#and i only really talk to one of them and they work a lot so yay

[drdemonprince]

any advice for coping with being on the receiving end of a public callout ?

Oh yes:

Do not acknowledge the callout publicly. It will only further its spread, lend it legitimacy, cause you to be interpreted as guilty, and convey to anyone who bears you ill will that you are rattled and feeling socially threatened.

Do not act out of urgency. One of the ways that cancelled people get themselves in far worse trouble is by spiraling due to anxiety and rushing to issue a statement about what has happened, or to attempt to socially manage public impressions about what has happened. Do not do this. Anything that you say will be picked apart and used against you. The situation is truly not as urgent as it might feel. A lot of times, doing nothing and being quiet is the best way to proceed, and the dust will settle better if you do.

Do not issue a public apology. If you truly feel that you have wronged someone, that conflict should be worked out in private with the people you have directly affected. You do not owe the anonymous public audience a damn thing. Do not apologize for something you don't honestly believe that you have done wrong. Take time and really think about what happened, and seek the counsel of people whom you trust in PRIVATE.

Do not attempt to disprove the callout unless you have crystal clear, smoking gun evidence that the person who accused you is actually victimizing you. And even then, probably don't do it. I have only seen a disproof of a callout work ONCE, and that was when Juniper Abernathy revealed the person cancelling her had been abusing her. Even if the facts are on your side, acknowledging the accusations will only make more people aware of them, give your detractors ground to criticize your every word, and will muddy the waters and make people find the situation confusing and troubling rather than clear.

GET THE FUCK OFFLINE. Delete your social media apps for the time being. Turn off notifications. Turn off DMs requests. Change your settings so that you only ever hear from people you already follow (I do this, on the advice of Philosophy Tube). Get away from the computer.

Connect with IRL friends. When you're wrapped up in a cancellation, the negative opinions of a handful of foaming at the mouth freaks loom way larger than they actually are. And social media dramatically skews our sense of social priorities such that the approval rating of complete strangers starts to seem more important than people we actually know, and trust, and who actually know us. Go get a meal with a buddy. Watch a dumb movie. Talk to your grandma about her plans for her garden. Surround yourself with real people you care about and focus on their life and problems, to help put things in perspective.

Find distracting, active, rewarding activities that bring you out of the digital space and into physical reality. Not everyone is talking about you, not everybody hates you, most people have no fucking clue what has been said about you, and most people do not give a fuck about you (that's good). There are so many areas of life that are completely fucking untouched by what a bunch of social media power users have to say online. Go volunteer to clean up a park, run some errands, take an exercise class, foster a dog, regrout your bathroom, knit a hat. Even if the worst case scenario happens and a cancellation sticks, it's really only among a certain very vocal group of miserable fucking people. There is a whole world around you that will not ever care, and you will have a life outside of this.

Good luck!!

[unluckilyimnot]

Playing with their hair – aether, kinich, wanderer, rin, sae, sakura

note: i'm just in love with aether and kinich recently and i needed to write something with aether's hair so why not had some of my fav characters along with them. that's probably not really good but i guess it's cute. ooc

m.list | rules

Aether is used to your hands suddenly laying on his hair, running through them when you walk behind him – it’s like an urge, you just have to. You stopped on your track, bowing to kiss his head, inhaling his shampoo a little and hummed at the sweet scent.

“You took my shampoo again,” you mentioned, not in a warning way, more like you appreciate it. He nodded lightly, delighting himself from the feeling of your hands still running through his hair, scratching his scalp a little before kissing it again.

Sensing that you’re about to go away, his hands take yours gently and his head bent down to look up at you. “Already leaving ? We can both take a break…” he said, subtly implying you to not stop yet, making you giggle.

“Sure, we can.”

That’s basically how he ended up sitting on the floor between your thighs, watching a movie while you brush his hair for him, kindly letting your fingers run down his beautifully long hair – trying small, low buns to one high ponytail.

“Having fun ?” You can hear the smile in his voice, amused as always when he let you enjoy his hair more than he does.

“Always.” you said while kissing his nose from above, hiding the tv from his sight for a mere second but he still whines at you for doing so. Such a crybaby.

Kinich sighs as he feels your hands examining his hair again. “Would you stop doing that ?”

He knows you’re not doing this to annoy him, yet it always kind of stresses him to picture you scanning his scalp without any invitation to do so. He also knows that you don’t care about what he says, continuing to play with his hair while you swipe away some dandruff here and there.

“What’s the matter,” you talked back, seemingly frustrated. “You never say anything when it’s to help you fall asleep.” you argued, feeling really satisfied when he doesn’t find anything to say after that. It for sure helps a lot, he can’t argue with that, but he really hoped you could realize that it works all the time and not only when he wants it to – which means he was getting sleepy, slightly closing his eyes while he still had a lot to do.

A satisfied sigh escaped his lips before he could hold it in and you hummed teasingly. Your hands moved from his head to his chest, your arms caging him against you and you laid your head on top of his. “Tired already ?”

“Shut it.” he sounded harsh but he still rested against your chest as well, feeling at peace being so close to you. He wasn’t really tired but if you let him, Kinich would for sure appreciate some quality time with his head in your chest and your hands in his hair. Not that he’ll say it to you.

Wanderer honestly never mind when you ask him if you can play with his hair, he’s usually already busy and not moving so someone touching his hair while studying doesn’t change much for him. He won’t say that it doesn’t make it easy to concentrate since he, sometimes, tends to focus on this more than on the words written in front of him but he still appreciates how peaceful it makes him feel when he’s particularly worried or stressed.

Your hand running through his short strands of hair takes him somewhere else where he doesn’t need to worry as much, he likes it, even if he would never be physically capable of telling you.

“You’re braiding it ?” he asks, half absent in his question – he just wanted to confirm the feeling of your fingers brushing past his cheeks repeatedly. You hummed softly in response, leaving the braid dying the second you let it go since his hair was too short to handle it. It doesn’t discourage you though, and before he can ask what you’ll do next, he can already feel your steady movement back to the same scheme and a soft chuckle left his lips.

“You want me to stop ?” you asked under your breath, probably still concentrated on what you were doing but still caught his sigh.

“No, it’s fine. Go on.” he assured before stepping back again into his study, more than relaxing by this short break.

Rin loves movie dates to his core, but it always gets him when you start touching his hair in the middle of the movie. It's like he's never getting used to it and he's jolting a bit every single time, making you chuckle. But you always kiss his head as an excuse after. 

There's something relaxing when your fingers start to twirl around his short hair, making him wonder who appreciates it the most between you and him. Because he for sure loves it. 

His mind drifts away easily despite himself and how badly he wants to follow the movie. He always finds some way to lean into you, craving for more like a cat and more often than not, he ends up laying on top of you. 

“Don't fall asleep this time Rin,” you joke while scratching his head playfully. He simply nodded, absorbed in the movie more than you gave him credit for. He just didn't want you to stop.

Sae hates it when he feels your hands finding his hair in the middle of the day. He spends quite some time styling his hair in the morning, even if it doesn’t look like it, and you being nearby automatically becomes a danger for that.

Not that he doesn’t like you touching his hair, he’s fond of it, he wishes he could die with you touching his hair, but not during the day. So as soon as he feels it, he immediately gets up and warns you. “Please don’t.”

But he knows it can't be helped and soon your lips meet his, kissing him sweetly – your successful way to distract him – so you can end up with your hands reaching the hair in his neck. Twirling your fingers around it, pulling ever so slightly to annoy him but he still lets you. Not without a sigh against your lips, but he knows damn well he can't hold you back when you're determined to do something. 

He wishes he could keep his hair pretty for the day at least once in a while but he can't blame you ; both of you like it very much. He can forget his image for yet another day if that means he can appreciate the relaxing feint of your fingernails on his scalp. Even if lately it's starting to be everyday, he won't mention it – or not seriously. 

Your smile is more precious than some good hair day. 

Sakura still isn't used to you touching his hair, he hasn't been used to gentle gestures in his life before coming here  –  especially regarding his looks. The second your hands find his hair, he flinches by reflex even if he knows that it’s only you around him. He doesn’t turn you down anymore though since you always let him know how you love his hair, for the color or the fluffiness ; it’s just the best thing in the word and it got to be your boyfriend’s hair. You must be blessed. 

You still try not to frighten him too much, and start by touching his shoulders then going up to his neck and finally the hair in the nape of it. Twirling it lightly with your fingers and you’re sure to catch him snapping his head to you with a blush. 

“What are you doing ?!” he asked as always, flustered but not telling you to stop anyway which made you smile sweetly. 

“I’m playing with your hair ? You want me to stop ?” you tilted your head to the side, trying to act cute and confused so he doesn’t have the heart to tell you no. And with a resigned look but his brows still frowned, he compiled without adding anything.It’s a win, once again. 

You then slowly but surely brush through all his hair, tossing it one side to another, mixing the two colors together then separating it again like a puzzle. That’s something you grew to love, separating his hair for him and that’s also your best excuse to touch it even when there’s people around. Even if he’s not fond of it.

He tends to lay a bit in your hand when you do so, or when you stop your hand in his hair, quietly liking the feeling now that you’ve given him some time. Not that he’ll say it to you, never, but he doesn’t need to for you to know. It’s just like you to notice how he relaxes around you and when you do it. There’s a small smile on your lips when he tries to catch your eyes but looks away instantly, blushing again, and it makes you wonder when he’ll stop blushing around you. 

“You’re cute, Haruka,” you said, brushing away his bang to kiss his forehead. And without a second of hesitation – when in fact yes, but you tried to ignore it –  he was arguing with you about how he is NOT cute, simply proving your point again and again.

Let me know if you like it !

[thewidowsledger]

Toothbrush

© thewidowsledger 2024 - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Pairings: Nerd!Natasha Romanoff x MILF!Reader

Word count: 5.2k

Tags | Warnings: +18, AMAB!Natasha, beefy and super nerdy Natasha, MILF!reader, reader is 39 and Natasha is 22, dating apps, Tony being a good and a bad friend at the same time, lying about age, reader has sons, dirty talk, switch r & Nat but more like a top!Natasha, breeding kink, mommy kink, breast sucking, riding, teasing, rough sex, creampie, squirting, overstimulation, fingering (r receiving), ghosting (kinda), unintentionally stealing clothes👀 (?)

Author’s Note: I know I said I am going to post this tonight but my daimonion is telling me to post this right now, lol. This fic is inspired from this request, but I changed it like a lot lot I guess...I hope it's fine for whoever requested it🥹 the title is inspired by DNCE's song: Toothbrush I am currently banging with this song for weeks now.

Navigation | Masterlist

⧗

“F-fuck please be bad Mommy.” Natasha whined.

“No mommy wants to be bad to their baby…”

⧗

“What do you want Tony?” Natasha chuckled as she saw her best friend on her apartment door at 7 o’clock early in the morning, standing there holding a pizza box. “Really? Pizza? Early this morning?”

Tony rolled his eyes and pushed his way inside, shutting the door behind him. “Well, thank you for the warm welcome,” he teased. “Before I go to my asshole of a father’s place, I want to do one thing. Something purposeful for you, my friend.”

Nat raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what would that be?” she asked, as she led him to the living room of her small apartment.

“Let me see your phone,” he said, taking it out of her hands.

“Hey, wait!” the redhead protested, but Tony was already fiddling with it. “What are you doing?!”

“Setting up an account on a dating app,” he replied, typing away.

“Wow. So this is your grand purpose? Setting me up on a dating app? I’m touched.” She said sarcastically. She watched him, a box of pizza on his left hand and her phone on the other, seriously typing whatever it is that is asked to fulfill the account—he is really serious about setting her up on a dating site.

