through the airport, checking my suitcases e.t.c, e.t.c. I could only imagine what it will be like when I’m home with my parents, seeing Lando again, old friends… hopefully Max.

Just to know what went on- what I did wrong to make him ignore me like he has… just curious.

When on the plane I got some extra sleep, not that I could help it. Like I said I am exhausted all the time… I dozed off as soon as I put my seatbelt on, missing the takeoff and only woke up just before landing. And even now I could just shut my eyes again…

Widening my eyes forcing them awake, I rubbed my face looking out the window.

Back in England, it was summertime here… and it was lovely.

As soon as I left the plane I felt the sun kiss my cheeks.

Perfect.

I sent Lando a message saying I had landed and asking where to meet him, but as soon as I looked up from my phone he was already waiting there at the gate. Cap pulled down, sunglasses on, and even in this weather a hoodie pulled right up to try and cover as much of his face as possible.

Smiling a little I rushed over to him arms open wide forgetting my suitcases and bags behind me as they cluttered to the floor.

“Back home babbyyy!” Gripping him tightly, he let out a laugh practically throwing us side to side, before resting me back onto my feet.

“Welcome home.” He smiled once again, and as if we was little kids we both started jumping on the spot, falling back into a tight embrace “oh I’ve missed it.” Pulling away I ran over collecting my items, following Lando out the airport.

The whole time telling him all the new things I’ve discovered with the pregnancy. Like morning sickness really isn’t just ‘morning sickness.’ Well I mean I new that weeks ago… but still. It should be called any time of the day sickness.

Lando chipped in asking little questions here and there, before the big question landed.

“What’s Max been like with it all? Has he been encouraging?” Nudging me with a slight tease in his voice. But it only cause my smile to drop slowly.

“I haven’t heard from him…” Lando spun around from facing the car staring at me. “You haven’t? Didn’t you guys sort it all a few weeks ago?” I started chewing at my bottom lip nervously, quickly thanking one of the airport staff for putting my bags in the car.

“Sort of…” I wiped my hands on myself, clearing my throat and climbing into the car. Ignoring the stare off Lando.

“Sort of?” As if he knew the answer he shook his head.

“So you went back to square one.”

“Lan I don’t need the lecture. It was my own fault this time.” Sighing I rubbed my temple leaning my head against the window.

“I’m not… okay, sorry. I’m sorry.” Touching my arm gently I turned looking at him, before he pulled me into a hug. “It’s gonna be alright you know.” I only responded with a slightly nod of my head. “Just wish he would want this as much as I do… but I can’t force him…”

Rubbing my back gently he pulled away with a reassuring smile. “His just an odd guy, I’m sure his just worried okay… but you can do this.”

Pausing for a moment “Y/N and uncle Lando right?”

Laughing a little I nod my head. “Yes, yes unless I give the rights to Charles”

Lando let out a fake gasp before leaning back in his seat. “Don’t ever threaten my uncle rights again.” Smiling to myself I looked back out the window. The driver slowly pulling away.

Lando slept most of the journey- and sure I was a little nosey when his phone kept going off… side eyeing it, I see Max blowing his phone up… and I could only wish it was mine- even at the sight of his name, I felt tingles all over my body. Like his touched had once burned on me.

Sighing at myself, I shuffled closer to Lando resting my head against his shoulder. Slowly closing my eyes and letting my worries got with it.

My worries being facing Max.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N-” repeatedly with each time he said my name Lando poked my forehead.

Flinching slightly when he poked again I sat up slowly rubbing my eyes.

“Your so fucking annoying…” my voice was hoarse and barely audible from the sleep.

“We’re here!” Smiling excitedly he climbs out the car quickly, first thought was him going over to fans and taking photos.

Sighing once again I make sure I looked like hadn’t just woken up- before climbing out behind him, I start helping getting out bags out, when Lando comes over quickly grabbing both the heavy suitcases.

“You can’t lift heavy things remember-”

Rolling my eyes and smiling, I pull the handle of my suitcases up and roll into the hotel, giving a few small waves to shouting fans of Lando’s.

Finally getting up to my room, Lando only a few doors down. I flopped onto the bed letting out a happy groan, from my aching body.

Pulling my phone out I read some messages, before going into insta and putting a post up.

@YOURINSTAGRAMNAME.

Liked by landonorris and 244,873 others

@YOURINSTAGRAMNAME. -

Sky was painted for you Landiniho 🧡

Comments have been turned off.

And finally I was able to relax, I planned on visiting my parents after Sundays race, as everything leading up to then is crazy- and I didn’t want to drag Lando down to them while the weekend commenced.

It wasn’t long before Lando was knocking the door and demanding I opened it.

“What?” Annoyed I glared at him the door nearly hitting the wall as I pulled it open.

“I’m hungry, let’s go eat-” if he wasn’t offering food I probably would have strangled him… however he did, so he dodge a bullet.

In silence I grabbed my room key, phone, and other necessities before following Lando down to the elevator. “Can we go to the lovely restaurant down the road?” Looking over at Lando excitedly, smiling he nodded his head pressing for the ground floor. And as if on cue my belly started to grumble. Which only made us both burst into laughter.

Dinner was lovely, me and Lan spent the evening joking around and just enjoying company of one another- it washed away all my nerves, and I finally felt at ease being back home.

With arms linked we took a slow walk back to the hotel, and just for once I felt like the world seemed to get off my shoulders.

“Don’t you ever think to move back home? And raise the baby here?”

I come to an abrupt stop before continuing to walk with him- like I was reseted. “I never thought of it…” mumbling quietly to him I rest my head against his arm. “Monaco is my home too-”

“But- I mean this in the nicest way…”

Stopping himself he turns looking down at me. “You have nobody in Monaco.”

And there it was, the weight of the world again, I know he means well but it was sure a kick in the gut when he said it…

“I have you?”

“I’m not always there-”

“I’m fine, by myself.”

“But what about if you ever need anyone? What about when you go into labour?” Lando started walking again arm slung over my shoulders.

“I do have some friends there.”

“Friends that you can trust with your baby?”

Humming, I look down at the floor as we walk, he had a point… who am I trying to kid- I wouldn’t trust anyone but him or family with my baby… let alone some friends I see once in a blue moon.

“Maybe it’s something to think about…” sighing I then look up at the stars in the sky, questioning which person I have pissed off to cause this much chaos in my life.

“I just want you to be happy Y/N” he gestured for me to go into the lobby first before following behind. “That’s all I ever want for you.” Smiling over my shoulder at him j waisted for him to walk next to me before bumping shoulders.

“As do I, you deserve the world Lan.”

We finally separated at our doors, Lando disappearing down the hall once I was in my room- I took a shower and got into bed ready for this weekend and what it’s to bring, because I got myself a friend called Lando, and with Lando I felt okay.

**FRIDAY FREE PRACTICE**

I was panicking, I could potentially bump into Max today- and the way my hormones are going I’d probably end up crying if I even catch a glance of him…

Staring at myself in the mirror, I smoothed out my orange shorts, tilting my head before turning to the side. Shaking my head smiling to myself- I leave the bathroom grabbing my bag, phone, room key- and whatever else I thought may come in handy.

Agreeing to meet Lando in reception, I made my way out to the elevator trying to be as quiet as possible- seeing as how early it was in the morning.

Humming quietly to myself I waited for the elevator to arrive. Swaying slightly to my own song in my head-

“Oh hi-” glancing over my shoulder there he was.

In all his glory- Max.

And weirdly enough I felt nothing… I felt no anger, no sadness, no happiness. Nothing for him right now. So with a tight lipped smile, I whispered a hello before turning back to the elevator.

“I’ve er- I’ve wanted to talk to you…” he stepped forward standing next to me, at a distance that screams more than friendship-

“Oh really? What about?” Biting my lip praying the elevator arrives sooner rather that later.

“It’s more of a private matter…” looking around as if he was nervous of getting caught- which only caused me to look around also.

“Well, I’m sure it was nothing important otherwise you would’ve-” my voice soon trailed off and my mouth just went slack. Behind Max slowly walking towards us was her… and just like that a fire ignited within me.

My eyes had the same fire burning in them as I glared back at Max, who’s colour was slowly draining from his face. “Never mind I can see now you’ve been occupied.” Looking back over at Kelly, who only had a lovely smile on her face as she linked her arm with Max.

The elevator pinged, breaking the silence- moving myself forward to step in I look over at max and Kelly before taking a large step back.

“You both take this one- I just realised I’ve lost something…” tapping over myself, trying to seem like I was genuine. Kelly only smiled once more before stepping in.

“You need help finding it?” Kelly looked around the elevator floor, as Max stood outside- eyes still glued onto me.

Looking over at her I offered her a smile and shake of my head- then turning to look at Max. Eyes fixated onto each other.

“It’s okay- it was nothing important anyways.” I felt my lip tremble slightly, quickly biting down on it and rushing away with my head down.

Clearly he found his distraction… and was it weird that I wanted it to be me?

Rushing to the stairs I raced down praying I would beat the elevator.

Out of breath and panting I ran over to Lando in reception grabbing his arm and dragging him to the exit.

“Y/N slow down-” laughing a little Lando pulled back- which only made me tug harder at his arms-

The elevator ping sounded through reception- my eyes focused on the doors as Max hurriedly stepped out leaving Kelly behind.

“Please Lando can we just g-”

“Y/N I need to talk to you.” As if in sync me and Lando both looking over at max, who was practically jogging through reception.

“I have nothing to say to you.” Giving up with Lando I hurriedly walked away towards the exit. Why did it hurt so much that he was with Kelly?

Because there’s no way you kiss someone the way he kisses me and it not mean anything- yet being with found with another woman probably giving her the same bullshit excuses… was a kick to the gut.

I knew he was chasing me- even if he was a few feet behind I felt his presence- the hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention. My heart was telling me to stop running from him and let him talk. But my head told me to keep going- and I did.

I got into the car that was waiting on me and Lando locking the door behind me and leaning over locking the drivers side.

Until he finally gave up. Well I say gave up Lando practically forced him away. And once he was out of sight I finally opened the door again for Lando.

“Can we not talk about him.” Looking at the dash in front of me. I felt sick, maybe even numb at this point. We spent two unforgettable nights with one another, his been one of my closest friends for years- maybe a warning would’ve been nice that it didn’t mean as much to him as it did me- then I wouldn’t of had my flame of hope burned out- and reigniting with anger and jealousy.

I hate her- I hate that he chose her, what was so wrong about me? Why doesn’t he want me the same way I want him? I can’t force him to love me- so why am I so worked up over something so stupid?

“Let’s get the race weekend started aye?” Looking over at Lando he offered an encouraging smile- hand reaching over snd squeezing mine.

Lando is like a comfort blanket- or a teddy bear, you know the type you get when your young and you find yourself seeking it out every single night and day for solitary comfort. Lando was my teddy bear.

“Let’s go get you your win.” Squeezing his hand back I smiled up at him- sure the smile didn’t reach my eyes- and my eyes they didn’t twinkle like diamonds- but he knew I meant what I said and he knew I was there supporting him no matter what.

And Max? Pft what’s the point of crying over something that wasn’t even mine in the first place.

A/N: Soooooo I don’t know- it was long awaited that’s for sure I just had terrible writers block- and you can even tell in some parts I wasn’t giving enough- buttttt on with the next chapter.

FYI MAX REDEEMS HIMSELF.

Masterlist

[suzie-shooter]

Detroit Indycar GP :  James Blair race commentary highlights

“Dare I say - strap yourselves in, 'cause this could be a long one. This could be lengthy.”

(James at this point blissfully unaware he's about to spend the next two and a half hours in exquisite agony unable to look at his phone while knowing it's blowing up) 

They reckon the track's a little bit of a pig of a thing from chatting to a couple of the guys over there. Some have said, and I won't name names, that it's the worst track they've ever been to in their life.  

Indy500 last week, I didn't unfortunately catch it. (it's ok James we know you were getting steamed on a superyacht at the time)

A lot of discussion around a couple of things. First of which was who's the hottest Indycar driver? [...] For me though I think I have to go into the Newgarden camp, as far as just raw hotness. He also has piqued an interest in the role of the financial services sector which is attractive to me. It's a trait I look for in all my lovers.

(sticking the rest under a read more because it gets LONG)

We're going to get a replay here of Pato O'Ward making a total penis of himself at turn three in Indianapolis.

Getting replays of Newgarden with lipstick on his face and pouring milk on his head - without context that could sound like a real night out.

Fuck me, what a waste of time that monologue was. Jesus Christ.

I've already labelled [Newgarden] the hottest in the paddock. [...] What a stallion. What a total stallion. Backbone even.

There's a shot of Marcus in the background there, getting his kit off.

Little bit of insurance chat for you there.

The Canadian national anthem. Well this is a strange turn of events.

There's Marcus and Lissie. Guess it's out now. Pffft.

Ohh there's so many messages coming in *wheezes* (never has a man managed to simultaneously look so pleased with himself and so absolutely horrified 😆)

Sorry. What for? Nothing.

And then it's Marcus Armstrong P11, car number 11. Fuck he loves a P11. Fuck me he loves a P11.

Few opinions flying around. [...] I'm not saying anything sir. [...] I'm just going to get the live timing open. And we're not going to talk about that.

I can't wait to speak to [Clem]. Tough day for him.

We can ride on board Kyle Kirkwood's camera, so I can keep an eye on the arse of Marcus Armstrong. Business as usual here at Screaming Meals.

"Has he started showering because of her?" I don't believe so.

I want [the winner] to be Armstrong, he's got rapid pace, I don't know how he managed to shit the bed in Q2 yesterday the way he did.

You know that meme, right? Of Carlos Sainz - being like - shall I do the accent? Yeah, fuck it I'll do the accent - "I seriously don't know how to react right now." That's how I feel.

Pull yourself together Blair. It's going to be a long couple of hours.

Sack Monaco off. The only reason I went this year is 'cause Marcus wasn't racing at the 500. But dare I say if he is racing next year you won't catch me anywhere near Sass Cafe on Sunday night. I will be up it in Indianapolis.

Hahahaha ohhhh you will not believe who's just text me....it ain't Clem.

Flava Flav was there on Friday which was pretty cool. Flava Flav...second biggest celebrity in Detroit right now.

This is record numbers for a commentary.

Where's Armstrong? Fucking around as per usual.

Next pod - hopefully in the next couple of days.  Marcus is flying back I think tomorrow. Don't know who the guest's going to be on the next pod. We haven't really got around to arranging that yet. Sort of flying by the seat of our pants so to speak.

F for Ilott [...] he'll have an excuse, sure as death and taxes, Callum Ilott will have a reason for what happened and why it wasn't his fault. From where I'm sitting that does look like a bit of a fuck up, I hate to throw him under the bus.

Callum Ilott's car looking like it was taking a fancy to the back end of Kyle Kirkwood's car, to get little a bit National Geographic on it.

Anyone got any questions? That you think I'll actually answer? "Tell us about Monaco," I'll tell you about Monaco. "Where's Clem?" Clem is in Barcelona, drinking a lot of sangria. 

"When are you and Clem announcing together?" Pretty sure me and Clem were already pretty public, so, um, I don't know how much more social media attention that particular relationship needs.

Dream podcast guest? I'd like to get on like some real psychopath and just give them a hard time.

That's going to make things a little bit more straightforward, and I needed that this evening, because something tells me that by the time I've finished this Twitch stream, things might not be so straightforward.

[Marcus is] getting absolutely fondled verbally by the commentators here and I'm loving every second of it.

I reckon next lap he's going to be all over him, like sauce.

I'm going to be bald at the end of this race. Balder than Marcus Armstrong.

Callum looks angry. Okay, he did say it's his bad, so I'm not going to get an absolute tongue lashing from Ilott which sounds filthier than I meant it to, for saying that that one might be his fault.

Nobility and humility exemplified as per usual from Callum 'Pilot' Ilott there.

There's actually a few things in the works, with a couple of different organisations and people which should mean that the days of the lengthy gaps between Screaming Meals episodes could be numbered. And that's all I'm legally allowed to say.

Marcus is back to P11 somehow.

We'd quite like to get some Formula E guys, we'd quite like to get some more industry people. Such as, you know, for example, you know, maybe Lissie Mackintosh, she was a good industry person that we had on. Marcus really liked her actually.

Power's on fire. Not literally.

Grosjean's just taken a different piece of tarmac and he's gonna go straight to the pitlane, I'm not even sure if that's for a pitstop, I think that could just be to avoid embarrassment.

There's a lot of people watching me all of a sudden and everyone keeps talking about Max Fewtrell so I can only imagine that this is his fault, but I'm streaming off my phone so I can't actually phone him to figure out whether or not this is his fault. Okay, so Max sent all of his viewers here. Thank you Max, appreciate the gesture.

So. Yeah. I found out the week leading up to Long Beach. And Clem was with me at the time, and we were in Malibu actually, and he'd been winding me up all week about like celebrities that he'd seen and I didn't see [...] and the phone rings and we get this piece of news and I just kicked off, I said right, I've had enough of both of you trying to wind me up with these stupid false celebrity stories, just - shut up, like - talk about something else -  good try but you're not getting me that easy. And then the longer the silence went on, the longer I - the worse I thought the joke was getting. And then it went on further and I realised it wasn't a joke. And - all - all is well in the world of Screaming Meals. It's all good, it's all good. But it has been a funny few months. That's all you're getting. Watch the viewer number plummet.