“You gotta be kidding Tony…”

“Nope. Enough robotics Romanoff before you turn into one.”

Nat’s eyes widened as she suddenly realized that she told Tony her plans. And a wave of regret washed over her. She had meticulously scheduled out her entire summer break even though it hasn't started yet, she intended to spend time working on her robotics project every single day of the summer break. But now, with Tony in the picture with her phone in his hands, she could already imagine the chaos that was going to ensue.

The dating preference section came up and Tony immediately, with no hesitations, clicked women. It had been common knowledge among their friends that Nat had a strong liking for girls. He chuckled to himself, thinking about the kind of women the app would likely recommend for her.

“Let’s make things spicy,” he said under his breath as he set the age range for Natasha’s profile.

With a few taps, he set the age preference to 30-50 years old. “You’ll thank me for this, Nat,” he said with a sly grin on his face.

Every time he and Nat would pass some women on the street, Tony would stealthily observe Nat’s reactions. Whether it was a woman walking past them with her kids or a lady jogging in tight-fitting leggings who he was sure was around 35 to 40, the red head is drooling already. Tony had taken note of Natasha's undeniable interest in women—women who are old enough to be her mother.

The last step came, he only needed to pick a photo of Natasha and it's all done and set up, ready to swipe left and right. So he went through her gallery to find photos of her, but her gallery is just full of screenshots about freaking science.

As Tony sifted through Natasha's gallery, his mood grew more impatient and bored.

“Seriously Nat, you’ve got like a million screenshots of scientific articles and memes about space, and when you do actually take a photo, it’s of some historical artifact in a museum. This is like a grandma’s photo album…” He grumbled, scrolling further.

“Okay, that’s enough.” The redhead stood from the sofa but Tony backed away not even looking at her, too busy to smile like an idiot with whatever he saw on her phone.

“Damn, Nat,” he muttered under his breath, a smirk forming on his face. “I had no idea you were hiding this much muscle under those baggy clothes.” He came across a couple of mirror shots that Natasha had taken in the gym. In these photos, she was wearing a tight-fitting black tank top and some baggy shorts, showing off her muscular arms and strong physique.

Tony chuckled, his eyes still glued to the photos of Natasha’s flexing arms. “Yeah, definitely milfs will absolutely love these shots.”

Nat couldn't help but blush, both at the compliment and at the mention of milfs. “You really think so?” she asked, a hint of shyness in her voice.

“Oh yeah, they would swipe right in a heartbeat,” he said, chuckling. “These are juicy…”

“Okay, you sounded perverted. Gimme that…” Natasha was finally able to get her phone back and Tony raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I was just trying to get some good pictures of you in there. You gotta give the ladies something to look at, you know?”

Tony watched as Natasha went through the app, “You just need to click confirm, and it’s all set up…but it’s still your choice. And…I gotta go, mom’s gonna call me.”

Natasha paused and looked at Tony with relief and confusion. She was grateful for the break in the conversation, but she also didn’t want him to leave just yet. “Okay...go ahead. Can’t keep mommy waiting.” She said jokingly.

“Okay now that sounded perverted coming from you, Romanoff.” Tony pointed a finger at her while walking backwards towards the redhead’s apartment door.

“I’m just kidding,” Natasha let out some giggles as she walked Tony off her apartment, “Don’t kill your father, Tony.”

“I’ll try not to, I can’t believe mom wanted me to spend half of my summer with him. I love her so much that I’ll do anything she asks of me even though it’s spending some time with the man who hurt her.”

“You’ll be fine, just don’t get your hand bloody like last time.”

Tony chuckled and saluted her back, then turned to leave. “I make no promises, Romanoff.” He sighed, Natasha just gently patted Tony’s shoulder and when she was about to close her door, her best friend's foot stopped it from closing.

“Goodluck with the milf hunting.”

⧗

For the next few days, Nat found herself thinking about the dating app and Tony’s playful attempt to set her up. She would secretly open the app every now and then but couldn't bring herself to swipe in any direction. She thinks all these women are deserving to be dated, but she could only pick one of course.

Finally, one night, Natasha couldn't resist the temptation any longer. She sat on her couch to browse through the potential matches. She’d take her frustration out on her pillow, mumbling to herself about how ridiculous this all was. But she continued, her heart raced as she began swiping through the profiles. Her cheeks flushed with a hint of embarrassment as she came across various women who fit her preference—older, attractive milf, thanks to her best friend who knew exactly what her type is.

As she read the bios, she couldn’t help but be intrigued by some of their descriptions. They were confident, successful, and had a certain allure about them that made her even more flustered.

She should've swiped right to have more chances of winning like what Tony advised her, but Natasha continued swiping left through profiles. Yes, she noticed that the women she saw were undeniably beautiful, however, she wanted to see something different, that's why she started swiping left. It wasn't because she found them unattractive, but rather because they didn't quite match the image she had in mind.

She was so intimidated, all these women looks so powerful—like how women should be. So far she'd seen woman who's a pilot, CEO, business owners and many jobs that she for sure puts a lot of zeros on their bank accounts. Not that she didn't want that and she's definitely not opposed to the idea of being a sugar baby, but...she wanted someone who's simple, domestic yet can lead her.

Each profile she scrolled through brought a mix of excitement and anxiety, yet curiosity pushed her to keep searching for that one woman who would make her heart skip a beat.

“Y/N, 39 years old, mother of two, loves gardening, sketching…” she read to herself, trying not to blush as she looked at your photo. Most women she had seen in this app either had a picture with the Eiffel tower or a selfie inside the high premium car—no offense, she loved everything old women do but you, you had a picture of yourself in a beautiful garden she thought was in your place, surrounded by lush greenery. Your genuine smile and a sparkle in her eyes stood out to Natasha.

“Just 4 hours drive away from here…”

Natasha's heart raced as she nervously swiped right on your profile, her hand trembling a little. The moment she did it, she immediately slammed her phone shut and threw herself onto her bed, her heart pounding in her chest.

The thought of you potentially seeing her profile and possibly matching with her made her stomach flutter. The redhead buried her face into her pillow, unable to wipe the redness of her face.

She stood and immediately put on her glasses to distract herself from the constant nervous feeling of seeing a notification from the app, Natasha threw herself into various activities to keep her mind occupied. She deep cleaned her apartment, organized her cluttered drawers, and even got started on her robotics project.

Days passed, but there still wasn't any notification from the dating app. And Natasha actually forgot about it, the robotics project she's working on consuming and occupying every time she had for the day.

Natasha was deep in thought, working on her project, when the sudden notification sound from her phone jolted her from her focus. Startled, she picked up her phone, expecting it to be an email from the agency she applied for an internship or her sister asking for some 5$ on cash app.

However, when she looked at the screen, her heart almost jumped out of her ribs when she saw the dating app icon. She shakingly and immediately opened it.

You: Hi dear

Natasha found herself biting her lower lip, wrestling with her thoughts. She’d faced down debaters, cracked numerous codes, and aced countless exams and quizzes. But responding to a simple “hi” from an older woman had her completely flustered. It was a ridiculous feeling, but she couldn't deny the butterflies in her stomach at the thought of conversing with you.

She typed and deleted various responses, unsure of what to say, until finally, she decided on something simple yet respectful at least.

Natasha: Good evening, how are you?

You: I’m good, just finished cooking some dinner. You?

Natasha: I haven't eaten anything yet, I was working for a project.

You: That's not good for your health and for those massive muscles of yours.

Natasha felt her cheeks grow warm as she read your reply about her muscles. Tony was indeed right when he said milfs will definitely like those. She hadn't expected you to notice that detail, but reading it brought a smile to her face.

Natasha: Massive muscles? I think you're exaggerating a bit.

She typed, trying to downplay your compliment, yet secretly loving the attention.

You: Exaggerating? Not one bit, love. Your biceps are godly💪🔥

You responded, clearly amused by her attempt to deny your compliment.

Natasha felt her heart rate increase at your playful banter and the cute emojis you used. She couldn't help but feel the pain of her cheeks from smiling with your attention and the nicknames you’re calling her.

Nat: Thanks :)))

You: So…where exactly do you live in Brooklyn?

⧗

“Y-you should... probably stop that…” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I-I'm not... I'm not good at…”

You slowly start to grind your hips against Natasha, feeling her body tense up beneath you. Her eyes dilate, and she licks her lips nervously.

Despite her protests, you continue to grind against her, feeling her hips instinctively buck up to meet yours. Natasha’s face turns a deep shade of red, and she lets out a soft whimper as she feels herself getting hard beneath you. “P-please... stop…”

And you did, you pause, lifting your hips away from her but you were still straddling her—kneeling straightly where your tits were right in front of her. Natasha whines softly at the loss of the friction, her hips bucking forward as if seeking more. You smirk mischievously, leaning in close to her ear. “I’m stopping because my baby told me to. Mommy has to listen to what her baby says, mommy doesn’t wanna be bad.”

“F-fuck please be bad Mommy.” Natasha whined.

“No mommy wants to be bad to their baby…”

Natasha lets out a frustrated whine again, her hips bucking forward again as she chases the friction she was just denied. “B-but... Mommy... it feels so good…you’re so good…” she whimpers, her eyes filled with need and puppy-dog sadness. “Please... just a little more…”

You slowly unbutton your top, revealing your bra. Natasha’s eyes flick down to your chest, watching intently as you unhook the bra and let it fall to the floor. Your bare breasts come into view, you guide Natasha’s face to your chest, gently cupping the back of her head. Her mouth parts slightly, and you can feel her warm breath on your tits. “Be good and suck Mommy’s tits,” you whisper, your voice laced with desire.

Natasha like a good baby she is, eagerly obeys, pressing soft kisses to your breasts. She kisses and licks, her touch gentle and reverent. You can hear her breathing grow heavier, feel her body tensing as she gets more aroused.

“That's it, baby. Be so good for Mommy…”

Her mouth finds your nipples, and she begins to suck and lick enthusiastically. She moans against your skin, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. You can feel her hands gripping your waist tightly, her nails digging in slightly.

She continues to suck and lick your peaks, her cold glasses press against your warmth against the skin of your breasts, the temperature difference sending goosebumps across your flesh. You moan softly, your fingers tangling in her hair to keep her head in place as she paid attention to both of your tits.

After several minutes of shared attention on your tits, you guide Natasha's face back up to yours. You lean down and press a soft, passionate kiss to her lips finally settling back down to her lap feeling her hard once again.

Your hands gently stroking Natasha’s braided hair. You reach out and slowly move your hands towards her shorts, immediately feeling her hard cock through her boxers. Her eyes widened as he realized what you're doing. You then pulled out his cock spring free.

“Guess who’s being bad, hm?”

“Please…p-please mommy.”

You carefully shifted to position yourself on Natasha’s pointing cock. You guide her hands to your hips as you slowly lower yourself onto her. You can see the shock and pleasure on her face as you envelope her with your warm walls. “Y/N…” she stammers.

“That’s not my name baby.”

“Mommy, please!”

You bit your lower lip and began to move, taking her in and out of your warmth, Natasha’s head lolls back, her mouth opening in a silent 'O' of pleasure. Her hands on your hips tighten, her fingers digging in slightly. “It's...it's so tight, Mommy…you’re so…”

“Mhm, yeah?” You pant condescendingly, “Mommy’s what baby?”

“So good! So tight!” She cries.

“Oh yeah?”

You lean down, your breath hot against her ear. “That's because Mommy’s special hole is made just for my special baby. Only for you…” You punctuate each phrase with a slow thrust, taking her deeper.