Gearbox issue [for Pato] by the looks of it. Oh no! Anyway.

Armstrong's done Malukas, good job [...] so Armstrong to P12. Right in between his two favourite positions. I'm staying way away from that one.

An open diff which again sounds quite dirty.

He'll be saying get the fuck out of the way inside his lid. No, he probably won't be, he's pretty chilled behind the wheel actually, Marcus. Before and after the race he's an absolute misery to be around, but during the race he's usually actually pretty calm.

The two Marcuses of Chip Ganassi Racing, or Marci as they should be known in correct Latin [...] I think that can be a thing, Marci? The two Marci? Does sound a little bit like some sort of disease though, no? You decide in the chat, is Marci is the plural of Marcus? I mean they've got to come up with some sort of solution at Chip Ganassi Racing. I guess they probably call them like normal Marcus and like Marcus Armstrong. Or maybe shower-Marcus and non-shower-Marcus. Or underwear-Marcus and non-underwear-Marcus, I mean the options are limitless.

Pato O'Ward searching around the car for somebody else to blame.

What does twitter look like? Is it a complete nightmare or is it somewhat civilised? I don't even know why I asked [...] 'twitter is mad' - oh no! [...] 'all good - for Lissie' - oh god [...] hey look I need to know how my Monday looks tomorrow people. Jeepers creepers.

Armstrong got drilled by Newgarden.

Here's O'Ward - whose fault was it this time?

Apparently tumblr's lost it [...] it's been a long time since I've had a tumblr account.

Somebody's just said I have full permission to pick their next tattoo. Um. Here's what I was thinking of getting - and I don't have any tattoos and I don't want any tattoos - but I was thinking if I did get one I'd get one like here [his forearm] to try and be a fake Love Islander. And I'd either get something that is really important to me or something that is completely stupid like for example, 'I'll have the tuna carpaccio'...would be something that's really meaningful to me.

So we're an hour and forty into this stream and I've not had the opportunity to check my phone - let's keep this in mind - once since it started. I feel like a plane that was also in the air in 9/11 and you've just got no idea the horrors that await you when you land.

Screaming Meals merch - it's imminent but it's not this week, put it that way.

It looks like Herta's going to have a tough time with that front wing going forward, it's already flapping around like nobody's business, like a big dick in a locker room.

Little bit of rubbing - bit rude [...] just a little bit of a love rub from Rossi up the inside of Rosenqvist.

If [Grosjean] does get a penalty it's another spot for Armstrong so if you ask me he's guilty as sin, but I'm not exactly sure what the crime was.

'We' being Marcus Armstrong, if you hadn't pieced that one together, because it's a collective, it's a team effort, and I like to take credit that I'm probably not entitled to.

Ilott's bull really did try to mount his cow there.

Come on Armstrong, pull your finger out of your arse.

Marcus apparently taking some credit for some things that I said. Situation normal.

[RLL] were actually looking like one of our options at one point last year. But we got Ganassi...and we're very happy, we love Ganassi here at Screaming Meals.

Graham Rahal's going to want to just go back to his hotel room, order a Pizza Hut and just about all of the hotel room porn that the TV has to offer.

Marcus has done fucking well to avoid that one, because he's swung round the corner at full tit and he's had to really stick the arse out a bit and get it round him.

Dixon says he's got speed, apparently. Sounds like a good night out.

Matt...somebody very popular called Matt has just joined the...oh Matt! G'day Matt Gallagher, how you going mate?

Come on Armstrong, just get on the button [...] and he's been caught napping a bit on the restart, you useless prick.

666 viewers...

Armstrong or Dixon - don't you make me answer that question. Nah, not answering that one. I don't know if I can. I couldn't answer it if I wanted to.

Does Kirkwood still have to pit or is he good? I don't know. James are you okay? I don't know.

And now we're having to fend off Ericsson - just put him in the wall Marcus, we can't afford to give up P7 now.

And it's going to be Armstrong with a best equal result of P8 in the NTT Data Indycar series and um - yeah. I wonder what the rest of his day's going to look like...

[nicolesainz]

Within The Limits (Ben Chilwell x Jenson Button x OC) Chapter 7

Author's note: Happy Belated Birthday to baby boy Jenson (he's 44 years old) Wish him nothing but the best!!

Warnings: none

If I had the balls to drive all the way to Manchester, I would. Or in this case, if Mason hadn't prevented me from doing so.

I really wanted to comfort Chelsea after what Mason told me had happened. Jenson really followed her all the way to the other side of England, only to offend her? What a joke of a man he is.

I wanted to call her as well, but that may had been a stretch given that, I wasn't her boyfriend, a close friend of hers, or anything else that could possibly explain why I was so worried about her.

I decided to settle for a small text, given it was the only option that wouldn't make me look like an annoying asshole or an obsessed man.

Me: Mase told me what happened. I wish I could've been there as well to help you. I am here if you need anything.

Simple, friendly and caring.

I put my phone on the nightstand before switching off the lights when suddenly there was a notification from my text messages. To my luck, it was Chelsea.

Chelsea: Thank you Ben, this means a lot. I will be better don't worry. And this goes for you to, I am here to listen to you if there is anything concerning you.

A smile softened my worries with Chelsea's sweet reply. She managed to make a thing that was concerning her, turn 180 degrees so she could let me know that my concerns were hers as well.

Now this was a girl worth falling in love with.

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

It was one of the first few days that I woke up feeling good and not worried about anything. I wasn't thinking about Jenson or guilty about what I said to him. I had finally gotten everything I wanted to say to him out of my chest.

I grabbed my phone and went through all my emails regarding either Formula One or my upcoming commentary for Manchester United. I giggled at the email Crofty had sent me, asking if he could get a signed jersey with all of West Ham players signatures on it. Best part of it was the little PS at the end:

'If you could get Declan's as well, I would be thrilled. Will miss you in the commentary box Chels.'

I was getting very emotional about leaving the Formula One world behind even if that was for two years. I grew up loving this sport more than anything else. I do love football as well, I am not going to lie, but motorsport is my true passion.

I would be leaving behind my friends, the rest of the commentators, Lissie, Natalie, Ted, Crofty, Martin and some of the drivers as well, especially Lando, Alex and George.

I drove to the Sky office in Manchester where I met with Gary who wanted to give me a few updates on the squads, injured players, possible transfers, comebacks. I needed to get my notes ready for tomorrow's game.

"Onana and Amrabat are on AFCON, one of them coming back sooner but will be benched. Maguire still out, Mount is back in the main XI with Martinez as well and Marcus. All clear?" Gary asked whilst looking into his notes for anything else I should be aware of.

"Yes, all clear. Worry not, the game is gonna be a good one." I am lying to myself and probably every other Manchester United fan is as well. Team hasn't been to its best form but they are trying to get back on their feet.

"I will take your word for it little Chelsea. If there is anything else you want to ask, give me a call or Roy. He may be available more often than I am." He advices me as we walk out of the office together.

"How does it feel to be a full time football commentator now? Excited?" Gary kindly asks, even though he may secretly know my answer already.

"Full time may excite me more than part time given that 99% of the time I was jet lagged. If I have you with me then I am sure that things will be better. Plus, it will be easier for my father to tell me to ask the players about autographs so he can cherish in his office."

Gary was one of the first people I got to meet when I became a part of Sky's team. Him and Ted who had been lifelong commentators. Both sports welcomed me wholeheartedly.

At that moment, a white Porsche drove up to us and parked at the side. I instantly recognised it, being Mason's, that he was going to drive us all the way to London for Ben's first game back after the injury.

"Already found friends, didn't you Chelsea?" Gary nudged me playfully. “Those F1 drivers are gonna come for your ass, Mount.” He said to Mason as I was getting on the passengers seat next to him.

“Not for my ass. Maybe a friend of mine’s” Mason winked at me as we both waved goodbye to Gary and drove all the way to London.

During the entire ride, Mason and I mostly talked about football. What were my views on the team’s season, what would happen now that England qualified for the Euros and how is their loss at the 2021 final going to affect them or maybe how the new entries will enhance the dynamic of the team.

Then out of the blue, my phone started buzzing in my bag.

It was Jenson.

“Does he not know what the phrase ‘I need some space’ means?” The Manchester man said in an irritated manner, as we were entering London’s main road.

“It’s complicated. I think I was too harsh on him the other day when I left him. I mean, before he followed me back to my house.” I had a reason to get upset. He basically said I’d be an easy target for all the horny footballers.

“So, my question is, are you boyfriend and girlfriend? Cause I’ve seen the way you look at him during the post race analysis and trust me, but that’s the eyes talking when someone is in love.”

Is it that apparent that I am in love with Jenson? I haven’t had any of the other commentators comment on that. I mean, yeah, Lissie knows what’s going on between me and him but other than that, the rest may believe it’s pure admiration for such a figure. He was a world champion after all.

“Two years ago, I admitted to Jenson how much I admired him and I spoke very highly of him during an interview. Like you said, the way I was looking at him wasn’t the friendliest of all and given that he used to be my father’s favorite driver alongside Mark Webber, Jenson started flirting with me very intensely. I didn’t hesitate to flirt back and after the Canadian Grand Prix, when Jenson had forgot to book a hotel room, I let him stay with me. One thing led to another and now we are here.”

Mason was stunned with what he had just heard. He was trying to say something but he couldn't find the words to phrase it. This made me worry even more with how my relationship with Jenson could evolve soon.

"It sounds so odd. It looks like he was trying to get something out of you. Like he wanted you to be this close to him. I can't really explain it."

Mason could actually explain it very well, he just had to say it as it was, but he didn't want to hurt my feelings. I had to found out myself to eventually realise what was going on.

"My relationship with Jenson has always been a bit bumpy. I think you could tell from how possessive he was acting around me and you with Ben."

"He was so worried that we would seduce you and take you away from his grasp. I get that footballers don't always have the best of reputations and we are labeled as the 'playboys' but we don't want to steal other's girlfriends. Plus, Ben isn't the type of man that would hit on a woman so coldly. He is too nice to act like a dick."

"Hence why we fought. He thinks one of the footballers I will be engaging with, will flirt with me and I will instantly end with him on bed."

Mason's grasp around the wheel got more tight and his knuckled turned white as each word was leaving my mouth.

"I missed the opportunity to knock him out when I was by your house. He's so pathetic to even think that. Chels, I have seen you around the flirt tricks of footballers and not even once you flinched. Always stayed professional. Couldn't he tell by the post game interviews?"

"Also another reason why I stopped being part of the post game interview squad. Jenson was scared I would break in the end and flirt on public television with one of them. Now he can't do anything about it. I will be full time around the players."

"Karma is a bitch they say." Mason laughed and I followed him along. It felt so cathartic to finally get out of my system everything that has happened. I needed to vent to someone and I am more than thankful Mason was willing to listen to me.

"Enough talking about the grandpa. Now it is time to enjoy some Premier League football." When the blinding lights of Stamford Bridge started becoming brighter, my heartbeat rose as the realisation hit me that for the first time I would be in the guest box alongside a world famous footballer.

Mason guided us through the back entrance and was greeted with love, despite being a former player for the club. We made a small stop to the changing rooms, although I wasn't allowed inside. The door was half opened, and peaking would be rude and invasive, so I just stayed at the corner before the entrance to the box.

When the door opened, Mason was carrying a shirt on his hand and a few seconds later, he handed it to me with a massive smile plastered on his face. I took it and opened it wide, only for the name 'Chilwell' and the number '21' to be presented in front of my eyes.

"It was only fitting you took Ben's number since I am no longer in the club. Also he is captaining the team today so it will be an honour wearing his name and number." Mason said with such pride, talking for his former club which was his home for so many years.

I didn't say a word and threw the shirt on, adjusting it against the one I was already wearing. It was the perfect size and Mason's eyes were glued on the name of the shirt.

"He will love it" he softly murmured hoping I wouldn't listen, but yet I did.

"What was that?" I said to catch him off guard, even though I heard what he said clearly.

"Nothing dear. Well, shall we take our seats? The game is about to start." He scratched the back of his neck nervously and guided us to our seats. From where we were sitting, you would have the best view of the Bridge. It was beautiful. The atmosphere was magical and despite the team having another difficult season, the fans were always present to support them.

Crystal Palace was an easy opponent given that Chelsea hasn't lost to them either home or away in years. It would be three easy points to clench and celebrate. Although the nervousness was apparent on the player's faces, besides Thiago's.

Thiago was the saving grace from PSG that decided to follow along Thomas Tuchel and lead Chelsea to ultimate success. He was the defender that would complete the defending duo of Ben and Reece.

"Come on Chelsea!!!" I screamed as loud as I could, even though the male screams were louder than mine. Mason was startled with my scream but eventually got along with it and started singing chants as well.

"I am assuming you are a fan of the club then?"

"Hence the name. And otherwise I would be buried outside of the Emirates."

The camera was always pointing on Ben and a smile would instantly form on my lips whenever my eyes focused on his figure. He deserved to be captaining the team and I was sure the night was going to be successful!

I took out my phone and took a picture of Ben on the pitch from the big screen on top of the stadium. I was giggling like a teenage girl who was stalking her lifelong crush. It took me long to realise that I had a pair of eyes watching my every move next to me which person happened to be the captain's best friend.

"Oh no please, don't let me stop you from admiring good old Chilly. I think he will need all the good luck he can get tonight." Mason gloated and teased me at the same time, earning a devilish eyebrow raise from me.

The game went by pretty smoothly. It was indeed an easy win for the team given that two goals were scored in the first half, with Ben assisting twice and even though Palace draw one goal as well, this didn't stop the team from scoring again and this time, Ben wasn't the one who assisted but instead threw the ball behind the net.

My cheers were indescribably loud and my excitement was off the charts. After an injury and to perform like that was more than incredible. Ben played fantastically and both me and Mason were extremely proud of everyone but most Ben.

After the game finished, the players stayed on the pitch to applause the audience along with Pochettino to thank them for the support and hoping the enjoyed the game. When the stadium started emptying up and the players were still on the grass, I started shouting Ben's name so he could see who else was in attendance.

"Chilwell" I screamed at least 5 times before I left Mason unable to hear from his left ear and finally caught Ben's attention. When he notices it was me and Mason, his eyes widened and a smile formed that expanded all the way from his mouth to the tip of his ears.

Mason took my hand and led us to the dressing room with the entire team and went to congratulate everyone as I was waiting once again outside. This time, when the door opened, it wasn't Mason who's showed up, but the man of the match instead.

I instantly wrapped my arms around his neck and took him in into a tight hug, despite him being all sweaty. His body was warm and I would've loved to stay into his arms for an eternity.

"Congratulations on a wonderful game Benji. I am so proud of you. What a game from your side." I had witnessed a lot of brilliant games and Ben deserved all the recognition tonight.

"Thank you darling. This was all your doing. I sensed your positive energy in the audience and was ready to push. Hope I was entertaining." He wined playfully at me and within seconds butterflies started forming inside my stomach and fluttering around.

"If I could give you all the awards of the world, I definitely would. And maybe luck on indeed on my back tonight." I said cryptically before turning around to unveil the number that was plastered on my shirt.

"From now on, you are my official lucky charm. I will be needing you in attendance to all my games." He joked, although Ben was sounding very serious, which I took seriously as well for a moment. If I was being honest, I would try to attend as many of his games I could. If I had the chance, I surely would.

"I can't promise anything Mr. Chilwell, although be sure that I will be carrying around your number for good luck wherever I go. No matter the game or stadium. Trust me." I was being truthful. If Ben performed so great tonight, I was sure that this good performance would continue in the following games.

[thewritingofspencerrose]

Home is Where the Heart Is

Lando Norris x Leclerc!OC

"Lando, Oscar, a pleasure to see you both as always," Lissie greets, the boys one of her most entertaining duos to interview at the races.

"Pleasure's ours," Oscar responds, Lando's eyes on his phone before he sets it down, turning to look to the brunette.

"We love being here, always a blast."

"Really? Because it seems you're pretty distracted," Lissie can't help but jest, laughing and pointing out the obvious to all and prompting a laugh from the younger McClaren driver.

"Yeah, sorry about that, but I'm all yours now, everything is set," Lando simply answers, motioning the questioning to begin.

"So, today we are here with McClaren Racing drivers Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris to ask them some of fans most asked questions. Now, we'll start easy, what is your favorite thing to do on off weekends?"

"Oh now see, it depends," Oscar is the first to chime, "If I've been traveling a lot it'll be to just spend some time back home, but typically my girlfriend and I end up going somewhere adventurous."

"And you Lando? I assume you're with one of the Maxs' often?" the interviewer probes, wondering what the boy could be up to with his free time.

"I actually spend my off weekends in the states," Is Lando's charmed answer, Lissie's eyes widening and a large smile taking over her face.

"Which states? United?"

"Most of the time," Lando jokes, having spent enough time in the states by now to realize that there is always some feud over state lines. "But yes, I spend a great deal of my off weeks in the United States at my girlfriend's university."

"Girlfriend you say? Anyone we may know?"

At this, he blushes, pulling out his phone once more and pressing a few buttons. If the camera and sound crew wasn't so focused, they wouldn't have caught the contact frannie baby clear on his screen before a brunettes face pops up, a shining smile on her face.

"Mon amour-"

"You're on camera, Love," Lando cuts off the ever familiar brunette, turning the phone around so that she and Lissie may see one another. "So don't be too cheeky."

"Who could be cheeky when they have Lissie in front of them!"