Natasha’s breathing grows faster, her chest rising and falling rapidly against yours. Her hips buck upwards to meet your slow, languid movements. “Mommy...it...it feels…so good…” she moans softly, her voice barely a whisper. “I... I think I'm... I'm…”

“Are you good?” You asked, but the redhead didn't answer, her eyes shut closed behind her fogged glasses and was too focused on her pleasure and you loved it.

“Are you good, Natasha?” Now you calling her on her first name caught her attention.

“Y-yes…”

Your hands gripped her shoulders as you continued to ride her. “Then hold it, baby. If you're good you’re going to hold it until Mommy says you can come…” You increase the pace slightly, your own pleasure building as you feel him throb inside you. “That's it... just hold on…”

Her face scrunches up in concentration, her hands bruising your waist. “M-Mommy... it's...it's too much...I can't... I can't hold it…” she whines pitifully, his voice filled with need and desperation. “Please…”

“No, baby. You hold it. You can do it. Mommy knows you're strong…” You lean back further, grinding down onto her, your abdominal muscles flexing, “and you’re good, you can do it baby.”

Natasha lets out a high-pitched whine, her body trembling as she tries her best to obey. “I-I'm trying...Mommy...I'm trying to be good…” her body stiffens, her back arching slightly as she struggles to hold back.

You lean in close, your voice dropping to a low, soothing tone. “That's my baby... You're doing so well... just a little longer…”

Her face flushed with heat, her pupils dilating as she watched you with an agape mouth, riding her. Suddenly, her expression turns defiant.

“Fuck...maybe I wanna be bad,” she grips your hips tightly and begins to thrust up into you, ignoring your command. “Fuck, mommy I wanna be bad.”

You’re taken aback by her sudden defiance, your eyes widening in surprise. “Natasha... baby, no...oh! ” Your voice trails off as she continues to thrust into you deliciously.

“Shit baby, fuck you’re so strong!”

So now, it's you who's trying to hold back, but Natasha’s sudden burst of strength is overwhelming. She's too powerful, too determined. Her thrusts become brutal, pounding into you with relentless intensity. You're trapped, pinned on top of her dominant form, unable to escape the force of her desires.

“Natty…baby stop…”

“I can't stop, Mommy…” she moans, her body tensing as she reaches her limit. “I... I'm gonna...I'm gonna come...I'm gonna come inside you…” she throws her head towards your shoulder, her movements become erratic, her hips bucking wildly as she empties himself into you. You're left shocked, gasping, trapped on top of her as she finds her release.

“Turn around...get on your hands and knees…”

“Wha—”

Your shocked expression quickly turns into one of pleasure as Natasha’s dominant commands wash over you. You scramble to obey, turning around and dropping to your hands and knees. Natasha stands up, her hands gripping your hips as she holds you in place. “Good...my good girl... Now stay like that…”

As Natasha starts to move behind you, you feel a surge of emotion. Shock, awe, and a touch of humiliation mix together. You never imagined that she would take control like this, especially after she’d seem like the one to submit. Now, the roles are reversed, and you’re the one being taken.

Natasha's grip tightens around your hips as he begins to thrust into you from behind. The angle is different, deeper, and you can't help but let out a moan. “You like that, hm, Mommy?” she growls.

“You like being on the other end, don't you?” she thrusts deep, her hips slapping against your ass. “Answer me…” her hand reaches around, finding your most intimate spot. “Answer me or I'll stop…” she teases you mercilessly.

“Yesyesyes!”

Natasha suddenly pulls out, lifting you up and carrying you to the edge of the bed. She sits down, easily manhandling you over her lap. Your back rests against her chest as her hands held your thighs, keeping your legs wide open as she slides her cock back into your wetness.

She spreads your thighs wider, her knees pushing yours apart as she continues to pound into you. Her touch is unyielding, her rhythm punishing.

“Hold your thigh…” she took your hand and put it to keep your thigh up. “Hold...hold the other...hold both…” she commands, her breath hot against your neck. You comply, your hands gripping your thighs tightly as her strong hand comes down to string your throbbing clit.

“Oh God...Oh God, Natasha...Please... I can't...I can't take it anymore…” Your cries fill the room, your tits bouncing as she pounded inside you.

You threw your head back against Natasha's shoulder, exhausted from your struggles. She reaches up, her hand cupping your jaw and turning your head. Her mouth descends on yours, swallowing your moans. Her tongue slips past your lips, dueling with yours as she continues to pound into you.

You try to wiggle away from her relentless touch, but a strong hand wraps around one of your thighs, pulling you back. “Oh, no you don't…” Natasha's voice breathed in your ear, her hold was strong to keep your legs apart.

Her fingers never stop their relentless strumming on your clit and her cock pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me, mama…” she whispers in your ear, her voice dark and commanding. “Squirt all over my cock…”

Her words send you over the edge. With a loud cry, you laid your head on her shoulder, your body convulsing as you came undone. You squirt all over her, your juices gushing out as she continues to thrust into you.

“That's it…” Natasha's own release hits her hard. With a final, brutal thrust, she buries herself deep inside you, her body shuddering as she comes. Her hot seed fills you up, spilling out around her still-pulsating cock. You can feel her hot cum mixing with your own fluids, the combined liquid slowly leaking out of you. You can't help but moan at the sensation, your body continuing to spasm when her cock bumped accidentally in your clit.

“You’re so good for me, mama.”

⧗

You wake up to the sound of birds chirping outside. Blinking your eyes open, you find yourself alone in Natasha’s bed. You stretch, wincing slightly at the soreness between your thighs. A quick glance around the room reveals no sign of the girl.

You sit up, rubbing your temples as a wave of guilt and self-disgust washes over you. Post nut clarity hits hard.

“How could I have been so stupid?” You chide yourself, your voice barely a whisper. “I drove four hours just to...to sleep with a stranger on a dating app.”

“Am I really that desperate for a good fuck?” you whisper harshly to yourself.

Panicked, you start searching for your clothes, but they're nowhere to be found. “Where are my clothes?” You mutter, your heart pounding in your chest. Your gaze falls on a large, plain shirt draped over a chair. You grab the shirt, smiling as you read what was printed on it

“The physics is theoretical but the fun is real.”

You quickly slip it on, the fabric swallowing you whole. It reaches down to your mid-thighs, the hem fluttering around your bare legs. You realize with a blush that you're not wearing anything else—just the shirt and your damp underwear.

You decide to take in the surroundings of the woman you slept with last night, it wouldn't be bad wouldn't it? The first thing you notice is how clean and organized Natasha's room is. The walls are adorned with intricate diagrams of solar systems, planets, and stars, each one meticulously labeled and colored. You spot a few custom-made lamps on the desk and shelves, their shapes resembling various celestial bodies that you thought she made herself.

The lamps cast a soft, warm light over the room, their glow mimicking that of distant stars. You see a bookshelf crammed with books on astronomy, physics, and electronics. A large whiteboard takes up one wall, covered in complex mathematical equations and diagrams.

Your gaze drifts downward, landing on a piece of paper on the floor. So you bend down to pick up the paper, smoothing it out on the table as you sit down. At first glance, it appears to be an application of some sort. Your eyes scan the page, taking in the details of information you see.

“Natasha...Alianovna Romanoff,” you smiled as her name tumbled out of your lips. “Beautiful name to moan to...”

“December 3,” you frowned, tilting your head slowly as you read the detail, “2002…” you felt your heart dropped to your stomach.

“22 years old?”

A sound of footsteps and a humming echo from outside the room made you alarmed. Panicked, you gripped the paper and rush towards the door, slipping out just as it creaks open. And there you saw Natasha who was cooking some breakfast.

She looks up as you exited her room, her eyes widening briefly as she takes in your appearance. Your hair was a mess and you're wearing her clothes—her favorite one, the oversized t-shirt clings to the curves of your breasts, revealing the outline of your hardened nipples. The hem barely reaches mid-thigh, revealing your bare legs—and your nude colored panties she herself took off last night.

You march towards her, barefoot, brandishing the application paper like a sword.

“You're 22?!”

“Wha—”

“Your bio says you're 28!”

“Wha—I-I didn't kno—”

“That's bullshit!”

“And I was like...God! I slept with someone who's the same age as my sons.” You mimic the same line you said as you recall the events of what happened weeks ago, sharing every detail with Thena, your best friend. She was in fact, the one who told you to try going on a dating app.

“At least you had a good fuck,” Your eyes widened with Thena's vulgar words but you hesitate for a moment before nodding, your face burning with embarrassment. Because, well, it's true...

“Yeah...it was…” You trail off, unable to meet her gaze.

“Good? Good?” Thena asks pulling the words out of you as she noticed you being hesitant.

“She was so gentle at first, almost shy...let me lead her but once she got going...whew!” You whistled softly, fanning yourself as you laughed.

“And you ghosted her…” You pause mid-laugh at your best friend's reply, you felt like she just slapped the reality across your face.

“I...” you raised your brows, palming your chest as you looked at her, “I didn't, okay, I just left. What would you expect me to do? She lied.” You defend, leaning down to your chair as you glance at your best friend who was eyeing you like she knows all your secrets. And she does though, but not this one.

“She's young, Thena,” you reason, “She'll move on. She'll meet someone new.” You dismiss the idea of Natasha being hurt by your not so sudden disappearance with a wave of your hand. “It's not like we had any emotional attachment or anything. Hell, maybe I am the third girl she had in her apartment that week. Who knows?” You chuckled humorlessly. You really wished you weren't.

“Hm, just fucking.”

“Exactly, just fucking,” you say, mirroring Thena's crude language. “We both needed that at the moment.” You nod confidently, convinced that's all it was—a simple physical need fulfilled, nothing more. But as you continue to talk, a small, secret part of you whispers that it was more than just a physical need. You felt a connection, a spark, something that went beyond the surface level. But you quickly silence that voice, deciding to keep your true feelings buried deep inside because there is no chance on getting back, you had deleted the app so there is no more way to contact her. But going to her place is a different conversation and there is no way in hell you're going to do that.

Sighing heavily, you rub your temples, trying to ward off the sudden headache that's formed.

“Besides, what would my sons think if they knew I was dating someone their age?” you muse aloud, looking at Thena with concern and embarrassment. “They'd probably be disgusted, Thee…I swear…”

“At least you're not robbing the cradle or y'know. It's not like she's underage or anything.”

“Okay, enough, stop justifying her age. She still lied, which I didn't like. I wouldn’t date someone who's the same age as my son and someone who’s younger, period.” You said with a finality making your best friend laugh at your now serious face, she’s really not used to you being like that.

“Gosh, they wouldn't even let me date anyone,” you sighed, slumping back in your chair dramatically, making Thena laugh even harder.

“You’ve got some overprotective babies there.” Thena chuckles between giggles.

You can't help but agree with your best friend, nodding your head in agreement. “Yeah, they are pretty overprotective. I swear, sometimes I think they forget I'm an adult too.” You smiled, remembering that your two sweet boys are coming home today for summer break.

⧗

You are excited and all jumpy thinking that every sound you hear is a knock on a door.

You started preparing for their visit, tidying up your home and making sure everything was just right and in place, especially with their bedrooms. The clock ticked by, and soon enough, finally, you heard a real knock towards the door.

With a quick glance in the mirror to make sure you looked presentable, you went to the door to open it. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves, and then swung the door open.

There they both stood, a cocky smile on their face as they greeted you with a casual “Hey, Mom.”

“Hello my babies.” You almost cried on the spot seeing your grown sons.

“Whatchu cookin’ mama?” your eldest, Mark asked, kissing your forehead before entering the house.

“Your favorite beefy creamy mushroom, baby!” You shout.

“I love you so much, ‘ma!”