"Le petit leclerc!" Is Lissie's response, the nickname having stuck throughout her years of roaming the paddock. "You are Lando Norris' girlfriend??"

"Oh, so we're outing ourselves to the public now, are we?"

Lando just blushes, knowing the words are directed at him.

"Surprise, she's my girlfriend," He admits, Oscar mumbling something along the lines of fucking finely.

"I'm sure with you off at university Francessca, that you are looking forward to coming home?" Lissie asks, the interview of the men in papaya turning into a catch up between friends.

"What race are you all going to be in next?" Is the question asked in place of a true response.

"Canadian GP is next weekend," Lissie answers first, smiling brightly.

"Then home will be in Canada with Lan, and I very much am looking forward to it," Is the response that has everyone awwing.

Lissie just smiles, nodding along. "You know what the great Taylor Swift said. Home is where the heart is, but God I love the English."

[memories-break-our-fall]

Post limit is when you post too many times in a day and then Tumblr doesn't let you post for the rest of the day

Like limit is when you like too many posts and Tumblr doesn't let you like posts for the rest of the day

huh that sounds like it sucks

I wonder what it is, I’ve never hit it before

[leclsrc]

in so deep ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, charles has a huge crush and is a lovesick bloke, smut, humor, Fluff 

word count: 13.1k  

It takes you many cities, a botched Halloween costume and a failed break-in to realize how much Charles likes you. It takes Charles several years to realize he doesn’t need to do much to have you like him back. title from this

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, praise central, size kink, unprotected sex

auds here… thank u for all ur love during my periods of being awol .... i wrote this over the course of a week and i hope u all like it!!! its very much a self indulgent thing... :P

The first time Charles realized he liked you, you were both posed for a picture.

It happened at a dinner party in London, in late autumn, thrown by you to celebrate your first year on the paddock as a reporter. Few friends had been invited but, with how noisy everyone was and with the ease of conversation, it felt like a houseful of people in your narrow dining area. Lando was in front of the mirror, tipsy, demonstrating his best rendition of an Irish accent to a genuinely interested Alex and Lily. 

Max was playing with your pet cat, Gene Kelly, and mentally plotting a heist to sneak him out with Pierre’s help. Your boyfriend, Liam, was making himself a cocktail. And Lewis had been roaming around with a glass of dry wine and his brand new film camera to document the night’s festivities—but the host was nowhere to be found. Unbeknownst to everyone, full off dinner and tipsy off cocktails, you’d ducked into the balcony to find where Charles had run off to for the night.

The music was muffled when you shut the door, leaving it ajar just a little bit. Lissie had played Cocteau Twins and was singing whatever gibberish lyrics played, fully drunk off a bottle of Tito’s. Still laughing over her predicament, you turned to Charles and refocused your attention on him. Is it boring?

What w… what is? He asked, turning to you. Briefly his eyes flitted to your hand, the bracelets clasped onto your wrist. He noticed you held matching bottles of beer but yours remained full, nail tapping idly on the semi-opaque glass.

My party, you responded wryly, cocking your head to the side. A loose tendril of hair fell over your eye and he itched to tuck it back in place, thumb over your ear. You continued, still pressing for an answer. You left to smoke but you didn’t come back. 

I like the view. A half-lie but truthful in some way. He squinted to try and make out blurry, faraway signage. I should move here. Monaco makes me sick. He tried to say it jokingly, but was betrayed by the raw tone of his voice. You hummed quietly, to signify you were listening.

So move. Who’s stopping you? You smiled slightly. Aside from your ludicrous career, of course. 

You had a natural disposition of—something. He didn’t quite know how to describe it, almost like the rest of him had yet to catch up with something only his heart was already decided on. You spoke and acted with some kind of smoothness that only the most popular kids in secondary school could have reins over, but you always claimed you weren’t very popular in your teenage years. He just knew he liked hearing you talk, watching you smile. He felt something—but he didn’t want to name it even if he knew exactly what it was. Instead he played into your joke. Yeah, I’ve been told I should move to Dubai instead, become a prince.

You laughed aloud. You are terribly unfunny, you know that?

Am I? He asked. Just then, as the cotton of his tee brushed against your bare shoulder, Liam brashly tugged the balcony door open to find you. He had this drunk smile on his face, brushing his blond hair out of the way and raising a Leica to the two of you.

Hey, I got Lewis’ camera. Smile, Liam had said, eyes squinted behind it. You remained still, half-turned to the camera, and Charles gave a smile whereas you remained in a neutral, half-smiling pose. And right there, at that very moment, as a giggle escaped your lips from having to pose so quickly and even awkwardly, Charles realized with a damning force that he had a massive crush on you.

Liam had left shortly after to resume taking pictures, but would later confront you over your “weird, odd, fucking closeness with the Monegasque bloke” that you would vehemently deny despite a gut-churning feeling boiling low in your stomach. But that’s later. Your conversation continued calmly, along the passive whir of London and the streets below. You both people-watched as you thought of things to say—finally Charles said, Are you interviewing me next weekend?

I always try to get out of it when it’s with you. You rolled your eyes, feigning irritance, then smiled to break the illusion. I think so.

I’ll make sure I have good answers. You’re too smart. Hurts to be in the same room. 

Like you aren’t, you said back, but the rebuttal is shy in nature, like he struck you with a compliment so high you couldn’t bear to return it. He felt then like this was the kind of moment where you would start holding hands any minute, timid touches between clinks of bottles. He remembered Liam existed and screwed his eyes shut. He wished so hard to be able to kiss you. Abandon all sense and just kiss you.

—

“It’s 2023 and still London has the most rubbish ass, fucking cunt, stupid wanker stoplights,” Lissie huffs beside you, checking her watch. “Right then. We’re going to be late. You know how Lando is when people are late. Especially because this is his event.”

“We’re not people to Lando,” you reason, tapping the steering wheel. The ETA on your navigation app tells you you’re still twenty minutes away. “We’re his best friends. If he can’t forgive us, we should kick him out of the group chat.”

“Ooh, and add Alex,” Lily pipes up from the backseat, where she’s redoing her eyeshadow to pass the time. “I keep telling you guys he’s funnier than Lando.” Both you and Lissie make faint, vague sounds of dissent and she grunts again, deflating.

“No boyfriends in the group chat,” Lissie repeats an age-old rule that’s been around for as long as you three (four, including Lando) have been friends. “Or girlfriends, in Lando’s case, but we haven’t worried about that much, have we?”

You’re all en route to watch Lando crank out a brand-new deejay set, one he’s spent the summer break working on. It’s all house and inspired by beach music, and he’s very proud of it, so of course you’re all showing up to laud him. You’re not the only ones, though, apparently—whoever’s in the city is showing up to show their support, which includes a whole stretch of drivers.

“Oh, my God!” Lily says all of a sudden, eyes wide at something on her phone; you both gesture for her to show you and she does with speed. “Do you guys remember this? God, Instagram archives are a godsend.”

“Your dinner party in Chelsea!” Lissie coos, immediately sidling into a fond awwww! You tap at the story Lily had then posted: a video of everybody eating. You tap again to view the one she posted a few days later, which was a collage of Lewis’ camera scans he’d gotten developed overnight. There in the upper right corner, you almost immediately spot your photo with Charles.

“Oh, Christ, that picture.” Memories of your subsequent arguments with Liam flash past your head. Playfully, all you say is, “And I never had a boyfriend again.”

“Liam was an Irish arse, anyway.” Lissie scoffs. “Nobody liked him. Lewis joked about cleaning his camera after he used it that night. Plus, you actively avoid dating, so don’t complain.”

“Fair,” you say with a slight smile. Your mind lingers on the picture, the imprint of it burned fresh into your mind. 

“You—it’s also because you can’t take a hint, babe.” Lily says matter-of-factly. “Who knows how many guys have, you know… fancied, or, like, had crushes on you, and you just never knew?”

“Are you saying somebody fancies me?” You ask, voice whittling out playfully as your eyes count down the seconds to the green light.

Funnily, silence is all that answers. Beside you, Lily and Lissie exchange a look—one that communicates their years-long amusement over your cluelessness. You whirl back to them, eyebrows raised, and double down: “Wait. Does somebody fancy me?”

“No!” Lily ekes out; you don’t miss Lissie’s poorly-hidden laugh. “No. I’m just—it’s just—no.” 

Truth is, it truly seems like the only person in the entire paddock (team and Sky Sports staff included) who hasn’t caught on to a certain somebody’s boyish crush is the crush herself, oblivious as ever, even years and years later. One might think you’d have realized eventually, but perhaps owed to your type A personality and immersion with work, and Charles’ pathetic and total inability to express how much he likes you, the crush has always remained just that, despite your two friend groups’ best efforts to hint at it.

It wasn’t to say, though, that you didn’t sometimes entertain the idea of liking him, too. On that one rainy race weekend when he’d brought you a plastic cup of soup, and embarrassed, laughed sheepishly at Lissie’s joking request for one; then returned twenty minutes later with soup for everyone in the media pen. Or that time in Monaco where he’d pretended to be your boyfriend at a bar to ward off a creepo from hitting on you any further. Or another time, in Budapest, when he’d drank half his body weight in jello shots and slurred out a goofy, heavy I’m soooo sorry, baby while you helped him into the passenger seat of his car.

That one, singular time in Cancun you told your friends once and never again.

But those are isolated incidents, you suppose; plus, dating someone you work with has never seemed like a remotely good idea to you, and you don’t think it ever will.

For all your thinking on the topic, you fail to realize that you don’t know much at all—you don’t know the fact that Charles has liked you for years, after getting to know just how charming and funny you were as a friend. You don’t know that he still gets gut-churning butterflies when he sees you, hands shaky and face tinged pink. You miss the fact that he’s not had any long-term partners in the years of his liking you. You don’t know anything. 

“Don’t lie.” You narrow your eyes as you rev the car and continue the trip. 

“We’re not,” Lily says loudly and a touch too defensively, crossing her fingers. Quietly, she continues, “You should just pay more attention.”

Whatever she meant to say is lost on you as soon as you make a left and spot the club Lando’s at, already teeming with high-profile guests and their high-profile cars. Half an hour later you’re in—valet and being on the guest list effectively cuts your entrance time in half. You separate at the entrance—you, to find Lando; your two girls, to find your reserved table. You find him eventually, busy behind the booth churning out high-frequency tropical music; he pauses for half a beat to flash a huge grin and a thumbs-up before redirecting his attention to the knobs and sliders you can’t seem to guess the functions of.

These kinds of parties are affairs in and of themselves. They mimic the afterparties during the season—nothing if not shows of opulence and networking: champagne paid for by business magnates, yachts that barely make dents in anybody’s wallets, thick CVs, fruity cocktails spilled on pieces of clothing that cost upward of 3000 pounds. You make eye contact with at least seven skeevy businessmen before you spot your friends, but only because you hear them first—by them you mean Lissie, her loud voice raised even more to match the noise at this club.

“I said I didn’t fu—ugh—I don’t want ye fahkin’ champagne,” she slurs out to an old man in a pressed suit, eyebrows knitted angrily. “Got it?!” Behind her, Lily and Alex (who’s arrived now, apparently) watch, concerned and helpless to stop her but equally (perhaps more) entertained.

You step closer and make a move to calm down the exchange taking place, but somebody whispers a “hey” in your ear and startles you. You turn, and come face to face with Charles. His black tee accentuates the breadth of his shoulders, which you connect to his crossed arms; there’s a shy, boyish grin playing on his face. “Oh, Charles!” You smile. “Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Thanks,” he says with a grin, straining to raise his voice. “You look—you look well. Are you alone?”

“No, I’m—” You turn to your three friends nearby, and to Lissie’s argument heating up. “I actually have to go.” You raise your thumb, jabbing it toward them. “But hi again… again!” You both laugh, but he laughs much louder. “I’ll see you around.”

“I jus—” He says, and you stick around for a second to hear him say what he has to say.

“Yeah?”

He clears his throat and laughs stiffly, abandoning his previous statement in favor of a new one. “I just…. want… to have a great time.”

“Ohhhh,” you holler, nodding, clearly trying to mask your extreme confusion under a polite smile. “Okay, well… go ahead!”

You smooth down your dress and laugh again, evidently more forced but, unfortunately for Charles, not any less pretty.

You carry yourself in a very pretty, graceful way, loud and quiet at the same time, like your confident voice when you’re holding the mic and asking questions or making drivers laugh. He might sound creepy, though, a touch too observant, if he tells you so. He observes you instead, for a second, the low cut of your dress and the way the red overhead light shines on your exposed collarbones—and then you’re leaving. He watches you walk over to hug Lily, realizes how stupid he’s sounded, and smothers a hand over his face, humiliated. 

—

“I just want to have a great time?” Max’s jaw drops and he shakes his head, disappointed above all else. “Charles, what the actual. Like…. fuck?” They’re all camped out at the latter’s hotel room, around the dining table, in varying states of sober and doing different things to wear off the last hour of the night before they’re all due to train or debrief again in the morning. Charles had relayed the disaster of the night to everyone at some point, but Max is the last to hear of it; this, unfortunately, does not inoculate him from the shock and secondhand embarrassment.

“Pierre told me to—” Charles starts, forlorn.

“Oi, no. I told you to say something like I just wish… I’d seen you sooner,” interjects the Frenchman with a tut. “You know, flirting? Not… whatever the fuck you said.”

“I didn’t—I was—I lost my mind,” he groans, burying his head in his hands. It couldn’t possibly be entirely his fault when you looked so pretty tonight, hair down and a wash of glitter on your eyelids. Just subtle little flecks of them. They brought out your eyes, too. And your blush, the pink flush of it that sat high on your cheekbones.

“…llo? Charles.” He blinks and sees Carlos’ deep eyes, wide and staring right at him, so pointedly he’s genuinely startled.

“Jeeesus fucking Christ. What?” He places a melodramatic hand over his chest. “Yeah?”

“What do you mean with the”—Carlos mimics his confused expression—“I asked you a question, tonto.” 

“Don’t bother with him,” chimes in Pierre, half-distracted by his phone. He looks up with a devious smile and continues. “He’s still thinking of Miss Reporter of the Year.” A round of loud, jovial laughter makes its way across the table, a few teasing quips being chimed in here and there.

“I just,” mocks Pierre from across the table, adopting a sing-songy tone as he bumps his shoulder to Carlos’ with a mocking laugh. “Wanna have a great time.” His voice is much higher and more mocking, which is enough to send Charles into a fit of petulant embarrassment.

“This isn’t sixth year,” he grits out quietly, but the blush on his face could just as well be plastered on the cheeks of a twelve-year-old. “Give it a rest.” 

“Mate.” Pierre’s voice mellows into something more austere. “You do know she’s leaving the reporters’ job at the end of the season? She’s going to London full-time. No more seeing her all year round. You know this. And I keep telling you. If you are really, and I mean really, interested, I say go for it. C’est la fucking vie, yeah?”

“Plus, if she says no, you can go for pretty much anyone else, anyway,” concludes Max with a convinced smile.

“It’s not the same,” he admits helplessly, smothering his hands over his face in bleak frustration. Behind his eyelids he sees you still, beautiful and smiling and funny—he seriously needs to institutionalise himself before he goes even more mad with the years-long malady he’s called a crush. And seriously, for a twenty-something to have something he calls a crush is despicable in itself. He feels juvenile.

“I can’t tell her. She’s always told people that dating coworkers is a bad idea.”

“You’re not coworkers.”

“We’re—well, we still work closely together. It is the same.” He groans. “It’s just… I’ve said it before. If I admit I like her, things will become awkward. I’d rather we remain friends.”

“Well… see, nobody said you needed to tell her,” begins Pierre schemingly, eyebrows raising. Around them, everybody groans at the birth of another Pierre-brained scheme that will, no doubt, need the enlistment of everyone’s help and will likely end in disaster. “What?! I’m just offering… I’m just saying, mate—you’ve liked her since forever. Why not make a move?”

“—I can’t—”

“Without telling her?” 

“Pierre,” groans Carlos, ever the voice of reason, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t—whatever this is you’re planning, it’s going to go to shit. I swear.”

“You are acting like I plan to take somebody hostage.” Pierre shrugs. “You know, girls like when you don’t tell them straight up. You have to show you like them. You know, be interested in the things they’re interested in, compliment them, make them laugh. And then they think, oh, how thoughtful, oh, how adorable, and before you know it, they like you. And you’ve got yourself a girlfriend.”

“Mmm. Uh-uh. Untrue.” Max says decisively, shaking his head. “I told Kelly I liked her.”

“Yeah, sí. I told Isa I liked her, too.”

“Will you two—just—” Pierre gesticulates and makes a funny noise that insinuates just go with it. “Okay?” he points out to the latter, rolling his eyes. He turns back to Charles with a ready, dazzling, so-French-it’s-scary grin and continues. “I suggest you let us be your wingmen and help you charm her.”

“Whoa, whoa, wh—us? You’re on your own here,” Max quips with a laugh. “It’s your stupid idea.”

“It’s not stupid, and it’s going to work. She probably likes you already.” His confidence carries the lie with gusto. “We just need—you just need to show her instead of saying the dumbest shit to her face.” Pierre leans back into his chair and shrugs matter-of-factly. “Max and I will be regular wingmen, but we have a secret weapon.”

“Don’t—” Carlos starts with a sigh.

“Yes. Lando, Lily, and Lissie are all close to her, eh? Well, perfect—Carlos will get information from Lando about things she likes, you gift her those things or talk to her about them, bam she’s in love. It’s literally a perfect plan.”

Maybe it’s worth it. Maybe—

“No.” Charles shakes his head firmly, setting the record straight. “This will not work. Who’s to say she even needs a boyfriend?”

—

Despite what his best and closest friends—on and off the paddock—might have you believe, Charles hasn’t always been so hopeless when it came to trying to catch your heart. His closest call came in Cancun, after a long weekend of racing and a flight to the area, early into the night where he thought he was the only one who decided to opt out of partying.

Your skin’s peeling. You turned from where you sat on a barstool observing the shore, startled, immediately relaxing when you found him standing there eyeing you. Your hair was still damp, crunchy with saltwater, and your skin had tanned considerably, a sunburn sitting on the bridge of your nose. You stuck your tongue out.

I spent the whole day swimming. He observed your bikini, yellow and green contrasting the colour of your skin. He blinked slowly, ordering himself a drink to hopefully pass the thoughts away. His eyes couldn’t stop, though, wandering, the translucent material of the scarf you’d tied loosely around your hips, the tinge of heat on your shoulders and nose. I’m burnt everywhere.

There are remedies for that. He smiled around his glass.

I’m aware, you said lightly, crossing your legs and sliding your finger along the salt rim of yours. But just in case I forgot, maybe you could refresh my memory.

Your voice was so sweet, so low, so tempting. Already he knew he was wrapped around your finger, the same finger picking up grains of salt to press on your tongue peeking between your smiling lips. You brought your glass to your lips. It had been some time since the dinner in London so he pressed, his voice deep and a little rough, Liam can do that for you, I’m sure.

Pity, you said meekly as you set your glass down and looked back at him. He’s not my boyfriend anymore.

Out of eyeline, the bartender’s eyes widened at the exchange he was overhearing. 

Is it a pity? He asked, leaning backwards and cocking his head to the side. It’s easy, an easy glide of conversation, flirt, something he’s wanted for a while now. To have you playing into him, and have himself playing into you, just like this. It was naturally easy in a foreign city where nobody knew who either of you were, where you were just two strangers flirting at a beachside bar.

Two strangers laughing while they dug their toes into the sand. Two strangers basking in the water, tinted orange by the sun dipping below the horizon, scarf untied in favor of one last swim before night fell. There was nothing keeping either of you from doing whatever you wanted. Nothing keeping Charles from finally acting on the attraction that honest to God crushed him.

You ended up leaning on the door of your hotel room, keycard fiddled in-between your sandy fingers. You combed a hand through your hair and offered a shy smile. So. 

So, he replied, leaning closer. So.

Sooo. You were laughing and your breath smelled like a mint leaf and vodka. You looked up at him, blinking slowly. I have a rule.

What rule is that?

I don’t date coworkers. He wanted to dip down, place a hand on the dip of your waist, and kiss you.

Pity, he said gruffly instead, a smile forming on his face.

Is it a pity? You chewed on your lip and looked at his barely parted ones, pink and pretty. When I’m about to break it? He was about to help you do just that—eyes fluttered shut already—when a crash resounded from down the hall and you both turned to find the culprit. You broke apart and with your separation, whatever atmosphere of tension you’d built up popped, too, leaving you awkwardly standing beside each other.

Oh m… Lissie? You asked, leaning closer as you recognized your friend more and more. You narrowed your eyes, watching the girl crawl her way through the carpeted floor. Oh, Jesus—let’s—get you—

You both hauled her up and wrapped either arm around your shoulders, unlocking her hotel room with great effort and tossing her onto the bed. You stood back and sighed at her half-blacked out state, slightly amused but ultimately relieved she ended her night unscathed.

She pried one eye open and sleepily, she groaned out, what were… you two… doing together outside your room?

Nothing, you said quickly, face warm and eyes wide.

Because you—Lissie raised a lazy finger in your direction—don’t date coworkers. 

I wasn’t—it wasn’t—goodnight, you spluttered, eyes refusing to meet Charles’ even as you both exited the room, paying him quiet thanks as he pulled the door back closed.

Sorry, you said, pretty as ever. The light shone on the red splotch on your nose. Goodnight.

And so he went to his room that night, bummed out and still high off your scent.

—

“You’re staring again.”

“I’m not,” he lies through his teeth, averting his eyes away from your figure by the shore. Sue him if he was staring (which he wasn’t… but most definitely was) but he finds you much too pretty. After the disaster that was the Mexican GP, he figures he could use some sort of stress reliever. Apparently he was not alone in thinking this, considering half the paddock hauled ass to Cancun and prompty partied.

Across Charles, Joris and Pierre share a knowing look that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I said I’m not!”

“So you are not staring at her blue swimsuit then?” Joris tests, mouth twisted into a devious smirk. “It’s black,” Charles says matter-of-factly before catching sight of his friends’ smug expressions and realizing he’s implicated himself. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, petulantly almost. “And I wasn’t. Can you fucking—fuck off?”

“Just ask her out already,” Pierre groans, nodding when Joris chimes in with agreement of his own. “I seriously can-not handle another bar of this shit. It’s been years.”

“I don’t know how to,” he laments. “It’s going to be awkward if I do it all formal, and she’s going—she’ll laugh at me, and it’s…” He blows a raspberry. “Non. Pointless.”

“Just kiss her at the party,” reasons Joris with an easy attitude, shrugging. 

“Joris! Charles didn’t know about that,” Pierre says, trying to lower his volume, but it’s pointless since they’re barely a metre apart. “Fucking tattletale.”

“Party?!” Charles repeats, eyes wide. “Why don’t I know about a party?!”

“It’s a Halloween party,” Joris says, a wacky grin on his face. “And you said it yourself, didn’t ‘cha? You told us not to tell you if any functions were happening because you’re too tired to go to any. Too… too wrapped up racing.” He laughs. “Or something of the sort.”

“Well the season’s ending,” he huffs, wringing firm fingers over his face, his shut eyes, “and I still fucking haven’t… so I think I’m afforded a party.”

“Alright, then come to the party! Dress code, Halloween. Sexy Halloween.” Pierre wiggles his eyebrows. “You know, speaking of our plan, Carlos overheard Lissie and Lily talking about what your girl’s costume is going to be.” He leans in closer and laces his fingers together. “She’s going as a… Christina.”

“Christina?” The other two echo, confused. 

“Christina. I did some digging, and I think it’s this.” Pierre scrolls and dicks around on his phone for a minute before turning it back around to Joris and Charles, who peek with great interest. They seem to be looking at an outdated movie poster of—

“Cas-per the friendly ghost,” Charles reads aloud, trying to get his accent to dissipate. “Huh. What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a movie, idiot.” Pierre shuts his phone off. “Starring who? Christina Ricci.”

“Vraiment? You think his crush is going to show up wearing… a white gown?” Joris asks, his mind stuck on the outfit he’d seen just seconds ago. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Well Carlos and I agreed, so. Two to two. And Carlos says she and her friends always wear silly costumes like these. So if she shows up as Christina, what better way to start conversation than to dress up as Casper?”

Charles’ eyes widen with comical horror. “No. No, no, no. Did the ghost and the kid fuck?”

“No!” The two men across him yell in unison.

“Right!” He gesticulates. “So it’s not a couples’ costume!”

“But it’s still—” Pierre pauses. “It still matches. Trust me on this one, mate.” He smiles. “We even brought the supplies.”

—

The party is a hit as soon as Charles and his group enter. The former finds refuge at the table, unwilling to socialize. Pierre roams for a bit and ends up finding you almost immediately—you’re wearing low-waisted pants, a strappy top, and you sport alternating streaks of blond and black in your hair.

“Hey!” He calls, jogging up to you. “I heard you were coming as a Christina. Guess who I am?”

You rake a hand through the streaks in your hair and smile. “Not just any Christina. The artist. Xtina? You know?” You twirl a bit, the dark material of your strappy pants swishing as you go, as if the movement will help Pierre deduce the costume’s identity. “Whatever. You’ll get it. Lando is—we’re matching tonight, but I g—it wouldn’t make any more sense if you don’t understand it.” You sigh a bit and gesture vaguely to the crowd behind you, referring to the Eminem-dressed Lando, who you guess is currently caught in the thick of.

“Xtina?” Iks-tina, he repeats, clearly confused. “I remember hearing… somebody saying you were going as a… a Christina.”

“Chris-tina, Xtina, yeah. Christina Aguilera.” You smile, fingers pinching at the material of your belt. “Anyway—where is everyone? I’ve only seen Daniel’s costume and then yours.” The recent memory of Danny’s neon orange traffic cone costume bumping into everybody flashes in your mind.

“Save yourself,” he huffs, smoothing calloused hands over the denim of his jeans. “Zhou and Esteban came as Bella and Jacob, Max as a Tifosi. Anyway”—he points to his ensemble—“guess yet?”

Your mental images of each cited costume are cut short. “Aha! You’re, um. Yes! You’re Ken from the Barbie movie,” you crack finally, remembering the revealing denim vest and jeans combo from the film you’d watched four times over in theaters a few months ago. “Wow, even your briefs say Ken. Very accurate. Minus the non-bleached hair.”

He tuts and shrugs. “I’m no Alex. What’d he come as?”

“He and Lily matched—Sonny and Cher.”

“Let me guess,” Pierre starts, and already you’re nodding because you can tell he’s going to predict exactly how the night has turned out, “Alex is Cher?”

“Wig and sequined dress and all.” You nod, laughing and squinting; Alex’s tall figure, head clad in a long, fringey, black wig, stands out above the rest. “Oh, I did see Carlos at the bar. Ricky Martin?”

Pierre really laughs at that, a loud, distinctly French guffaw involuntarily forced past his lip glossed mouth. “What the fuck, mate! Ricky Martin?! He’s El Profesor from La Casa de Papel. You know, Money Heist? Bella ciao? Oh, my God, he’s going to fucking freak if he hears—heard you said that.”

“He seriously gave off Ricky Martin vibes,” you defend in-between laughs of your own. “So that’s everyone? Oh—oh. Charles! What did… I never saw him! He kept telling me how excited he was for his costume, too…” Just a few hours ago, at that—a boisterous voice honing into the your voicemail inbox, boasting about a costume while you prepped for the party with Lissie and Lily. Your eyes peruse the room, but the lighting is too dark and vague for you to make out anything you haven’t already seen.

“Oh. Charles?” Pierre’s voice lilts higher. “Um. Yeaaah. Um.”

You, however, are sufficiently distracted by your own search for him, and you fail to notice Pierre’s clear scrambling attempt to stall you. He takes a long swig of beer and clears his throat. “He’s just, well, around. I should actually—excuse me, I need to actually go look for him. I owe him a drink.”

“Oh? Oh, okay. Well—be careful?”

You’re a bit surprised by his sudden, jolted departure, but bid him a rushed goodbye anyway. He waves back vaguely, his eyebrows furrowed into an expression of worry as he shoves his way back into the crowd and toward the area littered with tables. It’s only then that Lissie surfaces from the crowd, scratching absently at her nose as she crashes into you with a floaty giggle.

“Lis, you’re all sticky.” You place two palms flat against her shoulders and push her off. “Are you high?” 

“Yes but not drunk.” She giggles again, eyes fluttering.

“Oh—that’s not. Whatever, I guess.” You exhale and cross your arms over your chest. “Who’ve you been with?” She listens, plays with the braid in her hair, matching her getup as Lara Croft. 

“Um, the deejay. I gave him my number, but he’s actually pretty fucking weird. Come on, I want to pee.” As always, her speech quickens to something inhuman, an effect elicited by alcohol; giving you essentially zero time to react, she loops a hand around yours and drags you with ferocity to the nearest restroom. She moves so aggressively through the thickly-packed crowd you barely have time to react or say hi to people you’re acquainted with en route.

You whiz by the door, and in the rush, you notice Pierre entering the one adjacent with a worried expression etched onto his face. Just minutes ago you’d been conversing—you wonder why he’s suddenly become privy to worries.

“So the deejay,” says Lissie, effectively distracting you for the time being. You hum to signify you’re listening, fixing bits of your outfit in the mirror as she kicks different stalls open to judge their cleanliness. “One, he was dressed up as James Bond. Which is just about the most fucking pretentious thing ever. Two, all he played was Chainsmokers. You’re telling me this pub—club—whatever—in Mexico could only afford to commission this guy? Three, he was”—she kicks the last door open and a gasp escapes her and morphs into a semi-shriek—“a ghost?!”

“Ghosted you? Already?” Your eyes, focused previously on re-lining your lips, flits to Lissie’s in the reflection. She’s distracted, staring at the contents of a stall with comically wide eyes. “What’s up? S’that a fucking glory hole or something?”

“No!” She yells when you approach, immediately lunging forward to pull it shut. “No. It’s—I saw a roach. Serves us for going to a fucking… pub. Don’t go in there, it’s…” She exhales a long breath. “It was a mama roach and… with eggs.”

“What are you talking about?” This isn’t even a pub, it’s a nightclub—one with a door fee that definitely did not warrant rogue cockroaches in the water closet. “Lis, you’re drunk-hallucinating.” You’re not even sure if that’s a thing, but you shove past her and push the stall door open again, ready to come face-to-face with, maybe, a sleeping Tinkerbell or a puking black cat. Worst case scenario, shit on the floor; worst-er case scenario, Lissie is right and you’ve stepped into a den of roaches.

Weirdest case scenario, though, if that’s an actual thing: Charles Leclerc seated on the closed toilet seat, face painted white, wearing an all-white ensemble of a large white shirt, shorts, high socks, and sneakers. He’s got two hands on either side of the wall, as if he’d been preparing to escape; how or to where, you’re clueless. Why he’s here, you’re even more stumped.

His entire face is a stark white, with black smudges of face paint on his forehead (eyebrows, you’re guessing); his hair’s been curled by the humid air at this club, and he looks like himself in all the ways he totally does not, eyes big and caught when yours click onto them. 

Despite confusion, you chalk it up, as one would rationally do at a party, to intoxication. You spend a few bated breaths staring at him staring at you, his face of pure shock and embarrassment enough to sober up a drunk for a few days. “Hi.” You can hear yourself say it, but you’re so caught off-guard and full of confusion it feels alien.

“Hey,” he says, wiping four fingers over his stubborn face paint with a smile. The smile and the paint barely fade. “I’m a ghost.”

“I see. Classic.” You pause. “I’m Chr… nevermind. Um—are you okay?”

“A bit, uh—a tad bit drunk. I seem to be in the ladies’ room.”

“Yeah, you seem to be,” you recite back to him, amusement quickly overtaking confusion. “I think Pierre was looking for you. Let me go get him. Lis, make sure he doesn’t…” You gesture a puking movement, and the pair watch and listen to your shoes click against the tile, before the door swings open and then shut again.

“Coast is clear.” Lissie’s voice has been lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “I reckon everyone you know is already looking for you?”

“This is a disaster.” He rubs frantically at the face paint, but it’s horribly futile. “You know, I didn’t even realize I was in the ladies’ room until you two came in. She cannot see me like this.”

“She already fucking has, mate.” Lissie sounds exasperated. “Whose idea was this? If you say Pierre I swe—”

“—Pierre—”

“—ar to Jesus fucking Christ, Charles—I can’t keep saving you from Pierre’s antics.” She grumbles out a sigh. “What are you supposed to be, even? Have you—did you see how hot she looks? This is like… you look like a… I can’t—” She lets herself taper off, so disbelievingly shocked at his odd costume.

“I’m Casper the Ghost!” Lissie mentally forms a crude picture of the kid ghost, which looks absolutely nothing like what’s in front of her. “Casper was opposite Christina Ricci. Pierre told me so.”

“That’s the dumbest analogy ever, holy Christ. You look like a poster child for some…” She regards him for a moment. “Anemia advert.”

“Take that back.”

“You don’t really have the upper hand here, Charles,” says Lissie with a grimace. “I’m texting Pierre. Are you—did you even get drunk?”

“No,” he woes. “I am totally sober. I had to lie. Pierre went to the table and told me that my—that the costume we planned—it was wrong, and I just—I ran to the bathroom.” Lissie can’t help but laugh at the story, raising her camera to record the incriminating evidence.

Mid-video, Charles’ white face droops and his painted lips part to ask: “You think she found me cute?”

—

Charles likes finding things about you. He supposes the first time he realized just how much he liked hearing you talk about yourself—which you rarely did—happened in São Paulo. He’d been stressing over a spiel to recite in front of a camera, rewriting over words for hours to make everything sound more natural.

Each margin had been hastily written on with pencil, run-on sentences with semicolons in the place of periods. The team scriptwriter didn’t do much to make his lines sound more natural and less like they’d just been spat out of an online translator. You peeked into the media pen and coughed. You don’t belong here, do you?

Tch, he clicked his tongue, turning to offer a smile. I’m working on a script for Sunday. Portugese stuff.

I can help, you responded, walking slowly over toward him. You smiled quietly, approaching slowly like you were waiting for him to greenlight your offer. He did so by pulling a chair out for you, and once you sat you traced a nail over each line, murmuring them under your breath.

You speak Portugese?

You looked up and gave a half-shrug, laughing like you were amused with yourself. Kind of. It’s not very good, but it’s enough. You resumed your editing and he felt content to stare, admire, watch every movement of your lips align with the syllables of the words. You asked for a pencil and began writing something much cleaner. He couldn’t help but let himself be in awe of your intelligence.