Before you could even reply, an arm wrapped around you in a tight embrace, and before you knew it, you were being lifted off the ground, your feet dangling in the air. You squirmed playfully, laughing as you tried to put your weight back down.

“Put me down, you little devil!” You scolded lightheartedly, playfully pushing against your son’s broad shoulders, though secretly enjoying the sweet gesture of your youngest.

As he finally set you down gently, a wide grin still plastered on his face, he let out a sigh and looked at you affectionately.

“I missed you so much, mom.”

“I missed you too, Tony.” You cupped his cheek and pestered him with so many kisses making him giggle.

“I...uhh mama, I hope you wouldn’t mind, I am sorry for telling this to you right now. But I brought a friend over, if that’s fine?” you placed your hands on his shoulders, as he looked at you with his usual puppy-dog eyes, “I owe her big time, I was the reason she’s heartbroken and why her favorite shirt is stolen.”

“Yeah, yeah...” you nodded encouragingly to assure him that it's okay to have some friend over, and the mention of a stolen shirt made you laugh—it was silly you thought.

“Yeah, sure baby…you ca—” you trailed off, your world stopping as you saw the friend your son brought over, standing just few steps behind him.

The friend your son brought over was none other than the person who haunted your dreams every night, the same woman you shared a night with many weeks ago that gave you the most earth-shattering orgasm that not even their father could give.

And you found her looking back at you, her gaze trailing down the shirt you’re wearing that was in fact hers.

“Mom, this is Natasha.”

[genderqueerdykes]

Is it true that T gel is not as effective as shots are and that you cannot truly transition if you get the gel? Asking as a transmasc whos deathly afraid of needles

hello there!

fortunately, nope, that's not true! that's misinformation that gets spread around like crazy. every single person on this earth will respond differently to medications- just because one person did not receive the benefits they wanted from topical hormone gels (estrogen or testosterone) does not mean everyone else will have the same reaction!

there are folks who will get nothing out of it at all due to certain health conditions, genetics, or other factors, but that does not make the medication wholesale ineffective. there are also people who do not respond well to or process injectable testosterone- every person reacts to medications differently. it's best to take it on a case-by-case basis, as some won't get anything, but some will see the full spectrum of effects. it just depends on your body chemistry and how you personally react to medications

there are many trans people who transition with T gel only! you can absolutely fully medically transition with T gel. you are able to adjust your dose as needed, so you can tailor it to your needs just like injectable T. i took topical T for a few years and it still gave me all the benefits of injectable! including stopping my periods

i think some people struggle with T gel because they do not follow the instructions properly. i've actually met a few transmascs who shower their T gel off RIGHT after they've put it on, thinking the medication absorbs immediately. it is recommended to not shower or swim for several hours (usually around the 4 - 5 hour mark) to make sure all of the medication absorbs. if you do this and are not showing results from your gel, this is why. please don't immediately shower your T gel off! a lot of people also apply their gel to the wrong areas of the body: if you start topical T, your specific formulation will come with a guide showing you where to apply it. applying it in other areas may not work as well

it's a completely viable option, especially for people with shaky hands, needle trauma, or are squeamish. i hope that helps! topical T is not "weaker" than injectable- your skin is actually one of the areas of your body that has the some of the highest bioavailability when it comes to medications, meaning that your skin is excellent at absorbing topical medications and getting as much as possible out of them. as long as you do not have a condition that makes it difficult for your skin to absorb medications, its should affect you just as much as injectable would.

this is not a guarantee, as everyone is affected by medications differently. you may not have a condition that prevents you from absorbing medication through the skin and still struggle. everyone reacts differently- genetics, body chemistry, there are a lot of factors that can change how a person will react. it will depend greatly on who you are as a person.

usually there's not really a way to tell if it will work for someone until they try, so your mileage will vary, but the topical T is not on the whole weaker, or ineffective. it's important to talk about how it doesn't affect some people, but it's also important to talk about how it works great for many. like any medication, experiences with it will vary greatly from person to person and that's not a reflection that the medication is bad or ineffective, that's just normal for medication.

hope that helps!

[justmymindandstuff]

Can you do Aemond x f!reader? And the reader being a lot like Helaena (I'm projecting lol, I want an autistic reader basically). Just fluff between them, maybe newlywed?

Learn to Love you - Aemond Targaryen x WifeReader

summary: Aemond tries to understand his new wife, but you are too much like his sister. He can't get through to you. One evening he tries it with direct confrontation and is rewarded with a glimpse of you and hope for the future. After this evening his wife is not a complete stranger anymore.

words: 2.818

warnings: softAemond, a bit angst

a/n: based on the request above. Unfortunately it didn't turn out quite as fluffy as it should. I hope you like it anyway :) I'm not autistic myself and don't want to hurt any feelings with the portrayl of the Reader. I based her on Helaena in the show.

Gif not mine// English is not my first language// no use of Y/N // AO3 // not proofread// requests are open

Aemond moves quietly through the halls of his home. The Red Keep slowly goes calm. The sun has already set, and most have retreated to their private chambers. Aemond is tired and longs for his own chambers and his bed. He had spent the evening a little longer than usual talking with Ser Criston. The sworn shield of his mother and he had trained together in the courtyard in the morning. Criston had discussed a few improvements with him. If his sore muscles would allow it, Aemond would try out the improvements tomorrow. But before he can retreat for the evening, he still has a task to complete. He still has his evening visit with his wife to attend to.

His marriage is not really how he imagine it would be. It's been almost a week since you two got married. You've known each other for 10 days. When you arrived at the Red Keep and he saw you for the first time, he had been relieved. A pretty face and a friendly smile had greeted him. Aemond tried to get to know you and realized that you are more than just a pretty face. You are nice, polite, smart, well-read, but strange. Often you drift off into your own world. Captured by your thoughts. You will be in a place where Aemond cannot follow you. And he quickly realized that you can't stand it when he touches you.

During your wedding ceremony, you didn't touch him more than necessary. The touch of your lips almost triggered a panic attack for you. You tore your hand away from his. Aemond would have liked to hold your hand a little longer. On this night, he did not dare to lay with you. This didn´t change over the last week, so you are still a maiden. Not that Aemond has told anyone, and as far as he knows, you haven't said a word either.

Maybe it's because he is a stranger to you? Aemond doesn't really know what to do. He doesn't like the situation. But he also doesn't know how he should change it. His usual solution, Vhagar, will definitely not work here.

He tried to seek advice from his brother. I don't know. With Helaena, it was different. I knew her well before we got married. For your wife, you are just a stranger. Aegon is right but Aemond didn't know how to change that.

So he went to his mother. Give her time to get to know you.

Both pieces of advice only led him to visit you every evening and try to get to know you. However, you mostly sit there in awkward silence and do not look at each other. You still feel uncomfortable in his presence he knows this.

Arriving at your chambers, he takes a deep breath once more and steps inside. The room is still lit by a few candles. He closes the door and watches as you pace restlessly in front of the fireplace.

"You are later than usual." you say, stopping in your movement. Now that Aemond is here, the unrest fades a little. Still, it bothers you that he doesn't come to visit you during his usual time frame. It's actually almost time for you to call your maids so they can help you change and you can go to sleep.

“I apologize for being late.” Aemond says even though he doesn't understand why it bothers you. Have you already gotten your hopes up that he won't come today? You look at him for a moment and then nod.

Without saying a word, you sit down in the armchair by the fireplace where you sit every evening. Aemond takes off his sword belt and places his weapon next to the door. He had considered that it might make you nervous that he carries a sword with him. So he puts down his weapon every evening before he sits down with you. Fortunately, you know nothing about the dagger in his boot.

Aemond even had a dagger made for you as a wedding gift. A beautiful weapon, with a gracefully curved handle and on the blade, just before the hilt begins, is a small dragon embossed that is inspired by Vhagar. Aemond hasn't had the chance to give you this gift yet. He knows that you need to get to know him better in order to understand the thought behind it. You should always be able to protect yourself, in case he might not be able to someday.

He shakes off the thought and sits down in the other armchair next to the fireplace. You don't look at him, but into the flames. Just like every evening. When you start to speak in a quiet voice he almost flinches.

"Why are you later than usual?" your hands are playing with the fabric of your skirt. You haven't changed for the night yet. You´re never when Aemond comes into your chambers. Even your hair is still braided into tight braids. Aemond feels like a visitor in his wife's chambers.

"I discussed my training with Ser Criston. There were a few problems this morning," he replies honestly.

Your face shows no reaction as you respond. “Are you hurt?”

Are you worried about him? No. Why should you? He is a stranger to you. But he still worries about you even though you are a stranger to him. After all, you are married. He wished he could read your thoughts.

"No, I am not hurt. Even though I don't really want it, Ser Criston is always a bit cautious during training with me." he is trying to ease your worries. If you are worried. Again, he tries to read your expression, but your face remains still. Your only reaction is that you turn your head to look at him. The fire in the fireplace casts warm light on your profile and your skin shimmers almost like gold. Once again, Aemond notices how beautiful you are. You look at him, and your gaze prompts Aemond to continue speaking. "I don't want him to hold back because, in a serious situation, my opponent won't hold back either."

"Which serious situation?" you still ask in a quiet voice.

"I don't know. If my family is in danger." and then he adds quietly. "If you are in danger."

The corner of your mouth twitch slightly and you almost smile. Then you turn your gaze away again and look into the fireplace. Aemond suppresses the urge to reach for your hand in your lap. Silence spreads again between you. The uncomfortable silence causes a hot burning sensation in Aemond's gut. Still, he can't take his eyes off you. You seem a bit sad. He decides that it can't go on like this. Aemond has to swallow and gathers all his courage to speak again.

"You are not happy."

This time you turn not just your head towards him but your whole body. He is surprised when your gaze meets him and you look directly into his eyes. Rarely can you hold his gaze. Your eyebrows furrow slightly as you think. It takes a moment before you respond.

"No. No, it's just that it's hard for me. My father brought me here, and this is a strange place for me. All the people around me are strangers. I miss my family and my home. Everything I knew was taken away from me. I was used to everything at home. I had my routines and everything. It's hard for me to adjust to all these new things around me. But it doesn't have anything to do with you."

Aemond is surprised by your words and needs a moment to truly understand what you have said. Guilt overwhelms him. It is his fault that you were kidnapped from your home. Because you had to marry him.

"I'm sorry," he says. Now it is him who cannot withstand your gaze and he looks at his hands.

"I don't blame you." once again, you surprise him your voice is now a bit firmer. "It wasn't your decision to marry me. Just as it was not my decision to marry you. That was agreed upon by our parents." you sigh. "You are not happy either. And that is my fault. I know that I'm weird."

"No! I don't find you weird."

You laugh softly and at the sound Aemond's heart skips a beat. He is looking at you again, he wants to hear you laugh once more.

"You don't have to lie."

"I am not lying. I don't find you weird. You remind me of my sister."

Your eyes start to shine. "Hel. I like her a lot."

He feels a slight tug at his heart. Aemond knows that you usually spend your days in the company of his sister Helaena. He has seen both of you walking in the garden a few times or engrossed in conversation while eating. He would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous of Helaena.

"Yes, I know. Do you spend a lot of time with her?“

You nod. "Yes. I enjoy being with her." "What are you doing all day?"“ Aemond is clinging to every strand. Everything is better than this uncomfortable silence between you.

"Oh, very different things. Sometimes we read together, or she explains something to me about insects. Sometimes I read one of my poems to her. Or I’ll give her one to read."

Aemond is captivated by the sparkle in your eyes.

"You write poetry?" he asks, annoyed with himself for not knowing this about you, but Hel did. Your cheeks are slightly turning red, and for the first time, Aemond feels like he can read your emotions from your face.