You read over the last few lines and turned to face him. Let me guess, you said. You want to make a pun on Ferrari before you say bye.

Ah, he laughs. Yeah.

See, I know you so well, you half-joked, scrawling idle edits on the margins of his script.

He was already looking at you when you turned back to him, seeking his response, agreement, anything. When your eyes met, something caught at your chest—it tugged, tugged, then tugged again, a dull feeling burrowed deep in you. Words failed to wrench themselves free, but once they did, all you could manage was a faint—What?

Nothing. He smiled and shook his head, like he was waiting for you to figure it out. You know… sometimes, I wish I met you sooner. He does. He wishes he knew you back then, when you first learned Portugese. Or when you were in high school, so you could see just how exponentially awkward he was in his own teenage years. He thinks sometimes that he’s lost too much time, met and liked you too late.

Hm, you breathed out, because you didn't know what else to. I know why—so you could always have me. As a proofreader. Right?

Hah. The tilt of his laugh was high and mocking, and he stuck his tongue out, as if to punctuate that. He looked away then, like he wasn’t ready to say certain things to your face just yet. Quietly he added, Always have you… something like that.

—

If you ask Charles what he’s doing hiding in a laundry basket of a luxury hotel in São Paulo, he wouldn’t be able to answer you, either. It’s been some time since the disaster that was Caspergate Cancun 2023, and if he’s perfectly honest, he doesn’t feel like facing you again for the rest of his life. Pierre, of course, has other plans. 

All he knows is last night, Pierre suggested he leave a huge vase of roses for you to arrive to in the living room of your hotel; as he planted it in said room, the door’s lock turned, and he sought a hiding place in the adjacent bedroom. Judging by the prevalent scent of Dior Sauvage, this is Lando Norris’ room.

Did u get to escape??? Pierre’s text irritates him. At the same time, the light flips on; Charles curls in on himself, remaining perfectly still. Lando’s voice trills through the room. “I didn’t leave those roses for either of you,” he’s saying to you and Lissie.

Charles hears you hum. “They’re so beautiful.” His heart swells. “I gotta run for a sec, pick up something from Will’s room.” A few seconds pass and the door opens and shuts, which means Charles is currently alone with Lando and Lissie. Which means he needs to plot his escape as soon as he can. Otherwise he’ll be caught in the crossfire and much too embarrassed to—

A foot meets his concealed body and he lets out an oof! as he’s sent flying out of the hamper, along with strewn-around clothes. He keeps his eyes screwed shut, scared shitless and in a fetal position; he only unfurls when a socked foot kicks at his ass. Above him are Lando and Lissie, both extremely confused. 

“How did you know I was…?!” He asks, aghast.

“My fucking laundry was breathing, mate, s’not that hard to leave alone,” Lando retorts sharply. “What are you doing?!”

“I left roses for her,” he explains fruitlessly, gesturing to the vase outside. “But you came in, and this was the closest hiding place. I was told this would be a great gesture.”

“Right. Where did you even get that advice?” Lando tries to suppress the critical tone in his voice, but judging by Charles’ embarrassed grimace, he’s failed. Beside him, Lissie makes a hm? noise, goading Charles to answer quicker.

“I got it from.” Charles pauses. “A friend,” he ekes out vaguely.

“No shit. Who?”

“Um—” Charles’ eyes are shut. “Pierre.”

In unison, Lissie and Lando both release incredulous gasps, throwing their hands up in the air. Lissie points at the mess of clothes in the corner of the room to emphasize her point and asks loudly, with comical cynicism: “This seemed like proper romantic advice to you?”

“Scratch that. Pierre’s words seemed like proper romantic advice to you? His girlfriend is—!” Lando places a flat palm a few inches off the floor and shakes it a few times to insinuate Kika’s age, his disbelieving expression growing funnier by the second. “Mate!” His voice cracks mid-syllable, though even this mishap seems to be the least crazy thing about tonight.

Charles, burning with humiliation, releases a shaky sigh. “I know! I know!”

“You don’t know!” They shout simultaneously in response, disappointed if anything. Just then the door opens again and your two best friends hurry to throw assorted pieces of laundry on the lying Charles, exiting to make sure you don’t suspect anything. 

“Hey,” you say slowly, because they’re both posed the exact same. “Am I… missing something?”

“A shower, girl,” Lando says, and you flip him off before retreating into your room.

Belatedly you ask, “Did you find out who sent those flowers?”

“Some loser, probably,” he calls right back. Charles emerges to poke him accusatorily, but Lando just shrugs. Charles definitely does not have the upper hand here, anyway. 

“Just get out,” Lissie says, completely done with Charles’ antics. “And stop. Listening. To Pierre.” 

He rinses the odor of laundry off him once he’s at his room, but thinks, despite himself, that you called the flowers beautiful.

—

Are you—

—no. I’m not. You wiped a hand over your face and caught mascara along with it. I’m fine, it’s fine.

What he said, it wasn’t…

I said, you turned to face him, eyes rimmed and mouth trembling. You didn’t finish your sentence, just tore the microphone off your lapel and buried your face in your hands. There was always going to be a first time. Your first time insulted on a live feed, after the Abu Dhabi weekend, was not any less shocking. You felt small. You felt humiliated.

You didn’t want to show Charles any of it. You moved around the green room, picking up shit to throw into your bag. Thank God the season was fucking over, you kept thinking. I feel so, you said, still failing to finish anything you started to say. You’d been called an annoying bitch by a fan of one of the drivers—to your face, as you exited the paddock.

He moved nearer. Charles, you said, a half-sob, and then you were allowing him to crash, allowing him to hug you. Your arms were weak when they wrapped back around him, linking softly in the small of his back. You sobbed hard into his chest until his grey tee was dark with tears. I want out, I just want out.

You’ll lord your career over that prick when you’ve made a million dollars doing this, he said. You do it too well to want out. You’re too smart. You’re too good. You cried harder, your face hurt and every word felt wrestled unintentionally, like it took too much work to say much at all. I’m sorry, you said. You should go. 

No, he said. He held you closer. Not until you feel better.

—

He cries after Abu Dhabi. Bad season, everyone’s said. You snap a few smiling pictures with Max, who wins, and Lily and Lissie and the lot of them, the people who made the year so great. You notice an absence in all the pictures and you find it in a room in the Ferrari motorhome.

You’ve found you both find solace in words. In reassurance. But you’ve also found that your connection enables you both to reassure without having to say anything at all. You sit beside him, lean your head on his shaky shoulder, and wait.

“I was waiting for you to come,” he admits brokenly. “I was just not feeling good.”

“I know,” you respond. “It was a bad race. Shit strat.”

He’s quiet. His breaths are ragged and wet and shaky. “Will you stay? Until I feel better?”

You don’t move. “I’ll stay for longer.”

—

In the kitchen Charles unscrews himself a beer. The sky outside is pink and the sun hides behind faraway mountains, gradually darkening the entire atmosphere, save for the few woolly clouds. He’s by the patio door so he can spot people in the wide yard: Pierre, exchanging a Frisbee with Lando. Max, Alex, and Lissie engaged in an intense match of Uno.

They’re all gathered here in Spain at Carlos’ behest to celebrate the dawn of winter, and the end of the season, Max’s third championship.

He’s yet to spot you—he’d been told earlier you’d be late—but it doesn’t matter. He’s been feeling uncharacteristically himself all day anyway. He wrote that on his notebook this morning, on the flight here, verbatim. Looked up the word to spell it right and everything. He remembers you saying it, that time in London where you and Lando took him around and annihilated Borough Market before lounging on the grassy knoll of a nearby park. I feel so uncharacteristically happy, you’d joked. The syllables were too stunted and too fast for Charles to nail it. But he feels it now. Uncharacteristic.

He tells everyone he’s fine, though, and does a good job of it. Three beers in and he’s beginning to trick himself into thinking he actually is doing fine. Nobody suspects he’s been feeling empty from such a bad finish to the season—the season that was already bad in itself. He hasn’t been feeling his usual drive, his usual appetite. He doesn’t know when it will return.

“Here you are.” Carlos has this goofy smile on his face when he bounds into the kitchen, depositing empty dishes at the sink. “Listen, I have to tell you something.”

Charles and Carlos have always shared an easy dynamic—they’ve both always wanted the same thing. Racing has always been at the forefront of their minds. It makes conversation passionate, easy, fun; it was what helped build their now-natural rapport in the first place. “Yeah?” He prods, leaning against the counter and tipping fizz into his mouth.

“I invited everyone here to announce… something important.” Carlos crosses his arms. “But I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Me?” Charles knits his eyebrows and smiles. “Wow.” He gulps, cocks his head. “What is it, then? Are you switching teams?”

Carlos’ goofy smile grows. “Isa and I are engaged. I’m retiring next year.”

“You—you’re—” Charles laughs and shuts his eyes all at once. “Oh, my God, mate! Congratulations!” The overload of information isn’t lost on him, but he channels it all into a hug. “Are you really retiring, though? I mean. Wow, this is amazing news—but—”

“I was sure as soon as I asked,” Carlos says squarely, smiling as if he’s conjured an image of Isa’s smiling face (which is likely the case). “As soon as she said yes. As soon as I bought the ring!” He laughs aloud, so overwhelmed with happiness of recalling everything. “I’m so glad you were the first person I told.”

“Besides Lando,” Charles says, because he knows it’s true.

“Besides Lando.” Carlos smiles. “I’m… dios, I’m happy. I always knew I’d have something to look forward to after racing.” They hug again, and then he clambers past Charles and into the patio, where he resumes the façade of being unengaged and still a driver. Left behind, Charles thinks over it himself. What does he have to look forward to after racing? All his life, racing is all that ever existed to him. 

The announcement comes eventually—when it’s dark out, intermittent stars white and twinkly against the black above. Charles has once again turned into a blushy mess because you arrived a few hours prior, wearing a lovely dress and with your hair down in messy waves and you said hi to him earlier without him approaching first. They present a stupid, but very Carlos-and-Isa ring-shaped cake to announce it, and somebody queues up music and everyone’s cheering. Of course everyone’s cheering—it’d be impossible for this announcement to not come with bouts of yelling and cheering and goodbyes to Carlos, who accepts them with glee and—dare he say—excitement.

Charles remembers their first year as teammates, the jokes they’d made about needing to beat the other out. For both of them, he recalls, it’s only ever been the drive to race. He didn’t think Carlos would even entertain the idea of retiring yet. He wonders when he will. The thought of it alone is enough to send a well of anxiety run deep into him—which happens after he congratulates the couple, so he excuses himself to the empty outdoors area to get fresh air back into him.

He didn’t mean it, but he finds you already there. “Hi,” you say when he slides the door shut. “You okay?”

“Just… yeah, I’m fine.” You smell faintly like smoke. “It’s crazy, huh. Everyone’s… moving on.”

“So Carlos told everyone, then,” you say, pursing your lips and waiting for his response. He closes his eyes and lets a soft exhale escape him, warm air out and fresh air in, a welcome change from the heady atmosphere in the party. “I knew. I bought that God awful cake. I kept saying get a normal one but they both wanted it to be shaped like a ring.” You punctuate your sentence with a crisp laugh, a stunted exhale of air to break the tension.

You have a natural sway over words, graceful and beautiful and commanding, something he only wishes he could be. For so long he’d been told the feedback loop of one and the same thing: you’re good. You’re the best. You’re going to be the next big thing. And this season had just… aggravated every single insecurity he’s picked up in his years of racing. He wishes sometimes he’d been told something else: you suck. You’re normal. You’re irrelevant. Then at least he wouldn’t exist in some odd panopticon of feeling on top of the world and yet looking at it from the bottom of a pitch black abyss.

“Yeah,” he says instead, wringing his hands. He mimics the wrist movements he’s made to do during gym hours. “It’s wild how—I mean, not really wild, but. I just can’t… even picture my life after racing.”

“You’re young, that’s warranted,” you laugh. “You’re also… I mean, even if you drop out of racing tonight, it’s not like you’re going to become dirt poor or anything. You could become a bloody orthodontist and people will still love you.”

“Will they?”

He didn’t mean to say it aloud but out it comes, garbled and rushed and he’s a bit embarrassed for sounding like a child in front of somebody he finds so beautiful. The silence is suspended and dry, and for a minute all he hears and feels is the slow rise and fall of his chest. To somehow mend the vulnerability, he tries again. “It’s not—I just think I’ll be lonely if I decide to stop racing.”

The fact that Carlos can say with so much ease that he’s willing to drop his career to ensure his pending marriage lasts is almost terrifying, because Charles knows he wants that. He knows—he’s always known—that he wants that intimacy, that realness, but for it to come at the cost of something he’s known for so long is so scary it’s almost a dealbreaker.

“Lonely?” You echo, voice tinged with concern. “Charles—”

“Lonely.”

He says it with an edge to his voice, so final, so steadfast. Loneliness is what he’s always feared and he knows, with a deep drawling punch to his gut, that loneliness is what will come if he decides to stop racing. Even if he’s tired. Even if he’s so pent up with frustration and loss and anger. Racing is all he’s ever known, it’s all he is—when he’s not tied to it, who is he? “Like no one… like I’m just standing in front of what I’m supposed to be, and when people see me, that’s all they see—what’s behind me. Right through me.”

“Well, you’re off racing right now,” you respond, trodding carefully. “So, well. Do you feel that way?”

He knows what you mean: it’s winter break, so he’s not driving or doing some form of it every single day. And he knows in turn what to answer: no, not really, he doesn’t really feel detached from it because there’s a low anticipation in his belly that tells him he’ll be doing it all again soon. But he chooses to interpret it differently; differently, but not falsely.

“I th… I don’t feel lonely,” he says, “when I talk to you. You see me.” 

Your stomach drops and your heart begins to pulse a mile a minute, knuckles tightening where they’ve gripped onto the wooden post of the patio. You can feel the air in your lungs pass through every divot of your body as it escapes and arrives in long, shaky breaths. He’s looking at you, his eyebrows knitted like he wants—needs an answer, if you’d be kind enough to please give him one. 

“I…” You bite your lip, every thought in your head at odds with the other.

Time feels like rubber, like it’s been stretched and manipulated and Carlos is ducking out to announce that it’s time to blow out candles on the stupid ring-shaped cake and you’ve taken too long to respond and your body feels too heavy but your heart feels too light and your eyes are blinking, open and shut and open again, and you feel like the wind could honestly blow you away now because Charles has given you a neutral nod and left you alone again, to contemplate the weight of what he’s finally, finally admitted, tonight here under the sky of Spain.

You move a hand over your hair, watch him walk away. The words lodge themselves in your throat, but they’re there.

—

One minute after  you realized you liked Charles, you swallowed the feelings until they were barely decipherable.

In happened in Dublin, at a pub on St. Paddy’s Day, when you’d emerged fresh out of a breakup with the most arseholic Irishman you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. And funnily enough, it happened without Charles’ presence. You’d spent the day at Liam’s, hours of fighting over so many things—the growth of your career and the decimation of his, where your relationship had soured, why you never came to visit him, Charles, the sodding bloke you like so much—until finally, you took your things and left.

Wise, because you might’ve honestly gone insane if you stayed a minute longer, attuning your ears to the deafening feedback loop of his voice. Also decidedly unwise, because you had a piece of luggage and barely any battery, in a full city of people you didn’t know at all.

There was no chance Liam would let you return, and no chance you wanted to, for that matter—the fact still stood, though, that you needed to kill the night before your flight to France left at 6AM. You entered the first pub you heard, deposited your bag at the coat check for an extra couple of euros, and accepted the first pint thrust into your hand and first leprechaun hat plopped atop your head.

In between watching people compare how they poured Guinness pints, Sinead O’Connor songs, and exchanging headdresses with a random stranger, you found yourself impressingly drunk. The Irish did it too well.

A university student stumbled past your stool, tears in her eyes; she stopped to steal a shot of whiskey lying unattended on the bar. You looped a hand around her wrist and stared at her menacingly. Manners?!

Fuck manners, she said wetly, wrenching every word out with great effort. Nobody paid either of you any attention. I just caught my best friend and boyfriend kissing. Her accent was unmistakably Irish and was stronger with the tears.

Oh, you said, loosening your threatening grip. Sorry.

Don’t be. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid, she said, aghast, before finally stalking outside the pub. Half an hour later, you wound up at a table of thirty-somethings, all belting along to a folky sounding song.

Drunkenly you slurred out, I thought it was a stereotype.

What was, love? One of them paused her singing, dipping down to listen to you properly. Your cheek was smushed against the varnished wood, moving with every syllable you eked out.

The songs. You sound like… you belong in the 19th century.

She laughed at that, surfacing and yelling something to the band onstage you couldn’t quite decipher. The song reached its peak, loud and getting the whole crowd singing along, before fading into a familiar opening. S’this better? She asked, her voice slightly raised above the guitar.

You looked up. I liked the other one too, to be fair. M’not a fucking anti-Irish.

Nobody said that, love. Come sing. She hauled you upward, exaggerating her arm swinging in the air so you’d follow suit, which you did. You hummed the opening, eyes fluttering open and closed. You imagined opening them again and finding Charles across the room, already looking, with the same charming, boyish smile on his face that came to you as comfort.

You thought back to the dinner in London, the feeling of his shirt against your shoulder, the way he’d gotten you so easy and laughing and babbly, something you never got with Liam. You squeezed your eyes shut and exhaled raggedly. Fuck.

Linger’ll do that to you, your companion mused. Around you, the entire pub sang along to the song that served as the backdrop to your all-encompassing romantic epiphany. Missing a lover, huh?

No, just… You opened your eyes, watched the band sing out the rest of the prechorus before they slid into the next verse. A new kind of air had crept over the pub, one that exemplified just how much this song could mean to anyone, no matter who. You shut them again and saw Charles. The green of his eyes, mossy on some days and bright on others. The moles on his face. The grooves of his hand, the way it wrapped around things like pens, mics, bottles, your fingers. His voice, how he curved around words. He always knew exactly what you meant even if it took you ages to get to the point, even if you felt like you didn’t know what you meant exactly. 

You opened your eyes. Suddenly fights with Liam didn’t matter. Whatever little sympathy you had left evaporated as you listened to the lyrics and realized, with a damning force, that you were thinking of Charles. And this was not weak, this was not vague, this was a strong thing that took you off your feet like a gust of wind, hurtling you out of the pub. You thought of every time your eyes met his, both of you already laughing at something else present. Every time he saw you at the end of a busy work day and asked if you were doing alright.

Just this guy, I suppose. His name’s… yeah. We’ve been friends for ages. He’s really very talented. Very kind. Your voice was drowned out by the music but you didn’t intend for anything to be heard, anyway. And he’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. He always knows what to say. He’s not in Dublin tonight, not even in Ireland, for God’s sake. 

He’s your boyfriend, then?

You closed them slowly. No. T’wouldn’t be very smart to date him.

Is he an arse?

No either. It’s just too late.

I’m sorry, love.

Don’t be, you mused, eyes still shut as Linger came to a close. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid.

—

Charles should be in Monaco. You should be in London. But at four-thirty PM, leaning against the counter of a tiny café in Dublin, you cross paths for the first time in weeks, and everything tilts on its axis.

He notices you first, because he hears you thank the barista quietly. It’s not your reporter voice, not the one you put one when you’re interviewing him or his teammate or his fellow athletes. But it’s your real one, and it’s the one he thinks he could hear through a snowstorm.

A tuxedo-clad man exits and suddenly you’re there. You’re wearing a white top, low neck and thin straps covered by a cardigan. You’re sliding coins into the pocket of your jeans and he watches your hand freeze, drags his eyes back up to you, finds you’re already looking.

You look beautiful, he thinks. You put on a lot of makeup for the cameras, and you looked gorgeous, but seeing you like this—caught, almost, in a moment you didn’t expect to see him—you look unbelievably beautiful. He aches with it. 

“You look well,” he says first when he opens the café door for you. “What’s your business in Ireland?”

“Acquainting myself with my new coworker.” You wait for him to follow and squint when the sun hits your eye. “We’ve been here three weeks, fly back to London next Monday. You?”

“It does seem weird for me to be here,” he observes absently. “I needed a change of pace, I think. Gear up for the season.” He shakes his half-full cup of coffee. “Where are you staying?”

“Just up ahead.” A slow silence overcomes you both. “Come over. I have beer. I know you can’t be fucked to have coffee.” He laughs and nods, following you through the road and up into a flat—a BNB, if he’s guessing. There’s a tiny landing and then stairs to a wider living area, where you proceed to unwrap the croissant you’d gotten a few minutes earlier. You chuck it into the fridge and produce two bottles of beer in one go.

“Sit,” you gesture to the spot beside you, and he sits himself there. “We can talk. We should.”

You’ve shrugged your cardigan off, and he observes every detail of your exposed skin, the way your hair layers atop it. Right as he opens his mouth to respond, a blond girl enters, rings of mascara caking her eyes and a wine glass twiddled in-between thumbs. She’s talking her head off and only pauses when she spots Charles.

“Hhhh…iiii.”

“Salut.” 

“You’re Charles?” She notices how close the two of you are seated together.

“Yes,” he says. 

“Charles, this is Robyn—my coworker’s friend. And by extension my friend.” You pat her knee and point to Charles to get them properly introduced. “She leeches off the apartment.” 

“You love me,” she retorts, mockingly—but sweetly. “Anyway, sorry to intrude. I was just on the phone with my situationship.” She rolls her eyes. “Does he think I give two shits about goodnight texts? It feels impossible to be romantically satisfied these days.”

Charles grunts. “I hear that,” he says, just to make Robyn feel less excluded. You get up then, to fuck around at the kitchen sink—he suspects you’re not actually doing chores—but you come back with wet hands and you sit yourself across Charles, on the loveseat, instead of next to him. 

“The thing is, right,” she gulps wine, “there’s such a thing with dating now,” Robyn says, not missing a beat, her Geordie accent curving round the syllables with a distinctive twang. She stares at the opaque red liquid in her glass, like that will supplement her with more words. “Like a deal. A big deal. Everyone’s making this huge thing out of it, and it’s like, can’t we be in our twenties and fuck around occasionally?” She laughs, a high-pitched, tapered noise.

You shift from where you’re seated, buried into the material of the seat. It’s quiet and beginning to touch awkward, so you speak in a rough voice: “I dunno, I kind of… get it.”

“Oh do you, now,” she responds, voice saturated with wine. “No, it’s—I was joking. Of course you would, you’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, is all.”

Suddenly you feel all too seen and inclined to touch a fingertip to your cheek, feather light. You blink so you won’t feel tempted to meet Charles’ eyes, because you feel them on you. “It’s—thank you, I mean. It’s nothing to do with that. I just always feel it’s impossible to find someone who loves you. I feel like I’m not very lovable.”

“You? You’re bloody fucking likable!” Robyn’s laugh is so disbelieving you find yourself semi-convinced. “You’re a bit intimidating, yeah, but you’re lovable as fuck, babe.”

You double down anyway, voice thin. “Right. I don’t think I’m very good at being… affectionate.”

“Hah. Bull. You’re affectionate with… with Charles! I’ve heard you talk about him to Jane.”

She turns to Charles before you have the chance to defend yourself. To him she asks: “Is she affectionate with you?”

But it’s basically rhetorical. Everyone speculates, sees the way you two bend the line between friendship and romance, the care with which you treat Charles, the way you two understand each other in ways impossible for anyone else in your orbit. Fuck if it’s not overtly physical. Robyn’s known you three weeks and has never even met Charles until seven minutes ago and already she’s sensed the energy, the difference, even if she hasn’t seen you do so much as embrace.

“It’s—” You say and say too quickly. You wind up slowing your speech so you don’t sound too defiant and lean backwards, willing yourself to relax. “It’s… different with Charles.”

“Different?” She repeats, miming every dip and rise of your voice. “Why?”

“We’re close.” You refuse to meet his eyes. “Be—because we’re good friends. I feel… things are… just. They’re different. That’s all, really.” Barely satisfied with the answer you eked out, you cross your arms over your torso like it’ll help shield you from the interrogation going on. Briefly you let your eyes fall on Charles; he’s reclined, eyes all over the place, blinking in quick flashes.

“But you admit it, at least?” She smiles. “That you’re affectionate, I mean.”

“Only with…” you taper off, unwanting to dig yourself a deeper hole. “Right. Sure, yeah.”

“Well then,” she says, eyebrows raising as she dows the rest of her glass. She sets it down on the low wooden table with a clink. “I’ll get going. Don’t let me keep you two from shagging or whatever.”

“We don’t f—shag,” you interrupt, voice sharp. “And you’re not keeping us at all. Me, at all.”

Us sounds so exclusive, you realize as it leaves your lips. Us. It tastes like sour cherries on your tongue, bleeds all over. Robyn gives you a look. In response, you insist on seeing her out, leaving Charles at the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands toying with the neck of the beer bottle. He can make out faint words but he doesn’t try translating or deciphering them, just listens to your muffled voice peek through every few words. You sound amused, also accused, also endeared—a bit irritated. You end it with a laugh.

You clamber back in after a few minutes and find him at the top of the stairs.

“Sorry,” you wave off, rolling your eyes to fend Robyn’s earlier interrogation efforts of. “She’s very strong-willed.” You climb the stairs, your striped linen shorts folding with every movement of your legs. Finally you make it to the top, on the second-to-the-last stair, staring up at him.

“You know,” he says, watching you ascend to the top finally, but you’re still staring upward. “You should know.”

“Should know what?”

“I missed you.”

You inhale and are grateful to find the air is all him. “I missed you, too.”

“In a different way.”

“Me, too,” you echo again, voice quiet. “I missed you. It feels like I’ve missed you all my life.”

He can hear your still, controlled breathing. “Thank you for seeing me. Even when, you know, it’s… hard. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” you say. “It’s never difficult, not…” With you.

He leans down and captures your mouth in his then, like it’s a thirst he’s always needed quenched. You allow it, kiss him back like you’ve needed this your entire life. His lips are chapped, but you don’t mind—Dublin’s cold. He kisses like he’s smiling, like he’s happy, and you think maybe that’s not far off. He moves downward, to your jaw; lower, along the column of your throat, around your collarbones, cornering you against the wall, letting you lean against it.

Charles’ kisses are light and soft, but also heavy, like he’s trying to waste as little time as possible. You sigh, feeling light, feeling ecstatic. He puts two hands on either side of your face, presses your foreheads together, and shuts his eyes. 

You feel the divots of his fingers on your hip, your waist, places he’s never touched before. “I’m sorry I left,” you breathe into him. “Back in Spain. In Madrid. I wanted to think about it. About what you said. About everything, about you.”

“I’m glad I found you here, then.”

You tiptoe to kiss him again, because now that you’ve had it once you’re terrified you won’t have it again. In-between kisses he picks you up, cages you fully against the wall, and you breathe shaky little exhales. It builds up quicker and harder; you feel his cock at your hip and shiver, eyelashes fluttering. “Upstairs,” you say breathlessly.

He likes knowing you want this, because he’ll give you whatever you want. He’d fuck you for hours. Have you shaking, eking out moans of his name. He’d whisper praise up and down your ear. He wants this just as much, if not more.

“I want you, so much,” you exhale when he lies you both down on your bed. “So much.”

He tugs your shorts off, then your panties. He doesn’t usually lack self-restraint, but he thinks he’s never felt this much temptation in his life. He’s so hard. He brings one hand to his thigh and squeezes his dick through his pants, but it doesn’t provide him with any kind of relief. You’re needy already, whimpering, mind dizzy. He slides a finger up your slit and watches you screw your eyes shut.

Slowly he sinks in, watches you accustom to the stretch. “Wanted this,” you breathe out.

He thrusts in further, feels your warm cunt stretch around him, feels your breaths get hotter and quicker against his lips. But he takes it nice and slow, so he can feel every little ridge inside of you as you take all of him. “You like it?”

You nod, too dumbed down to speak. “Good girl. Pretty, pretty girl.”

He’s wanted this for so long, fucking you deep and slow and desperate. He thrusts harder, watches you unravel and your hot breaths pick up in pace. He reaches down, smears wetness around your clit as your thighs begin to shake. Your pretty, flushed face is enough to send him into overdrive, your eyes rolling back as he goads you into orgasm.

You’re still cumming around him when he takes a shaky breath, pulls you tightly back against him, and lets the pleasure take over. He fucks you full, rides his orgasm out while you ride yours out—buries his dick all the way inside, so each spurt fills your contracting pussy up.

He pulls out and collapses beside you, pressing his lips to your shoulder before lying on his back. “I’ll clean you up in a minute.” It’s quiet for a second, just you two breathing.

Then: “I did, I did think about it,” you say, voice reedy. “I thought about you.”

“Yeah?” He watches you blink at the ceiling, lets you clasp your hands onto his.

“About me, too.” You open your eyes and stare into the green.

“D’you want this?”

“Believe me,” you say, threading your fingers into his tightly. Your hair’s fussed from the sex. “I do. But—”

His heart drops.

“I don’t want to… I want you to not…” You sigh. “You know, I like seeing you. I like being that. I like knowing I make you feel good. And I want you to know you… you make me feel amazing. Like you and I… we understand each other.” You pause. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who understands every inch of me.”

“Ditto,” he says, and you smile.

“I look up to you, you know? I don’t want you to anchor yourself onto me. I want you to realize that on your own. You’re smart. You’re a great driver with a shitty fucking team I hated reporting on last season.” He laughs shakily. “You know I look up to you. You know… you know I love you.”

“I do. I love you.”

“I always have. It wasn’t… it didn’t always make itself clear, but I always have. And I know I always will.” You smile. “We’ll be in different cities, in separate timezones, but if we survived the years of not telling each other how bloody fucking much we liked each other, this is nothing. When we’ve sorted ourselves out, we’ll know the right time to finally call this what it is.”

He’s never thought of himself as a writer, but his notebooks might beg to differ. Many times you’ve told him yourself that he has an affinity for describing things, especially when he lets go of language as a limitation. He wonders what you’d say if you knew the amount of times he’s tried to write about you. Careful letters or typefaces, in an effort to form a coherent picture of you, the way he sees you, the way he loves you. But he’s so scared he tears the pages off before they get too intimate, too personal, crossing the border from having a crush on you to being in love with you.

For once he’s not. He nods. It’s bittersweet, but it’s a segue to a better ending. He moves a hand over your hair and holds you close.

“You could never be unlovable,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead because finally, he can. “I mean it.”

[izuom]

favorite kpop group(s) tag game!

tagged by : @writingmochi thank you for the tag lissie!! (and ofc for always having me included in these!)

sorry i cuss a lot

who is your favourite kpop group?

oh boy.. i hope i’m able to answer this without having to list down more than 10+ groups all at once (i’m being serious) but if having favs that you’re constantly updated to then : bts, txt, le sserafim, enhypen, nct dream, riize & aespa!

which member sparked your interest first?

i’m having the toughest time now but here we go

bts : JUNGKOOK! who else other than our used one of the main rappers (WE LOST TO RAPPER JUNGKOOK BEFORE 2015 AND IM STILL BITTER but out of honesty that sadnesses washed away the moment when he decided to birth outro : love is not over and let’s just say i’ve never been fine since then) bro has been an all-rounder since day one and to that he was the one that made me to discover bts (touché)

txt : yeonjun (duh) i was once a bts popper so the moment we were getting a new boy group under bh i just knew i had to check them out. i mean yeonjun is literally every moa’s first love so it’s almost understandable for him to be the first member for you to be interested to LOL

le sserafim : huh to the yunjin (are we serious? that woman slayed on her first day job) it’s mesmerising to see that source music *blood coughing* decided to give us a closure…………… but miss it girl yunjin, duh she’s a starstruck i know it’s getting out of the phrase but i’ll always be grateful that she becomes an idol. the world (read kpop) wouldn’t be the same without her existence. 

enhypen : SUNGHOON!!!!! ON AN ICE RINK!!!! SKATING!!!!! LIKE ???? IVE NEVER SEEN AN IDOL WHO WERE AN ICE SKATER BEFORE LIKE ??? THATS THE MOST PUREST BEAUTIFUL FORM SOMEONE COULDVE BE???

nct dream : mark! bc he was one of the members that were introduced first as part of the nct u sub-unit. i first watched him performing the 7th sense debut performance on music bank and was surprised to see him in the other remaining sub-unit under sm (but then i figured it out that nct IS a group that consists few sub-unit) (i was confused, still am)

riize : wonbin. any attractive man with long hair never not makes me HOOKED on a first sight. he’s majestic. AS HELL. he plays the guitar very well too?? 

aespa : karina!! also i think this was everyone’s normal occurrences of having karina as the first member that sparked your interest in aespa bc same. i only know her first in aespa like she’s mentioned in every fic or edit or on stan twt like… she’s everywhere it’s crazy. (the power she holds)

who was your first bias?