"Yes, among with other things. I also enjoy reading poetry. My favorite poet is Marcus Hill. He writes incredibly well. My poems are not even close to being that good. But I don't just write poems, I also write short stories. This helps me organize my thoughts better. But I like most writing poems.“ you speak a little faster than usual, which reveals your excitement to Aemond. He can't help but smile at the sight. Now that you are passionately talking about your interests, you are even more beautiful.

Suddenly you jump up from your chair. Aemond's hand instinctively goes to where his sword's hilt usually is. In the next second, it becomes clear to him that there is no danger, and he relaxes again. You didn't notice anything because you turned away immediately and took a few uncertain steps through your chamber before turning back to him. Uncertain, your hands begin to play with the fabric of your skirt. You take a deep breath and then search for his gaze for a second before looking away again. Aemond leans forward a bit, tense with anticipation. Finally you start to speak. "Would you like to… I mean just if you want? You don't have to." You stop yourself, take a deep breath and gathering your thoughts. "Would you like to read one of my poems?" you ask softly.

Aemonds heart skips a beat and a pleasant warmth spreads within him. "Yes. Very gladly."

You nod, turn back around, and walk to your nightstand. You pick up a book with a leather cover and open it. Aemond notices from his seat that it is stuffed with written pages, and almost every book page is filled with your neat handwriting. You rummage through the loose papers and then pull out a page before you close the book again and carefully place it back in its spot. You are coming back to him.

"I wrote this on the day of our wedding," you say, handing him the sheet of paper. In that moment, your fingertips brush against his. The touch is so fleeting that Aemond is not sure if he might have just imagined it.

He turns his gaze away from you and directs it to the folded paper between his fingers. He wants to open it to read your poem, but before he has really moved his fingers, your hand shoots forward and holds his hand firmly. Aemond skin tingles and he lightly closes his hands around yours.

"No. Please don't read it here. That would be too embarrassing for me. Please read it later and tell me tomorrow what you thought," you say quickly. Aemond looks up again and directly into your eyes. He saw you that close for the last time on your wedding day in the sept. A shiver runs through his body and he can only nod. You also nod and allow him to briefly squeeze your hand before you pull back and sit down again in your chair opposite to him. He already misses the feeling of your soft skin under his fingers.

Aemond folds the paper with your face completely again and then puts it in the pocket of his shirt. Suddenly, this piece of paper is his most precious possession.

"Now you know something about me." you notice. Aemond can't gauge whether the fact bothers you or not. He hopes it  doesn´t. Before he can ask, you are already speaking again. "You like sword training. I could watch your training?” you suggest.

Aemond thinks about the training courtyard. About the loud clashing of the swords striking against each other, the sreams of the knights, the swearing and the rough manner of speaking among men. And then he thinks of you, his gentle, fragile wife. Sometimes the gentle background music that plays during dinner is too loud for you. You would hate it.

"No, this is not a suitable environment for you, my Lady. The men do not know how to behave in the presence of a princess." he explains.

"Oh."

Aemond sees how you stiffen a little again and turn your gaze back towards the fireplace. The fire is almost out. Aemond is afraid that the closeness he has found today will slip away from him again, and as a result, he starts to speak a bit too quickly.

"But if you want, I can join you on your walk tomorrow?" he is momentarily afraid that this will disrupt your routine, but you look at him again.

"Yes, that would be nice. I always take a stroll through Queen Alyssa's garden after afternoon tea."

Aemond must suppress a smile. He is, of course, well informed about your daily routine. Even though he hasn't really been able to talk to you until today, he has always kept a close eye on what you're doing. "I am happy to be allow to accompany you." his gaze falls on your hands folded in your lap, and once again, longing pulls at him to reach for your hand. "When we go for a walk. Would you allow me to hold your hand then? I know you don't like my touches. But...

"No. It's not your touches that I don't like.I don't like touches from anyone, regardless of who." you clarify things quickly. "But yes. I will allow it. I know about it know, so I can prepare myself for it. If I´m prepared I can hold your hand.”

This time Aemond cannot suppress his smile. A pleasant anticipation for tomorrow fills him and he feels as if he has made a significant step forward in his marriage today.

The ringing of the bell in the great sept makes you both flinch. Startled you look out the window, then you get up and walk through your rooms. "I have to call my maids and go to bed.It's already past my usual time."

Aemond quickly gets up as well and nods. Bad conscience about the fact that he disrupted your routine today weighs on him. He turns to the door and goes to his sword belt to put it back on. As he just fastens the buckle and turns to leave, you turn to him once more.

"Thank you, Aemond. Our conversation was good for me. I enjoyed it very much. I´m looking forward to our walk tomorrow and I'm curious to hear what you think of my poem."  and then you smile directly at him for the first time.

His heart starts to race immediately, and Aemond is sure that he has just fallen in love. Unconsciously, he places his hand on the pocket where he has put your poem. Then he returns your smile.

"Yes, I also enjoyed it very much. Good night, my Lady Wife. I will see you tomorrow."

"Good night, my Lord Husband.” you respond still with a smile on your face.  

Aemond nods briefly and then leaves your chambers. His steps are light, and he intends to speak with the steward first thing tomorrow morning so that he can arrange for the poet Marcus Hill to be invited to the Red Keep as soon as possible.

[bbokicidal]

"I Guess I Never Knew You." | OT8 [SKZ]

Genre : Angst [NO COMFORT]

Pairing : SKZ OT8 x GN!Reader

Summary : Based off of a request asking for reactions/how it would play out if the members were to cheat on you during your relationship. Each scenario is different - and these are rather short simply because I am trying to focus on Kinktober right now. Hopefully whoever requested this will be satisfied!

Warnings : CHEATING, lots of crying, angry responses from the boys, dismissal from the boys, reader gets angry in a few of them, yelling, etc. Very emotional.

These situations are all fictional and are not made to represent the boys. While I do write them as well as I can - based closely off of their personality and how I think they would realistically react - I honest to God do not think any of these men would be capable of cheating on their partner. Specifically Jeongin.

Bangchan - He cheats while you think he's busy with work

The excuses were so easy to make with you. 'Sorry, Angel. I'm staying late at the studio again because Jisung is sick.' 'I'm going in early to work on choreography with Min. See you.' 'Be back late, don't wait up.'

When eventually he just stopped giving you warnings, worry set in. His health was your top priority - but nothing of your own was his apparently. You'd walked into the studio with a small lunchbox full of snacks and water for him, assuming he was staying late again, only to see him with someone in his lap.

It's enough to make you tense, barely hearing his whispers and gently shushes of worry. He was sorry, he meant it, he swore, he didn't know you would find out --

It took every bone in your body to not hit him with that little metal lunchbox.

Lee Know - He cheats with an old friend from school

A girl you'd seen in his posts before. You'd found them kissing in a park while you were on your way to work, walking along the sidewalk only to stop and stare. A few girls had also paused to point and giggle, assuming the girl he was holding hands with was his girlfriend as he'd never done anything with you in public - no one knew that you were the one he should've been sucking face with.

Minho kisses the girl once more before they depart, pivoting on his heel only to fault. He stares at you from where he stands, your unmoving form timid and beginning to shake as the tears streaked down your face. He lifted a hand to reach out, watching as your body turned and - in the pouring rain - dropped your umbrella in your pursuit to get away.

He yelled, crying out for you to stop and let him explain. You didn't seem to listen, putting your feelings first and refusing to hear him out as he chased you down. He was fast - you were faster - darting across the road and narrowly missing an oncoming vehicle as you stumbled to the sidewalk before continuing to run to your apartment.

It really was a good thing you hadn't moved in with him when he'd asked you to.

Changbin - He cheats while away for a weekend

Seungmin had sat you down, told you everything. He'd shown you pictures he'd taken on his phone because he knew you were -- God, you were wonderful. And that wasn't his own feelings for you talking.

You'd been so good to Changbin. You made sure he ate three meals a day, made sure he had water, encouraged him to keep working on his music, his solos - choreography, etc. You'd done everything for him when he didn't have the energy to, visiting him during late nights and hugging him tight to tell him how wonderful he was and that he deserved the world.

Apparently, he grew a bit too cocky during their recent trip to Japan. Seungmin's pictures painted a portrait of your boyfriend with another woman in his lap, his face hidden by her hair as she sucked marks onto his skin that would disappear by the next morning.

You didn't confront him - didn't feed into it. You thanked Seungmin, left after patting his shoulder knowing it would likely be the last time you'd see him, and went home to move everything out of your shared apartment.

The next day, Changbin went on an indefinite hiatus.

Hyunjin - He cheats online

It started with the fucking instagram models.

Then he was messaging people, you find out. Contacting women he'd seen at fashion weeks or previous works with magazines. He'd asked them for photos, told them just how beautiful they were, and after looking through their profiles on your own, you'd felt like every ounce of self confidence you'd had was completely destroyed.

He'd only realized you'd found out when he came home from practice - no, 'practice.' - and found you sitting on the couch with tear stained cheeks and his phone in your hand. He hadn't even realized he'd left it behind, so eager to meet up with the other woman in his contacts.

You'd packed all of his stuff, told him to get out, and he'd immediately started crying. You'd never seen him so devastated, kneeling at your feet to beg you forgiveness until you slapped him and shoved him back by the shoulders. He sat on the floor, stunned at your boldness to yell in his face that he was a liar - a cheater - and that he never loved you.

He'd sniffled, moving to get up and grab the bags you'd packed for him so he could leave. He stands in shame as he waits by your door while you seethe on the couch, silent, calling his new hookup to come get him. He couldn't call any of the members - they couldn't know about this. Not yet. The shame was eating him way.

Han - He cheats while on tour

He's in the USA when he texts you that he needs to break up. It's enough to break your heart, have you sobbing on the phone as you ask him over voice memo why he needs to break up with you now of all times. He was two weeks from being home in your arms - why now??

He'd chalked it up to just feeling distant, feeling as though you were neglecting him and his needs a bit while he was away.

Jeongin later reveals to you over a phone call that Jisung had hooked up with multiple women while they were gone over the months. He sounds broken as he relays the information to you, apologizing as you sob into the phone and saying how you never deserved any of it.

You were more angry than anything that Jisung had broken up with you in an attempt to cover up his own wrong-doings while also saying it was your fault.

Oh, but the twitter post you made the following day was enough to be near career-ruining for Jisung. And it was damn well enough to have him crawling back to you, blowing up your phone and begging you to delete the post. But it was already far too late for him by then.

Felix - He doesn't cheat on you because he's the most perfect sunshine angel baby on earth (I'm running out of ideas)

Seungmin - He cheats on you with someone you know

Your best friend - Well, ex-best friend - was the woman Seungmin had his eyes on. Not you.

He'd dated you to get closer to her, using you as a pawn in his little game until he was close enough. He would curl up next to you in the mornings, whispering soft goodbyes as he left for work before returning home late after he'd spent the evening in her bed.

You'd found out through another close friend who she had let the information slip to. Sleeping with an idol - definitely something to brag about.

He'd knocked on your door for nearly half an hour before you answered, threatening to hit him with a frying pan if he didn't leave. He was filled with confusion until you hissed out that you knew what he was doing. His eyes widened, puppy-like and scared after realizing you'd found out about his little scheme.

"Everyone is right about you! You're a fucking snake, Seungmin. You use people, you're full of fucking lies and bullshit! Do us all a favor and never date anyone again, you piece of dogshit!"

I.N - He cheats on you with a trainee

It's hard to stomach when you see it. He was so young when he entered the idol scene - How was he even doing it? Hooking up with a nineteen year old-- A girl who had just appeared at the JYPE building a few months ago.