INTERESTING

bts : hoseok. man do we need to replay my first love? HE WAS THE MAN OF MY LIFE.

txt : soobin,, ARE WE SURPRISE AGAIN 

le sserafim : chaewon! i think the answer is there.

enhypen : sunghoon (forever will) 

nct dream : jisung. bro when i say that i used to have a serious crush on him? 2018 zu was a jisung’s whipped era.

riize : sungchan! 90s love was a life experience. (man decided to just make a cameo and slay as fuck) i know we are suppose to talk about sungchan in riize but he’s my first bias in riize ONLY because i knew him first alongside with shotaro (sungtaro slay) 

aespa : KIM MINJEONG. YOU CANNOT TALK TO ME ON HER. SHE WAS MY FIRST LOVE??? 

who is your current bias?

basically just the same except for bts & nct dream :D

bts : yoongi (i am a joke)

txt : soobin (salute for being this loyal)

le sserafim : chaewon

enhypen : sunghoon

nct dream : renjun (....... surprise surprise)

riize : sungchan (eventho i highly think this won’t last long….fuck)

aespa : ningning

what makes them your current bias?

bts : I KNOW CRAZY. i’ve been there for hobi since 2014 esp around those times when no one was there to appreciate him truly as one of the members (DARK TIMES FOR ME, we do not talk about that) but then 2017 yoongi came in. it’s just something about yoongi himself that soothes my soul in peace. the way he thought of things in his own perspective without disrespecting anybody and the way he’s just a full walking comfort a person could be for anyone, for me particularly. his godly, incredible amount of times he’d shown off his talent in rap, producing and things he’d done. i can talk about yoongi that people wouldn't be able to understand bc he’s so ?? what a person is supposed to be. is there anything to prove why i decided to change a bias? 

txt : when soobin was introduced as the second member of txt (gurl) when i told you that soobin introduction film was… a first love at sight moment, it was true. soobin has been the love of my fucking life since then. actually no there’s so many things that i love about soobin. so many things, it’s unexplainable. i can confidently say that his voice caught me off-guard on a first listen. i know it’s dramatic as hell (ANYTHING I SAY ABOUT MY BIASES ARE SO QUESTIONABLE BUT I AM BEING SERIOUS) he has the rarest vocal on his falsetto? he’s doing it effortlessly too? if that’s not enough to actually prove my point of him being my bias then idk what is. man is majestic as hell too. (BONUS POINT!)

le sserafim : AAAAHHHHHHHHHHH god chaewon… honestly, i wasn’t a wiz*one bc produce 48 was shitty as hell. (I WATCHED EVERY MNET SURVIVAL SHOW EXCEPT FOR THIS) neither do i like the final debut lineup for iz*one. i just couldn’t pinpoint what was missing but that’s not the point of that rn. well. for me, i think the majority of people would have agreed with me about this but chaewon is better off with le sserafim. (AUDIENCE GASP) i COULD NEVER say that she caught my attention even the tiniest bit when she was in iz*one, but she did ON A FIRST SIGHT OF HER DEBUT IN LE SSERAFIM. the way that she kept on improving and i didn’t even know that she can dance so well???? (this woman is literally everyone’s type and it’s FUCKING understandable) i watched their documentary too and i love her even much more than i should’ve? i think having chaewon as my bias, it’s emotional. i am emotionally attached to her and i don’t want to seek therapy. 

enhypen : *internally crying, hysterically screaming* are we ready to hear the part of me losing almost entirely of my sanity? i was away from home for the first time for my college, and never really bothered to get updated with my kpop life. those days were.. hectic (as everyone did) but long short story i was on tiktok, at my room, at home since for so long, AFTER my hectic first sem and i just so happened to stumble upon a sunghoon edit on an ice rink, skating WITH THE TIMOTHEE TREND SONG (2020 WAS 4 YEARS AGO TOO?? GOD) AND IM LIKE ??? WHO IS THIS? I NEED TO KNOW WHO IS HE. yk i haven’t watched iland yet at that time (and probably shouldn’t so that i wouldn’t have to endure the trauma that show gave me), and only decided to watch it bc of him. I JUST LOVE LOVE skater park sunghoon a lot more than myself (that should be considered as normal btw) and i never regretted checking out on iland bc if i don’t i wouldn’t have known just how unique his talent is? you can ACTUALLY tell he has the most unique way of dancing, as if he’s dancing with every bit of his skating method and combining it to his dancing style and it’s just ?? beautiful… god park sunghoon i love him a lot.

nct dream : crying as i type this, i love renjun a lot. man is so demonically pure. i haven’t been on nct shit for SO LONG until last year (only applicable for nct dream) and i am attached as shit as they wanted me to be. i think re-stanning nct dream (i will say this forever if i’ve to prove how much they mean to me) was the peak of the third quarter of my life last year. but as for renjun, he’s just so easy to love? for me, his own persona to things as a person always never makes me so deeply attached. (like the fucking loser i am) renjun have a lot of things you can say a lot of things to, like his vocals? (ik you can confidently say that sm has the most vocals out of that shitty company) but i LOVE to listen to his voice. he’s singing with his emotions and my soul thaws in silence every time. HES ALSO SO ROMANTIC LIKE??? MAN CASUALLY JUST ASKED HIS TEAMMATES TO HAVE A MATCHING FRIENDSHIP RINGS LIKE? 

riize : as for sungchan, i think i'm still learning about him. I know i’ve seen him a few times (more than 10 times on screen as for the appearance of the inkigayo and being part of nct) but i still have a lot of things to learn before i can list things down. (gurl you’re in love with another member)

aespa : i love everything about ning yizhuo. i honestly have no idea how i changed my bias but i could never say no to people who can sing well. her vocals?? i can listen to her singing on a daily basis. shes a stunner, a mother=my type. well, her whole existence stands out the most when i first discovered aespa. i just love ningning, she’s so loveable, i love her except for she idolized that one problematic rat. 

who is your bias wrecker

bts : i love them all equally. (jungkook)

txt : taehyun. stfu 

le sserafim : kazuha!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i love my woman a ballerina 

enhypen : jungwon. 

nct dream : zhong chenle (hes so attractive???????????)

riize : eunseok 

aespa : minjeong……………………

which member are you currently obsessing that aren’t your bias/bias wrecker

bts : i’ll skip them (they be on military, i’ve no one to be obsessed to recently)

txt : beomgyu. (DAEGU MEN STAY AWAY FROM ME)

le sserafim : YUNJIN. she needs to stop 

enhypen : heeseung. i think i’ve problems with the 01 liner. 

nct dream : none i guess. (i'm still obsess with renjun)

riize : ….. sohee. i think out of the groups, sohee has the most valid reasons and i'm fully to blame for this. i watched the lee hyori’s red carpet to their sampled track of love 119 (THEIR BEST SONG YET WHAT THE FUCK) which is none other than the infamous emergency room ost AND WHEN I TELL YOU IVE BEEN OBSESSED SINCE. and that obsession didn’t stop there, i decided to check more to his vocals compilation and i stumbled upon his predebut covers… WORSE: his sofa cover has been playing on my mind all day since i first heard of it, it’s unhealthy. i’m gonna k word myself 

aespa : none too. 

when did you first discover the group?

bts : 2014. boy in luv was a superior era. 

txt : 2019…. that guessing the morse code at the end of introduction films of every member's era? good old days

le sserafim : on their debut

enhypen : end month of september 2020! (funfact : enhypen was formed on my birthday) 

nct dream : on their debut (them hoverboard era)

riize : on their debut days

aespa : early year 2022 (embarassing as fuck)

have you ever been to one of their concerts?

bts : gurl, no. they did a tour for the red bullet on june 2015? THAT ONE TIME ONLY. what did you expect from me? to go? i was 13. 

txt : they don’t even know my country exists? so no. 

le sserafim : no. (hybe better put malaysia when they do tour one day or else im burning down the whole building as it should’ve)

enhypen : no. (they skipped us.) 

nct dream : they did a tour last year in may…… but miss girl decided to only stan them back in june and was obsessed and mentally ill for not attending. (ONLY BC I AM NOT A FAN) i was late to the party, im sorry and now they be skipping us. 

riize : no. 

aespa : ???????? NO

what are some of your favourite songs by this group? 

i’ll list 10 songs!

bts : butterfly / dimple / coffee / love is not over (full length version) / epilogue : young forever / pied piper / outro : do you think it makes sense? / the truth untold ft steve aoki / spring day / hold me tight 

txt : 20cm / dear sputnik / 0X1=lovesong (i know i love you) ft seori / maze in the mirror / ghosting / skipping stones / fairy of shampoo / blue orangeade / farewell, neverland / eternally 

le sserafim : impurities / easy / perfect night / no celestial / antifragile / smart / blue flame / swan song / good parts (when the quality is bad but i am) / sour grapes

enhypen : just a little bit / criminal love / mixed up / chaconne / not for sale / blockbuster ft yeonjun of tomorrow x together / shout out / blind / given-taken / bills

nct dream : dive into you / teddy bear / 7 days / boom / my youth / better than gold / dunk shot / arcade / poison / love again

riize : …. i’ll list from most to least fav (I LOVE ALL OF THEIR SONGS) love 119 / talk saxy / get a guitar / memories  

aespa : lucid dream / dreams come true / drama / thirsty / next level / life’s too short / don’t blink / i’m unhappy / illusion / better things 

tagging : @my313 (no pressure bestie!) / anyone who want

[boba-beom]

"get to know me" week 1/4 (1/8 - march 9th edition)

what mythical creature(s) do you think/believe is real? or what extinct species do you believe still exist?

i, for one, believe in genies (who live in a different realm similar to us) and dragons (more like an extinct species of reptiles' ancestors cause i started to believe that dinosaurs are more avian from the t-rex to chicken similarities)

whilst for extinct species, i still believe that the megalodon is real tbh or like other humongous sea creatures cause the deep sea is not as well explored as outer space...

lissie!! sorry I didn't get to answer it last weekend but I have this scheduled for weekend of the 16th and 17th!

ᡣ𐭩 get to know me ᡣ𐭩

for some reason in the back of my mind, I have this thought that fairies are real— and in the filipino culture we have these 'mythical creatures' called 'dwende' which is kind of like an elf/goblin. I connect both elves and fairies together — lmao I sound crazy

omg for sure there’s a possibility that the megalodon could still exist. who knows what’s in the ocean…

I think there is a dodo bird out there still, perhaps one or two. I just can’t believe that kiwi birds are a thing! :0 small flightless birds with tiny tiny wings 🥺

[vettelsdarling]

Hey Lissie! Another Hamilton 5+1 for you because I love the format, hehe. Straight to the point, here it is:

5 times Y/N woke up without Lewis and one time they woke up together.

I can definitely see a potential for angst and a bit of misunderstanding or yearning?! Lewis can either be a f1 driver or have it as an AU with another job! The prompt needs a good reason of “why” for the absence and I am more than certain your mind will come up with a brilliant answer. I am thrilled and again, have fun!

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Lissie note… I love this prompt so much ugh!!! I changed it a slight bit to falling asleep rather than waking up (just for dramatic effect). Thank you for the prompt, love<3

Things to note

Reader is a paralegal

Lewis is frequently gone for races

They’ve been dating for 4~5 years and live together

There is a tiny age gap but it isn’t that bad

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x gf!reader

Warnings: Slight angst???

Word Count: 5.3k+

Playlist recommendations: 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒, 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭💔, 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟💗

Taglist: @allwaysalleyway, @drugged-kitkat, @darleneslane, @littlesatanicassholebitch

His arms were warm. They were comforting to lie in and snuggle into. He trailed his fingers gently through your hair, as you slowly dozed off.

That was a dream.

The cruel reality of the real world, in the form of an obnoxious iPhone alarm, woke you up. It was already 6 AM, and your routine consisted of a hefty amount of self-care. This meant that you had about 10 minutes for a shower, 50 for hair care, and 30 for skin and makeup. Breakfast was out of the question. So much for self-care.

Before you left, you made sure to feed Roscoe and give him his well-deserved cuddles. Things had been hard ever since Coco passed, but Roscoe was still a happy spirit.

You went to the garage, noticing your boyfriend’s all too famous purple Mercedes. Your heart stung for a second, but you brushed it off. It was important to support his endeavours, instead of sulking about him.

You decided to go with your vintage beetle. Driving around in it was what kept you grounded. You’d gotten it for your 18th birthday from your parents. Not from your lover.

The fact that you didn’t quit your 9-5 paralegal job was also rationalizing, you didn’t stay home and leech off of your rich man. He was more than just a wallet. He was your partner. Besides, the media had already started to suspect that he wasn’t single anymore. Though he hadn’t been for years. The two of you had met coincidentally over a cup of tea with your boss. Lewis was his client and you were the first to oversee the situation before handing him off. That was about 6 years ago. For four, the two of you had been together. You had only given him your number regarding his case, but he’d taken the opportunity to ask you out.

Now, the two of you lived together in a mansion overseeing a large forest. It was quite far from your workplace, but you didn’t really mind. Having to wake up early was a small price to pay for the tranquillity of the surroundings. Although it would’ve been more tranquil, had you had more time with your lover.

Alas, there was nothing you could do about it.

1 |  Shades Of Cool

You sat there on your dreary chair in your dreary office. The white walls hypnotized you into thinking time was going much slower than it actually was. You stared away at it for a while, before someone knocked on your door.

“Hey, can you please do these briefs? I need to clock out for a dentist’s appointment in a few minutes. I promise I’ll owe you.” You accepted the pile and started going at it. Work usually made you forget the empty feeling of not seeing him often. Sometimes you even thought of staying all night. However, for Roscoe’s sake, you never stayed past dinner time. He couldn’t be alone for too long. It wasn’t fair to the poor boy.

It took hours and hours to get through the pile. You clocked out well past midnight and stopped by a pub to pick up some food before driving home. You knew a huge “sorry” was in order for your dog. He hadn’t seen you for several hours, definitely missing you.

You had 12 missed calls from him. Even though he was on an entirely different continent, he somehow found the time to call you. 12 times no less. You decided to call him back after finishing your dinner and making yourself comfortable next to Roscoe on your sofa.

“Hello, love.” You heard from the other end of the line, as he turned his camera on. There he was. His exhausted, but beautiful face. His hair wasn’t tied up. It was relaxed and so was he.

“Hey, Lewis,” you said and turned on your camera, showing yourself next to his beloved dog,

“Roscoe’s here too.” He let out a huff, which stirred a chuckle out of your boyfriend.

“How’s work? How are you doing?” He asked, knowing that you dreaded most of your coworkers if not all. Additionally, he knew that every day was the same at the office. You handled briefs and got files in piles by your superiors. It sucked.

“It’s okay… same old same old. How’s Spain?” You were so used to staying in the UK, you’d forgotten what it was like to travel. As a paralegal, you didn’t have the luxury to do so that often.

“It’s great. Did you see the videos I sent you? This car is incredible, darling.” You hadn’t seen them for one very specific reason; your heart would clench. It would simply give out at the sight of your boyfriend. Missing him was always a big problem, but with races being back-to-back… it hurt that much more.

“I haven’t had the chance to yet, no, but I’ll check them out later.” The hesitation in your voice must’ve been apparent, as he decided to ask into it,

“Something wrong?” You didn’t want to worry him, so you told a little white lie. You were simply just tired. That was it. That was all. Knowing him, he’d worry too much to focus on driving, which was the exact opposite of what you wanted for him. Besides, it’d be selfish of you to make his work all about yourself. Gosh, you really couldn’t stand your obsessive thoughts.

“Well, I promised Valterri I’d meet him at the gym. Sleep well, darling.” You blew him a kiss goodbye before shutting off the feed and turning over. Roscoe huffed and curled up beside you. It was dead silent except for the few wind rustles you heard from the open window next to the TV. It didn’t feel tranquil. No, you were lamenting the thought of being alone for so long. You hated it. It wasn’t an issue during the day. You had chores and you had work to do, but in the evenings when everything always gets quieter— your mind gets louder.

Roscoe was sleeping soundly next to you. Your hand stroked him gently whilst you scrolled through your Instagram feed. Naturally, you ended up on Lewis’ page. He was highly selective of who he was following. You, however, were amongst the few that he did. A smile spread across your face like room-temperature butter would be spread on a piece of bread. You didn’t appear much on his feed, as you liked being private. Though the posts you did appear in, all had captions with romantic undertones. You really were in love with that man.

I can’t break through your world, ‘cause you live in shades of cool…

2 | Sad Girl

The sun had already come to greet you. It was an early Saturday morning, which would’ve been peaceful— had you not forgotten about the LSATs. You woke up on the sofa that you’d passed out on the night before. Dried drool decorated the corner of your lip. What time was it? You checked your phone, only to realize that your battery was low and the test was in an hour. The sudden sound of your phone ringing sent you scrambling to answer it.

“Hey, are you on your way? I studied all night… Hopefully, we can do this.” Your friend, who usually sat in the cubicle opposite you, whined. She wasn’t a strong test taker, based on the fact that it was her 5th time taking the LSATs. 7 and she’d be all done. No more chances. In comparison to her, you were going in for the first time. You’d studied, but you had no idea how the whole thing would turn out. The tests only got harder and harder every year.

“I am, I am. The traffic is just insane at the moment. I’ll see you there.” You hung up and swiftly ran around the house to get ready. Roscoe was reasonably confused at the rush you were in. You kissed his wrinkly forehead before shutting the door behind you.

For nostalgic reasons, you decided to take Lewis’ purple Mercedes. It was the only one of its kind, so it’d make sense if some people recognized it. You didn’t care. It felt like Lewis was still with you, even if he was in an entirely different country. Speak of the devil, your phone buzzed. One message from him… “Good luck with the LSATs, darling”. Your heart clenched. You missed him so.

Traffic turned out to be light and breezy. Luckily, you made it in time for the test. Being a paralegal had its benefits, but it was and would always be a step below the real deal. You weren’t a real lawyer until you took the LSATs. Then, there was the deal with the bar exam as well. That was another story.

“Did you do good? I croaked. I’m toast. I’ll have to take it again…” said your defeated friend and munched down on her lunch that she brought.

“I don’t know. Maybe? I don’t really care at this point…” Of course, you did, but your mind was too occupied by the absence of your lover to hold an actual conversation. He expected you to tune in on his races whenever you had time to do so, but the fact of the matter was— you never could. It made your heart ache with longing. A painful longing for him to come back home. Especially on weeks when the race weekends were happening back-to-back. 

“I guess you don’t need to worry. You’ve got your boyfriend’s money to take care of you.” Although you barely listen to all of her blabbering about the test, that particular thing got through to you.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah. You’re literally dating a celebrity. You’re set,” she chuckled.

“Do you actually think you’re being funny right now?” She likely didn’t mean any harm, but with your pent-up agony and rage, it was hard not to let loose on her.

“Calm down, I was only kidding…” You’d made a scene. You were uncomfortable, things were awkward, and the only place your mind wandered to was Lewis.

“You know what, I’m sorry. I’m just really tired after the test. How about we catch up soon? I need to head home.” Your heart was pounding rapidly in your chest as you put the keys in the ignition. It almost felt as if you were an irrational teenager again. His absence did a number on you. It wasn’t always like that though. Throughout the previous season, he would always do whatever he could to see you in person. Whether it was bringing you with him, or flying back home. As the following season started, the two of you realized how unethical and harmful the solutions were to the environment. Coupled with the fact that you were trying to become a lawyer, there was no way to see him. No way to be held by him. No way to fall asleep in his arms.

That night, you stared into the ceiling for what felt like hours. The spot next to you was empty. Completely untouched. The sound of the gentle wind rustling the trees outside helped your brain work its wild imagination. Vivid pictures of Lewis played over and over and you couldn’t help but feel as though the two of you weren’t meant to be. You had conflicting schedules and you couldn’t just take a weekend off every week to go with him to his races. He couldn’t stay for your sake either. He had a job to do. A job that millions of people depended on for their entertainment. Were you an obstacle? All these thoughts drove into your heart like a stake. You wept. It was inevitable. You’d tried to not do so because you knew he wouldn’t want that… but it was hard. Too hard. Your vision was blurry and the sounds of the nature surrounding you were dimming slowly. You were falling asleep.

You haven’t seen my man…

3 | Off To The Races

Sunday morning was brutal. You woke up with a pounding headache due to having cried yourself to sleep. The sun made your situation much worse, blinding you as you tried to get out of bed. Upon checking your phone, you saw a slew of unread messages from your beau. All of them were minutes apart, making it clear that he’d been trying to reach you throughout the evening.

21:30- Hey, you’re not answering your phone, so I just wanted to text you instead. How are you?

21:55- Are you there? You’re usually not asleep at this hour…

22:45- I suppose you may be busy or asleep. In that case, sleep well baby❤️

22:46- Call me whenever you wake up

“Fuck,” you sighed and went to the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror seemed unfamiliar. You didn’t look like yourself at all. No, that wasn’t you. The face looking back at you had swollen eyes and redness coating the corners. Its mascara had been running and dried, giving the face a crustier look. It felt as if you were some little kid who couldn’t stand to be alone for the day, whilst their mother went out to buy groceries. It was embarrassing.

After feeding yourself and Roscoe, cleaning yourself up, and doing chores around the house— you decided that you’d turn on the TV to watch your boyfriend. You were too late for lights out, as they were on their 10th already. It didn’t matter though, for Lewis was in the lead. He had mentioned how good his car was, but you didn’t imagine a 20-second gap. It was pure insanity. 

Finishing on top, he ran to embrace the team with a smile. The cameraman followed his every move, and as he did so; Lewis came up to him and stared directly into the lens.

“I love you,” he said. Your heart keeled over and you felt your tear ducts get to work again. It was impossible to watch the rest of the celebration. You shut it off and went to calm yourself down. Breathing heavily in front of the bathroom mirror made you feel like a fool. Love made you weak, but it was a good kind of weak whenever your darling was around.

After a hearty nap, you woke up to your phone buzzing itself off your nightstand.

“Hello?” Your voice was jagged and rough from just having woken up.

“Are you okay? You’re not sick, are you?” His voice was breathy and exhausted. Physically, he was obviously worse off than you.

“Hey, no-yeah, I’m okay. I saw you out there today. You did so great, Lew.” His nickname was one that he adored. The way it rolled off your tongue made his heart flutter with joy.

“I’m glad you saw it. Did you… see the celebration?” He was obviously referring to the message he left for the camera. Your heart pumped faster and faster with adrenaline.

“I-uh… I did…”

“So?”

“I love you too. You know I do.” So much so that it hurt that he wasn’t next to you with his arm around your neck. You wanted to lean against his shoulder as he read you stories that his mother used to read to him. Fuck, it hurt.

“When are you coming back?”

“We still have a few things to do here. Thursday? I’ll be home for two weekends after that.” It was better than nothing, though hearing him say it felt like a long time. 

“I understand… I just hope you maybe miss me as much as I miss you?” Yeah, you stooped to that level. Your desperation was starting to reveal itself. Layer by layer.

“Are you insane? Not a second goes by without my thoughts being consumed by you. All I’ve ever thought of this weekend has been you. Staying safe for you, training hard for you, winning… for you.” For a moment, he almost sounded frustrated. But it was just a mask for how deeply he felt for you. The two of you sat in the same boat, rocking through the crashing tides of longing together. Each move was careful to not let the other drown.

“Are you crying?” He asked, careful not to step on any thorns.

“No…” you replied with a slight sniffle, signalling that you obviously were.

“It’s okay, I’m right here. I’ll be back home before you know it.” You wanted to hug him. You needed it so badly.

I’m your little scarlet, starlet, singin’ in the garden. Kiss me on my open mouth…

4 | Video Games

It was Monday, which meant that you could be distracted by your otherwise unforgiving job. Being a paralegal, your duties often consisted of briefs upon briefs which took up most of your 8 hours. You were crammed into a small cubicle with little to no space for any of your personal possessions. You’d hung a few pictures of Lewis and yourself and that was about it.

You stared into the dull computer screen, feeling the existential dread looming over you for every number you typed in. Your eyes were basically goo and the bags dragging them down were more apparent than ever. It would’ve been a pitiful sight for your coworkers if you weren’t surrounded by walls. 

“Hey you, wanna grab lunch together? Same place as always. It’s on me this time… since I owe you.” Even an invite to free food wasn’t enough to fully pull you out of your trance. You slowly forced your sluggish head to turn and meet your friend’s. The look of horror etched onto her face was enough to let you know you needed to get outside. 

“Sure… I guess.” You dragged your feet along the floor as you followed her to the elevator and outside.

“Is it Lewis again or shitty briefs?” She put in her sunglasses and led the way, locking her arm with yours to not look like she was dragging you against your will.

“Honestly? Both. I don’t get why I keep missing him this much, and I don’t get why some briefs suck that bad.” Lewis was one thing and briefs were more of a frustration. Nothing to cry over, really. You generally enjoyed what you did, so there was rarely anything to complain about. The job was cushy and allowed a lot of free time after hours. Team building exercises were scarce, but not to the point where conflicts arose every day. It was fine.

“We’ll have our usuals,” she said to the waitress.

“Look, you can’t control every aspect of your life. It’s meant to be unpredictable. Briefs suck sometimes, you’re going to feel bad about your boyfriend being gone— c’est la vie.” You knew she pulled that straight out of a podcast. At least the general gist of it.

“Whatever. I guess you’re right, that’s life.” You were just about to jump into a different topic when you heard Lewis’ ringtone from your purse.

“Sorry, I have to take this. I’ll be right back.” You scurried off to the restroom to take the call.

“Lewis? Why are you calling?” A bit harsh with his lack of context.

“Am I not allowed to call my girlfriend who, by the way, is very missed?” Just hearing his voice brought back the life that all those briefs drained you of.

“Of course you are… I’m just out for lunch right now.” You felt like a schoolgirl sneaking off to the bathroom to call your beau.

“Sorry, I forgot you usually do that. I was just checking in to say hi before I go in for a meeting.” His voice was so happy-go-lucky, it made you wonder if he missed you as much as you did him.

“… when are you coming back?” You heard a sigh on the other end,

“They’re keeping me here until Wednesday. I’m really sorry, babe.”  Of course. It was as if they didn’t want him to go home. Whilst you supported his job and did whatever you could do to show it— you wanted nothing more than for him to stop everything and be with you.

“It’s okay, we can wait. You should focus on your stuff, okay? Good luck with the meeting, Lew.” Luckily, he wasn’t able to see your face. It didn’t match your uppity voice.

“Thanks. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

You left the bathroom and went back to the table where your friend had begun eating. You followed suit and got back to the office after you finished.

After hours, you stopped by a deli to grab a sandwich to eat for dinner. Roscoe greeted you at the door with a huff and followed you to the dining room. The entire house felt empty without your other part to fill it with joy.

That night was another filled with tears and running mascara.

Pull up in your fast car. Whistling my name…

5 | Go Go Dancer

Your depressive slump had faded after the realization that you only had to survive one more night without him. You decided to call in sick and cash in on a few hours for yourself. It was going to be a personal day. You needed to pamper yourself. 

Your eyes were still bloodshot from all the crying, but your soul was cleansed of any negativity. Your favorite playlist was on and you began your day of treating yourself like royalty. All of your skincare was out on your vanity and Roscoe sat in the bed behind you. A warm bath was the first thing you did. Whilst flicking on a rom-com, you sat and soaked in the lavender-infused water. Thereafter, you retreated back to your bedroom. Your hair was up in rollers and your bathrobe clung tightly to your damp body.

Today was a day with no briefs, no worries, no salty bosses or annoying clients. You had all the time in the world for yourself. You ordered brunch and whilst you were waiting for it to arrive, you finished your skincare and makeup. After finding something to wear, you picked up the food from the awestruck delivery guy. He complimented your garden and your house. If there was one thing you enjoyed, it was gardening with Lewis. The two of you had worked tirelessly to make the front yard look perfect.

You ate quickly, drying your hair and styling it afterwards. Roscoe was fed and you were already through most of the day. 

You pulled out your nail kit from your stash of beauty products and laid out a protective layer on your bed. The playlist kept shuffling through some of your favourites. A gorgeous purple colour appeared before you under the tons of polishes you had. It was perfect and you knew Lewis would love it too. Not that you did it for him. You brushed layer after layer until you were satisfied with the result. It was glossy and simple. Just purple. Sophisticated, but not boring. The process was repeated on your toes as well.

After that, you decided it was time for some movies and popcorn. Lewis never really enjoyed things like popcorn, only ever allowing himself some dark chocolate with his espresso out on the veranda. So, you had to go out to get some. Since you lived quite remotely, you had to drive for a bit before the nearest store appeared. It was worth it though because you spent most of that night with comfortable blankets, popcorn, and bad rom-coms.

Roscoe was beside you all throughout the night, keeping you company with his huffs here and there. Pure tranquillity was what it was, and you couldn’t wait to do the same with Lewis the next evening.

The current movie had to be paused though, as you heard your phone ringing. It was your coworker.

“Hey? What’s up?” You asked, trying to sound hoarse.

“I just wanted to know if you were okay. Heard you were sick.” It sounded like she wasn’t fully sober and on public transport as well.

“Are you drunk?”

“No- yes- you tell me. We just went out for a drink after work today.” She was very clearly slurring her words beyond sensibility.

“We have work tomorrow, why would you ever do that?” Nobody had the guts to do something like that when your job consisted of aiding clients in stressful financial or legal situations.

“We don’t, actually. All of us were just fired on the spot today. He fired us all,” she chuckled and let out a hiccup.

“What?! What’s that supposed to mean?” Your heart sank. Your job… it was just gone.

“Yeah… I don’t know. I think he was in debt or something. Couldn’t keep it going so he decided to sink us all down with him.” You always pictured the CEO as someone with gravitas and money, but apparently, it was all a front.

“What do we do? Can’t we report it to HR somehow? Sue him for wrongful termination?” Admittedly, as calm and collected you usually kept yourself with work-related issues— you were panicking.

“There’s nothing we can do at this point. The entire company has gone to shit. Wouldn’t want to go back there if I was given a raise.” It sounded like she got off the bus, as you heard the doors open.

“You’re lucky you have Lewis. He can take care of you, right?” There was that dreaded guilt of leeching off of your boyfriend. It was a fear that kept gnawing at your ankles, eventually making it to your throat, knowing you had just lost your job.

“I… I don’t know what to say right now. I’ll call you later when I’ve thought about all of this. See you.” There was nothing more to say. It stung that you were in a position where Lewis had to take you under his wing. It felt wrong. It felt criminal.

You really couldn’t catch a break no matter how hard you tried. Something always prevented you from enjoying life as it came.

… and that night you didn’t sleep at all. You stayed up all night contemplating what to do, whether to sue, whether to leave Lewis and tell him to live a good life?! You were going insane. Embarrassment consumed every fibre of your being. The thought that you would depend on him for your survival…

I'm the girl next door, let me come in. I know I go-go dance but I do it for kicks. I never have to work ‘cause my daddy is rich…

+1 | Once Upon a Dream

You’d fallen asleep in the late afternoon after working on a lawsuit against your former boss. It didn’t matter if you’d get it thrown out of court. You just wanted to fight as much as you could. Your great lawyer friend agreed to help you out, representing both himself and you in the case.

Lewis tried to call you several times with no answer. He wasn’t one to worry about you, since he trusted you and knew you wouldn’t do anything stupid. He disregarded it and tried to enjoy his flight home. He was exhausted and just wanted to come home to his little family.

You usually called him before he’d take off, assuring him that you’d be waiting for him at the airport. However, this time was different. You didn’t call and you didn’t answer. His options were limited, forcing him to take public transport. He didn’t want to call a taxi, as they’d be able to note his address and could potentially put you in danger.

People took pictures and some asked him for signs. He didn’t mind it, though he was falling in and out of sleep. When he got off his stop, he decided to walk the rest of the way. The weather was fair and didn’t look like it would change for a while.

On his way, he stopped by a florist to buy you a bouquet of your favourite flowers. He knew you loved having them on the dining table to show any guests.

He wasn’t far away and could see the garden of your house from afar. Meanwhile, you were still buried under your blankets with the lawsuit on your laptop on the coffee table in front of you.

The sound of the front door clicking and closing could be heard, but you were too far gone in your sleep to notice. He called out your name with no response. You weren’t in the bedroom. You weren’t in the kitchen. No, there you were. Your face was buried in the arm on the sofa and the TV was still playing a movie he remembered watching with you some time ago. He saw your laptop, reading some of the contents that were visible on the screen. It didn’t quite make too much sense, but he didn’t want to pry in case it was private.

“Hey… I’m home.” He shook you gently and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Being something of a light sleeper, it woke you up almost instantly.

“Lewis?” Your eyes fluttered open, as you had to adjust to the light. You saw the face of your lover and embraced him in an instant,

“Oh, I missed you!”

“I missed you too, darling.” He stroked the back of your head as it rested on his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t come get you, I was caught up with work and I fell asleep.” It wasn’t a lie per se. It worked… sort of.

“It’s fine. It’s completely fine. You seem distressed, are you alright?” There was nothing you could hide from him. One way or another he’d find out anyway.

“I lost my job. We were all fired.” He was almost as shocked as you were the night before,

“Are you serious? Why?”

“My best guess? The company was sinking.” You sighed and picked up your laptop. The document already contained 3 sections and 15 pages. You were, however, far from done.

“My friend and I are trying to sue. I’m not sure if it’ll hold up in court though.” Your face looked droopy and sad, something Lewis hated.

“You know what? It’s going to be okay. I know it seems rough, and it is. But look on the bright side. We can find you a better job. Better pay, better equity. Plus, for the time being— you could come along to my races. We wouldn’t need to be separated all the time.” He was right. Your job was cushy, but it had its faults regarding exactly the issues he pointed out. The feeling of missing him constantly didn’t bode well with you either. It was a win-win, really. You weren’t actually depending on him, because it didn’t hurt to ask for help every now and then. Especially when the two of you were so in love.

“Yeah… that’d be nice, actually. I do need to file this lawsuit though. I need it.” Lewis nodded in agreement and smiled,

“Of course, love. You do what you need to do. I’ll be here to help.” You closed the laptop and smiled back at him,

“I think we should cook some dinner. What do you have in mind?”

“Anything. It tastes amazing as long as you make it anyway.” The flattery never stopped. As cheesy as it was— you loved the sentiment.

“Right. I’ll see if we have some rotten eggs and spoiled milk in the fridge,” you joked and he chuckled,

“I love you, darling.”

“I love you too, Lew.”

That night, you fell asleep with his arms wrapped around you and your head on his chest. You could hear how his heartbeat synced with yours. This was complete tranquillity, and you couldn’t believe that this would be your reality for a long time now.

I know what you’ll do. You’ll love me at once. The way you did once upon a dream…

𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻…

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩! (𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙣, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨, 𝙙𝙢𝙨, 𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙨: 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧(𝙨) 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚(𝙨) 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣.) (Please note that just liking the taglist will not put you on it!)

[hertwood]

logan is in a relationship?

its funny bc actually yesterday i made a post abt this speculation abt him dating this girl being talked abt a lot on tiktok, and then deleted it bc i didnt like the wording so now i guess i'll rehash it here?

its very interesting bc i NEVER saw this speculation cross over onto tumblr (until now, with the picture of her w/ logan at the football game, which is not really speculation just an objectively true thing that happened)

anyway before this there were ppl on tiktok were insisting theyre 100% dating, which annoyed me bc at the time it was Very Very weak evidence, and while we STILL do not know for sure, but the picture of them together at the hockey game at least forces to me entertain the possibility.

the evidence before today was mostly just her being in bali the same time logan was in bali and being at a few car events, which i would say, is circumstantial. idk i really dislike this modern sleuthing phenomenon to figure out if people are dating instead of um. just waiting for them to be openly public about it. it just feels like an invasion of privacy. (i felt this way abt marcus and lissie before they went public too)

ANYWAY i have just used this ask as a soapbox to complain about an internet phenomenon i dislike that is loosely related to your question. the answer is maybe? she was with him at this hockey game, and then there's a variety of circumstantial evidence on social media linking them together which you can interpret however you like. right now im in this 'im gonna start warming up to the idea of it NOW, and if it all turns out to be untrue, no harm done' mode. because i do personally find the picture of them at the hockey game together as rather compelling evidence towards them dating. but i do acknowledge it's not definitive proof either

so that's the sitch!! if any other logan scholars want to weigh in with more info feel free!!