She was set to debut in a new girl group - a pretty thing, tall and slim with long hair and a cutesy style. The ideal young woman for a girl group. And apparently he'd enjoyed her, too.

He isn't aware of your presence until you're stomping up behind him and shoving him by the shoulders, stumbling away to turn to you. He stops, breathing hitched and arm still around the girl's waist as she stands stunned.

You'd bit at him, yelling how he was full of shit when he'd said he'd never understand why 'I Like It' was a good song, how he'd never be able to imagine hooking up with people with no romantic intentions.

"You want to be with her then, right? You want to date her? If you really don't believe in just hooking up for fun, that must be the explanation."

He stutters, stumbling over his words as his eyes avert. "W-- ... Well..."

Your chest raised as you took in a breath, wanting to slap the man for his actions. Instead, you'd turned to leave, bumping into a very oblivious Chan on your way out. He'd stopped, asking what was wrong, before turning to peer over at Jeongin and the girl standing there, shame filling the two of them.

"Oh, mate..."

Permanent Tagist : @dwaekkicidal @jabmastersupriseee @possum-playground

[harrytheehottie]

JUNO

WORD COUNT: 2K MASTERLIST this is a part of the short & sweet fic challenge @harry-on-broadway let me know what you think 💘 hope you enjoy!

The sun was casting a warm golden glow through the windows of your living room as you sat on the couch. Harry was in the kitchen making your nightly tea as you rested on the sofa. It was a peaceful evening, like many that you have shared over the last three years. This familiar feeling and routine was something you cherished especially with the hectic schedule Harry’s life could bring.

A year ago, he finished his two year long world tour. It was an incredible feat and one that was an emotional roller coaster since it began. He had his entire life planned from the minute we all went into lockdown to the final show in Italy and these last seven months were spent just making up for lost time. He was always home when you came back from work, he was the one that was traveling on your schedule and your terms. It was a great change from how your relationship was before. You didn’t have to anticipate the day that he was going to go away for weeks at a time because you were a part of that decision making now and it only made the two of you stronger as a unit. 

You glanced at the framed photos on the mantel: you and Harry in various stages over the last three years--goofing around backstage at Coachella, the night he turned his green room in MSG into a home theater and begged security to let you two spend the night after you just got off a six hour flight to surprise him for his last show. It was the simple moments that were your favorite, the picture of you walking through the Heath, a cup of coffee and pastries in tow for your favorite weekend tradition of a Saturday morning picnic. 

This was the first year that you were able to think about the future just as it pertained to you and Harry. You didn’t have to think about how your life decisions factored into anyone else's. You always knew you wanted to have a family. He was always going above and beyond for the children in his life not just by spoiling them with gifts but checking up on them and making sure they knew that he was always there. And this became more apparent when he became an Uncle. He was always the first to offer up babysitting so his sister and her partner could enjoy some quality time, even making the trek up to Cheshire to watch his cousin's children if they asked.

So, when Harry walked back into the living room with a cup of tea for you and snacks for himself you sort of blurted it out before you had the chance to second guess the right time for this conversation. 

“I’m ready to have a baby.”

Harry’s eyes widened, completely caught off guard, “What?” almost second guessing what you just said. 

You take a deep breath, your heart racing realizing that you are not going to be able to take those words back. “I’ve just been thinking, we have talked about the future a lot as this far-fetched idea but we’re here now and…” you paused looking up at him, his expression shifting from the initial shock, he leaned closer, taking your hands in his. You knew how Harry worked and the subtle shift in energy was all you needed to continue, “I know not to think, I know I’m ready… for that next step.” 

A moment of silence stretched between you as he processed your words “You really mean that?”

“More than anything,” you admitted, looking into his eyes. “I can’t imagine going through that journey with anyone else. And it just feels good right now, us, we are so good right now and there is just no reason to wait.” 

Harry’s expression softened, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind. “It’s a big step, probably one of the biggest steps we will ever take together.” 

“Will we ever truly be ready?” You chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. “Life is unpredictable, but I want this with you.I want to build a family together.”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting to the window. “I’ve thought about it too,” he finally said, turning back to you. “I want that. I’ve always wanted it honestly. I remember the first time you met Ruby and the way she was instantly drawn to you. S’probably when the thought first crossed my mind.”

You remembered that day. You were so incredibly nervous to meet Harry’s close group of friends. It was Ruby -- his God daughter’s 4th birthday. You had only been dating for around three months at that point. You remember stressing about what to buy her as a gift and even though Harry promised no one would think twice if you showed up empty handed. You still scoured the internet looking up every list of ‘best gifts for a 4 year old girl’ and settled on a Peppa Pig Camper Playset with all the characters. And to say it was a hit was an understatement. The two of you still joke about how as soon as Ruby opened her present she demanded that you stay after to set up the toy and play with her. 

Harry remembers watching the way you were interacting with Ruby and how her father, Ben made a comment about how he had never seen Harry so fixated on someone before like he had you. It was still early days but he always went back to that moment and how it led you to where you are now. 

“So, are we ready to do this?” You asked with a mix of excitement and nervousness in your voice. 

“You know, if we really want to be serious about this. We’re going to have to start practicing.” Harry teased pulling you closer to him. The warmth of his body against yours as his lips met yours. The kiss was soft at first, tentative like he was emphasizing the importance of the moment you just shared.  

You pulled away first, a smirk on your face, “Hmm.. practice? I’m feeling a little tired right now,” You teased with a wide yawn stretching your arms over your head. The playful banter that you know drives him crazy. Harry moves his hands to cup your face, his thumb glazing over your lips again, “C’mere” he whispers. He begins kissing down your neck, leaving small kisses along his path from his lips. You move your hands through his hair, as he scoots back on the couch, pushing your shirt up in the process and you help to take it off.

The kisses continue. He’s moving down your neck, between your cleavage and he stops right at the top of your stomach. His hands that were holding yours moved to touch your belly — picturing what was going to happen next. The commitment to a family and how you would be the home for his future baby. You were almost tearing up at the sight of him and just how careful he was already, always putting your needs first and making you his priority. 

“You’re gonna have to use your words, baby,” You whisper as Harry moves his hands to the waist of your pants. You are already ready for him and he knew it just by how much you were wiggling under him trying to get him to move faster.

“I want you,” he says in a low breathy tone before helping you get your pants off. You move your weight onto your forearms to get a good view of him. You watch as Harry slides your underwear to the side, a rush of pleasure washing over the both of you. “So wet for me…” leaving his lips as he moves his fingers up and down your slit. The juxtaposition of the sexyness and tenderness of the moment right as he slid one and quickly two digits in pushing his fingers in and out. The pleasure washing over your body, the whimper of ‘Oh yes’ and ‘Baby’ a moan escaping your lips as you rode out your first orgasm. 

His lips are immediately back on yours as you slide your hand into his pants pushing his joggers off trying to keep every part of your body touching. After being in a relationship for three years you still periodically used contraceptives especially when you are in the thick of it with his work never wanting anything to come in the way of jeopardizing this unspoken tension between the two of you. And tonight, was going to be and feel different, no more trying to locate the last spot you left condoms going on stretches of time of just trying the process. This was intentional and you felt the mutual giddyness as you slid your hand down his length pumping him once, twice, three times before Harry is ready for you. 

“M’not gonna last very long,” he says before aligning your hips before pushing in deep. Taking a couple of deep breaths as you move your hips along with Harry as you adjust to the familiar feeling of him inside you. Harry leans his head toward you leaving kisses all over him, your nails dragging up and down his back. 

“Tell me it feels good,” You whispered the sounds of your mutual pleasure echoing in the room. 

“Feels so fuckin’ good, always s’fuckin good” Harry was moving faste and harder meeting your gaze right before letting himself go inside you. His body collapsing on top of you as both tried to catch your breath from the pleasure. You had your arms wrapped around his body wanting to keep the warmth of his body on you forever. 

You cleaned yourselves up and spent the rest of the night thinking about your future and how you were going to take that next step forward. Harry was your safe space and you were his. You both knew that this next step forward would be unlike anything you’ve done before but you were both ready, as a team to make this next step. 

And one day, you will be in this same living room waiting for Harry to finish making a bottle for your future baby - and boy, could you not wait. 

[kaanagen]

KLOKLLEGE [ METALOCALYPSE AU]

This is a college AU with Dethklok, written by someone in college as a form of escapism. Let me point out some of their main traits in this universe:

Skwisgaar Skwigelf

24 y/o

Music course

Guitar prodigy

Not that egocentric but already pretty smug and vain

Figuring himself out, but manages to charm a lot of girls with minimal effort

Lives on the college campus

Popular enough to make him worry about his image and what people think of him

Goes to a lot of parties

Works part-time at an antique store on the other side of town so people won't find him and see him as "lesser"

Toki Wartooth

20 y/o

Initially came to study Theology, then switched to Fine Arts but is considering changing to Music after meeting Skwisgaar

Christian but non-practicing

Lives on the college campus

Considered the "weird guy" after becoming friends with Murderface

Not many friends

Ran away from home and forged documents to get an internship to study in America

With no financial help from his parents, works part-time at an antique store and does various gigs around town, which is how he met Skwisgaar and Murderface

Plays guitar as a hobby and is quite good for being self-taught, which helps him land a few gigs

Develops a crush on Skwisgaar as they start working together, but has conflicted views about his sexuality due to his upbringing

Purposely ruins Skwisgaar's dates as they grow closer through their job

Pickles

26 y/o

Initially not in college, but Nathan convinces him to enroll in the Music course

Doesn't get his piercings until after he meets Nathan

Ran away from home and has been living in the back of his family's stolen car for nearly two years

Goes to parties for free food, booze and drugs

Met Nathan after cutting himself while high and drunk at a party—they’ve been friends ever since

Pro at shoplifting

Befriends Skwisgaar after hearing him play at a party

After enrolling in college, Toki offers to help him study, but they can never focus

Has a situationship with Nathan that he's too scared to call anything else

Nathan Explosion

25 y/o

In college for American football

Only got through high school by excelling in football so that was his only notion to go forward

Part of an underground fight club so it's normal for him to be bruised

Pretty popular in his class

Goes to a lot of parties but keeps a low profile

Met Pickles at a party after Skwisgaar bailed on him to study for an exam

His mom enrolled him in a singing class once a week to help him talk more, but no one really knows about it

William Murderface

23 y/o

Wouldn’t be caught dead studying in college after threatening his high school principal into graduating him

Only in college because, once Toki befriended him through one of his gigs, he never left

Lives in Toki’s dorm rent-free to avoid going home to his grandparents

Has a bad reputation that rubbed off on Toki, making them the "weirdo duo"

Used to go to parties, but after getting beaten up trying to hook up with a girl, he gave up on hanging out with the college jackoffs

Doesn't know he has sleep apnea that keeps Toki awake at night

Helps Toki find gigs but usually messes things up, thinking he’s helping (and always asks for a cut of the money for his "help")

Some content I already made for Klokllege:

Pickles and Nathan's first encounters

First contact / The aftermath

Skwisgaar and Toki's soft feels

Glances

[cyanidedrinkers]

Wade Winston Wilson and Tony 'I am Iron man' Stark

I think a lot of people forget just how incredibly smart Deadpool is. This man was in the special forces, You dont get there by being stupid. Now, I know he was discharged but still. It's been proven over and over again that this man can put together an amazing plan and is a very quick thinker- Now: Give me Wade who knows how everyone sees him, Stupid, loud, annoying and lets them think that way. Give me Wade who's scared of showing that he can have a coherent thought even after the mutation and after his brain broke and after he started talking to audience. because he's built this facade and it's easier for everyone to expect nothing from him then for them to expect everything because he's scared. Give me Wade whos scared of rejection from not only his friends and family but his coworkers and those he looks up to so he plays the dumb card and the crazy card and he plays it well Give me Wade who thinks with his hands Give me Wade who has very precise hand signals, Some that came over from his special ops days and some that he's made up for himself, to think because his brain is so loud he has to voice every thought or at least make it physical in some way so he doesnt forget it Give me someone who learns his hand signals and uses that to put his ideas into place (backtracking to my later post about Iron man and Deadpool respecting each other) Give me Tony who notices his hand signals and little drawings on the edge of his notepad and voices them for Wade like their his own ideas, Not out of malice or because he wants to steal them but because he believes in Wade and knows he's a smart man Give me Tony who keeps Deadpool behind in meetings to ask for his opinion on the matter and implements that into his plan as well because you cant tell me Wade doesnt know the best way to infiltrate a highly secured base. Give me Wade who's eyes light up everytime his plan works because he's forgotten how smart he actually is Give me Tony who learns Wades hand signs and uses them in battle, like a secret code to each other Give me the others confused by why Tony and Wade are just staring at each other only for Tony to turn to them and tell them they're changing their entire plan Give me Logan or anyone really walking in on one of Wade and Tonys private chats to see Wade, map out, little marks via figurines that Tony made (They're replicas of everyone on the team to help Deadpool visualize better), giving precise and logical ideas and Tony just nodding along Let it be Tony and Wades secret that he's not stupid. He's a smart guy, smarter than a lot of people but the pressure of being smart never appealed to him Give me Wade who asks questions about Tonys tech and Tony asking questions about Deadpools healing factor Give me Tony who allows Deadpool into his lab and lets the man watch him until he falls asleep and Tony just draps a blanket over him Give me Wade and Tony who are two very intelligent but broken people understanding each other and having the others back when no one else will.

[lyneys4]

ms grumpy <3

tartaglia x reader, modern au

Ms Grumpy and Mr Sunshine - “grumpy!”

‘Grumpy’, he had described you many times before. Tartaglia, Childe, Ajax, Mr Worldwide, a man with too many names to count was calling you ‘Grumpy pants’ in class.

You couldn’t tell if people where laughing at him, at you or with him but it was definitely all three.

You, ‘Ms Grumpy’ nicknamed by the one and only Tartaglia. Normally he rather everyone call him Childe but you always called him Tartaglia.

“Ms Grumpy you need to stop calling me by my full name it’s weird!” He complained.

“It’s not your full name, it’s your first name.” You corrected.

“Smartass,” he scoffed.

“I’ll only call you by those nicknames if you stop calling me Ms Grumpy,” you refuted.

“Well, Ms Grumpy. That’s never gonna happen.” he stated.

“Well, Tartaglia. I’ll never call you by a name other than Tartaglia.” you poked your tongue around him.

“Seriously stop calling me Tartaglia!” he complained more.

“It’s even that bad, do you know how ugly a nickname like Ms Grumpy is??” You retorted.

“I like it!” he said.

“Of course you do..” you sighed giving up this arguement.

And that was when he called you ‘Grumpy pants’. The amount of embarrassment you felt from that was unreal you just had walked away, he wasn’t worth talking too. But how did you unfortunately earn this nickname??

It all started when you were both 8, back in the 3rd Grade. Tartaglia was the new guy in class. He stood in the front of the class happily introducing himself with a bright grin.

He must have been really perceptive because he had noticed your sad, dull expression compared to everyone else in the room.

You were having a bad day because the science experience the day before had been cut short before it was your turn and you were still super sad about that.

You told your mum and she said she would buy the stuff for the experiment which was nice but you were still super upset about it. Since science experiments looked really cool when you were little kids. Now you dread science and their tests.

Tartaglia sat next to you and kept asking why you were so sad looking.

You rolled his eyes at him, wanting him to go away while you were busy sketching random things in your room.

“Hey! Ms Grumpy!” He called out, “I’m talking to you!!”

“Huh? Ms Grumpy?” You turned him.

“Yes you Grumpy pants! Actually I’m gonna called you Ms Grumpy since you don’t talk to me or tell your name.” he spoke with bad grammar.

“I don’t wanna be Ms Grumpy,” You frowned. You told him your name but he didn’t call you by that. He just kept calling you Ms Grumpy.

Tartaglia was the new kid which meant everyone in your class wanted to be friends with him. Since he was sitting next to you, it led people to believe you and Tartaglia were bestfriends so lots of people started talking to you more to be closer to him.

Well it worked for them. But you gained one friend, Scaramouche who ended up liking you for you but he was also at the time his bestfriend.

Although something eventually happened and he chose you over Tartaglia as you grew older. As time went on eventually he introduced you to more people and ever since then you, Scara, Yelan and Xiao were inseparable.

Normally you would never admit this but you were thankful to Tartaglia for the best bestfriend you could ever ask for because you quite literally had no friends since that day.

Tartaglia was always attached to you though. He would come up to you call you Ms Grumpy everytime he saw you.

You didn’t like him because he couldn’t understand you. He barely knew you and he was already calling you names.

He was also your neighbour, because when you got home that day you saw Tartaglia’s parents at your dinner table. You didn’t know they were his parents at the time but your mother told you there was someone waiting for you in your room.

It was Tartaglia jumping on your perfectly made pink bed.

“Stop jumping on my bed your gonna make it messy,” You pushed him. Luckily he fell onto the bed and not the floor.

He looked at you realising who you were. “Ms Grumpy!! I didn’t know this was your home.” You sighed. “Actually we live next to you!!”

Horror struck your face realising Tartaglia was now your neighbour which meant you would see him every morning, every night and every day.

Even though you disliked him, he was one of the people closest to you, literally not figuratively.

Ms Grumpy and Mr Sunshine - “no i’m not jealous!”

It was raining when you woke up, the thing that woke you up 10 mins before your alarm was about to go off was a notification from Tartaglia.

'rich kid tartaglia: hey ms grumpy its ur day today,'

'rich kid tartaglia: yk cuz its like raining.'

'rich kid tartaglia: ik ur reading this you have ur read reciepts on.'

'you: mb didnt notice'

'rich kid tartaglia: im texting u my ms grumpy msg bc im sick and not coming today.'

'you: thats too bad…'

'rich kid tartaglia: ik i cant see you today </3'

'rich kid tartaglia: it srsly breaks my heart i cant say ms grumpy to u in person.'

'you: nice talking to you tartaglia but i need to get ready for school'

'rich kid tartaglia: do well today!!'

'you: thanks' (rich kid tartaglia hearted this message!)

You sighed at your phone reading his message. You got up to get ready for school.

Despite his nickname for you, you didn’t really like the rain that much. You loved the sun. You hated it when rained because the mood was a lot more sadder and everything was wet and cold.

Instead of walking to school like you normally would, you had Scaramouche drive you to school. You hated walking in the rain. It was something you absolutely dreaded.

When you got to school it was absolutely freezing. The school was so poorly heated inside. All you did was shiver wherever you walked around.

Your friends were great people, maybe too great. Xiao had offered you his jacket but you knew he was gonna be cold so you politely declined him. But he insisted on making you warm so he had bought you hot chocolate from the canteen and where were you without Yelan?? Probably lost not knowing where any of your classes were. You normally had her walk you to class.

She had dropped you off at your next class since she had a different class. Scara, Yelan and Xiao all had classes together leaving you alone for this period.

You sat alone in this class but you didn’t care. Normally Tartaglia would try sit next to you but he wasn’t here today.

The class was extremely cold. Like freezing north pole snowing cold. There was boy who noticed. You’re pretty sure his name was like Lyney or something?

“Hey you look cold, you want my jacket?” He asked.

“No, I’m fine,” You lied, it was pretty obvious you lied.

He got up and sat in the empty seat next you. He didn’t have any friends in this class either. “I’m Lyney, incase you didn’t know. The one and only great magician Lyney.” he winked.

You tried to give his jacket back but he wouldn’t take it back.

You tell him your name but didn’t say anything more than that. Maybe thats what started his determination to talk to you.

He followed you around school and even walked with you when your friends were there.

Yelan had teased you a bit about him. But you ignored her. It was super awkward trying to talk to your friends with Lyney there following you like a lost puppy.

The next day you had class with him again too, Tartaglia wasn’t here again, he had messaged you saying he was super sick and of course greeting you with Ms Grumpy.

You had first period with Lyney, he had sat next to you. “Hey!! How are you,” He greeted you.

“I’m good,” You answered.

“Oh you responded,” He smiled. He kept on talking to you but you had absolutely no interest in him. You honestly just wanted him to shut up.

“Hey, I’m gonna be completely honest but I don’t really care so leave me alone.” It was honestly pretty mean but it’s on him for annoying you all day yesterday.

“Awwh, I just wanna be friends with you!” He begged.

“I don’t,”

“I’ll find a way to be friends with you then!” He said. Oh he was worse than Tartaglia…

All lesson he talked you nonstop, you nodding your head to everything he said not that you knew what he said. He could tell you weren’t really listening to him.

When you were walking to your next class with Scaramouche he had followed the both of you. Which is honestly super creepy but his determination was insane.

It was a problem, a problem for not only you but your friends.

Which meant a super late talk about it online.

'yelan !!: bro why is he following u around its kinda creepy.'

'you: he wants to be friends w me or smth'

'scara: how do we get rid of him??'

'xiaoao: maybe if u talked to him you could start building boundaries,'

'xiaoao: people care alot more when they feel like they are closer to someone'

'you: omg xiao thats so smart.'

'yelan !!: i dont get why he can’t just live you alone.'

'you: me too but hes so determined its scary.'

'scara: you should file a restraining order against him'

'you: woah calm urself its only been a day,'

'scara: and so days will turn into weeks’

'yelan !!: actually i think xiaos idea doesnt seem so bad lets try that.'

'yelan !!: okay its late i gtg sleep i need my beauty rest'

'scara: idk ab u guys but i get super bad vibes ab him.'

'you: me too but ig i gotta talk to him.. its fine i’ll be alright whats the worse that could happen??'

Yea, what was the worse that could happen? That was something for you to find out later.

The next day when you had class with him you ended up talking to him. He wasn’t that bad to talk to at all. He was so happy you were talking to him.

“Okay, and this is,” He points to something you don’t know or understand but you just wanted to get his class over and done with.

When class ended Lyney didn’t follow you and your friends around. So Xiao’s plan had worked.

You actually wanted Tartaglia to come back and sit with you so Lyney wouldn’t talk as much.

But when Tartaglia didn’t come to school for the entire week, you and Lyney actually got unexpectedly close.

You started to genuinely enjoy talking to Lyney and completely forgot about Tartaglia’s messages about you being Ms Grumpy.

You and Lyney hung out a lot and your friends even started to get use to him coming over. Yelan and Xiao even started enjoying Lyney’s tricks.

You and Lyney became super close ever since that week without Tartaglia. He became the person you enjoyed sitting with in that class.

But things weren’t great for Tartaglia, the feeling Tartaglia felt when he came back to school to see you with Lyney was a feeling he didn’t like. And he couldn’t seem to understand why.

He didn’t like seeing you with Lyney, getting along so well with him when you never did with him. He understood why you both never got to hang out like that and still regrets giving you that nickname in a way but it was his special nickname for you.

You felt like Tartaglia was finally distancing himself away from you. Which was a relief for you. But Tartaglia didn’t like the distance he had put. It felt insufferable and he didn’t understand why he did it.

It took a while for Tartaglia to figure out why but he finally understood he was stuck in his own love triangle, and he was not the one you were gonna end up with.

Hell, he didn’t even know he liked you?? How will he ever get over this??

Ms Grumpy and Mr Sunshine - “understood, me?”

It was maybe one of the worse days ever for Tartaglia but it was truly one of the best days ever for you.

Teyvat High’s Prom was coming soon, you and Yelan had been going windowshopping recently looking at clothes you could buy. But there was no one to take you since Xiao and Yelan are going together as friends and Scaramouche isn’t too fond of social events.

Lyney had been planning something for ages with your friends. What they were planning you had no idea? But they were all in the same class and in a group project together so you had assumed it was just that.

You were wrong, but it wasn’t the bad wrong. It was a nice surprise maybe too nice? Honestly you didn’t know what to think about it.

While you were walking down the hallway with Tartaglia teasing you, calling you Ms Grumpy, a party popper appeared at his feet and exploded right in front of him which made you let out a giggle.

Suddenly the hallway was filled with confetti set by Lynette, Freminet had appeared holding a bouquet of Rainbow Roses as Xiao pushed you towards a sign held up by Yelan, “Will you go to the Prom with me?”

Overwhelmed by the surprised Lyney approaches you grabbing your hand and placing a gentle kiss on it, you didn’t want to reject him out loud so you whispered into his ear and told him “I’ll think about it,” with a smile on your face.

Everyone around thought you had accepted his promposal, everyone including Tartaglia who had to put a smile on his face and clap along with everyone else who was watching this go down.

‘Top 10 embarrassing promposals…’ you thought in your head, ‘Where was Scaramouche at? That’s fishy’ you thought.

You tried to look for an opportunity to get away from the crowd in the hallway, people were talking to you and Lyney taking videos of the scene.

“Ms Grumpy,” Tartaglia called out to you, “This is a little bit embarrassing but my dad’s car broke down so I desperately need your parents to drive me home,” He explained quickly followed by dragging you out of the hallway.

“Wait, I never agreed to driving you home,” you yanked his hand off yours.

“I know, I was just lying. Did you like my preformance,” He gave you a teasing grin. He was mocking Lyney.

“You don’t like being recorded right? So I figured as the nice boy next door i’d get you out of such a situation.” he recalled.

“No need to thank me. If I had a promposal as embarrassing as that I’d be begging for someone to get me out of there. Seriously I didn’t think anyone would do that.” he rambled obnoxiously.

“Well I’m going home.” you cut him off mid ramble. “And even though you told me not to thank you, thanks I guess,” you glanced back at Tartaglia for a second before heading home.

You were lying in bed messaging Scara.

'you: bro where were u?'

'scara: didnt wana get involved soz'

'scara: so hows it going????'

'you: tbh i wanted to reject him but not infront of everyone.'

'you: people were recording us it was so uncomfy :( '

'you: tartaglia got me out of it im kinda surprised'

'scara: im not, sounds like smth he would do.'

'you: nah pretty sure he js wanted to shit on lyney'

'scara: well ig that could be an answer.'

'scara: are you gonna keep ignoring the gc orrr??'

'you: i muted them and lyney i havent checked.'

- 15 messages from 'were not emos' -

- 4 messages from 'lyney' -

- 1 missed called from 'lyney' -

'you: omds its 19 missed messages and 1 missed call altogether…'

'scara: only one missed call they going easy on u lol'

'you: fml'

You put the phone down and closed your eyes. Maybe it was better to just sleep. You didn’t feel like responding. If you just message them in the morning you doubt they would even respond.

You tried to sleep, shutting off at 10pm only to wake up to 2 calls at 1am, you must have forgetten to turn your phone back on mute after playing mobile games for a bit.

- 2 missed calls from 'were not emos' -

You’re phone started ringing again, you were tired and pissed they interrupted your sleep so you decided to pick up and hear out what the have to say

“y/n what the hell??” Yelan’s voice spoke up. “yea what was that about?” Xiao asked.

“Wha-? What was what about?” you answered half awake. “No you know what that was about you completely ignored Lyney’s confession do you understand how much of a bitchass move that was.” Yelan berated you.

“Oh hop off her dick Yelan, she didn’t have to answer shit.” Scaramouche interrupted her.

“Scara where were you? I thought you were gonna help us out. She’s your bestfriend wouldn’t you help her get a date or are you inlove with her,” Xiao said, “Inlove are you crazy, fuck off.” Scara scoffed.

“Xiao what on earth are you on, listen Scara and me are like siblings— what is wrong with you guys why would you force a confession on me.” you stood up for yourself. “I was uncomfortable, and I don’t need to explain myself if it bothers you so much then don’t talk to me.”

“y/n c’mon don’t be like that, you’ve probably made Lyney a laughing stock—” you cut her off. “Shut up! Are you seriously taking Lyney’s side just because I didn’t reciprocate his feelings???? What kind of friends are you,” you were in slight tears from how tired you were and how absurd you’re closest friends were being.

“You guys are so cruel to y/n, im off to sleep.” Scara left the group call. You left too and left the groupchat. Why on earth were they so focused on Lyney’s feelings while completely disregarding yours, it hurt even more knowing those were your closest friends.

You drifted off to sleep, every message you got you ignored.

You woke up to your alarm, you checked your phone spams from Yelan and Xiao, Lyney’s messages were just hateful and Scara had left the groupchat. You’re friend group just broke up over a boy and it just left you mentally drained.

Getting up slowly and trying to get ready, you just couldn’t. After last night you didn’t feel comfortable with the atmosphere. You were dressed up and ready but you could only take a step out the door.

“Yo, y/n! You don’t look too great,” A voice coming from your side called out your name, “y-y/n..?!” you stammered out from shocked.

“Yeah, it’s your name isn’t it?” He walked over to you. “I don’t know it just surprised me that you’d call me by my name.” you admitted

“You wanna skip? You seem out of it let’s get some frozen yogurt!” Tartaglia grabbed your hand and turning you in the direction of the shops. “Live a little! If you’re not comfortable just hanging out with me, we can call Scaramouche.”

“No, its fine. Let’s eat!” a smile appeared on your face as your steps fall in line with his.

“You have a pretty smile,” …

“Thank you, Tartaglia,”

[immoral-stranger]

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐝 // 𝐋𝐒𝟐

Summary: “I’m tired of acting like I’m not in love with you,” — Or, the one where two people are experiencing the worst year of their lives respectively. Falling in love shouldn't be that difficult on top of it all, right?

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x Fem! Reader (team photographer, skater girl™, has tattoos and is vaguely bilingual)

Word count: 23.3k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI ❀ Angst: panic attacks, anxiety, self-deprecation, mention of medication, anxiety disorders and ADHD. Reader has a shitty family as well. Smut: penetrative sex, they're needy as hell, otherwise very vanilla. Fluff: she fell first, he fell harder, a bunch of silent crushing on each other, a very sappy and happy ending. Other: inaccurate timeline and race results.

A/N: I'm back! I planned this before Zandvoort and before Logan got dropped and didn't feel like changing it to fit reality, so Logan gets to finish the season in this fictional universe. He also get's to go to Indycar because I'm sad and maybe delusional. Please tell me what you think ♡

Oxfordshire, UK

The rain drizzled down as you cruised around the almost empty parking lot on your board, the drops making little sounds as they hit the brim of your rain hat. February in England wasn’t that great—no snow, just rain and cold weather. Awful, but doable for someone who had a skateboard stuck to their feet ninety percent of the year. 

You were early, which was uncommon for you. But Angie had told you to come early, and you didn’t want to screw up on what was technically your first day on the job. Having someone you saw as an older sister as your boss had its pros and cons. 

“Should you really be skating in the rain?” Angie called out, standing underneath the awning above the main entrance, shielded from the rain. Her Williams-blue raincoat was pulled up to her chin, and you could see her visibly shiver from the cold. 

You had received a similar jacket, amongst a lot of other team gear, in advance for your first day. It wasn’t exactly your style, but you guessed that wasn’t the point of having team gear in the first place. Or any kind of work uniform, really. The coat kept you warm and dry, that was all that you could ask for. 

“Can’t you see how slow I’m going?” you protested, laughing at her cautiousness. 

You knew what you were doing. It wasn’t advised by anyone to skate when it was raining outside, but casually riding in a flat, empty parking lot at a slow speed, just to not get your shoes wet, wasn’t dangerous. Not for you, at least. You had been skating for close to two decades.

Angie had asked you to take some pictures of the building, and then take pictures of all the team members as they arrived at the factory. 

You had held a camera in your hands for almost as long as your feet had stood on a skateboard. The two interests kind of coexisted and fed off each other as you grew older. Only photography was able to make you money, though. 

You’d read in an article that the Williams factory was supposed to be modest in comparison to McLaren’s or Red bull’s spaceship-like buildings, but this was still huge to you. And you hadn’t even gotten inside the building yet. 

As cars filled the parking lot, you snapped photos of the people going inside. Mechanics, engineers, people on the communications team—it seemed like everyone was present for this pre-season meetup. Maybe it was because it was the last one before the team flew off to Bahrain. 

Some smiled at you as they spotted the big DSLR camera in your hands, others walked right past. Angie seemed to know almost everyone as she greeted them by the entrance. Sure, she was some kind of high-up marketing manager, but recognising so many people seemed excessive. Or maybe just impressive. 

She’d given you a crash course in Formula 1 as she had hired you. You had heard her talk about her job on many occasions, even catching a race or two when it was on television, but you quickly realised that you didn’t know half as much as you probably needed to. 

It was hard for you to even pinpoint who were the Williams’ drivers as they both came walking across the parking lot. Angie’s immediate perked attention and widened smile told you everything you needed to know. You would need to get good photos of them both. 

You tried your best to remember who was who, and when you recalled that one raced under the Thai flag and the other for the US, it was quite easy. 

Alex was tall, and happy. He walked with quick steps to get away from the light rain, greeting Angie with an effortless hug. He had no problem smiling when he saw you with the camera, raising his eyebrows at your stance on the skateboard. 

Logan wasn’t far behind. He looked younger, and less confident in the way he carried himself. His steps were slower as he too made his way under the awning. He reminded you of kids you’d gone to school with, with their boyish charm and cluelessness. He was young, and sweet—maybe even beautiful. 

You could see it all as you lifted your camera to spot him from the viewfinder. His smile didn’t form as easily as Alex’s had done, but when it did, and he flashed you his stupidly perfect and pearly white American teeth, you couldn’t help but feel how the corners of your lips turned upward. This was going to be a difficult year if you already were developing a minor crush on the first cute boy you’d seen. 

“Who’s Paddington?” Alex asked Angie after he had greeted her. 

You could overhear him perfectly fine as you pretended to take some photos of the main building. 

“What? Oh, because the red bucket hat?” she chuckled, shaking her head. “That’s our new team photographer.” 

Logan too gave Angie a quick hug. After all, she was one of the more tolerable people forcing them to do social media content. 

He laughed at the nickname Alex gave you. Logan would’ve gone with Tony Hawk over Paddington, but maybe that was because he found the fictional little bear with a red hat and a blue coat to be a very British reference. 

“She looks about twelve,” Alex remarked, watching as you adjusted something on the lens, your movements precise and confident despite your youthful appearance.

Angie laughed again, the sound warm and contagious. “She’s the same age as Logan.” 

Logan playfully pouted at his two colleagues joking. He guessed the both of you looked young. Maybe too young to be in such a professional setting. 

“She’s my best friend’s little sister. I’m mostly being kind by offering her a chance to work with us,” Angie continued to explain, raising her voice slightly to get your attention. 

She didn’t really need to, because you had heard every single word of their conversation. 

“That’s her way of secretly telling you that I’m severely underqualified for this job and I’m using it as an excuse to travel the world,” you said under your breath, your gaze still fixated on the viewfinder as you slowly skated towards them. 

Same, was what Logan immediately wanted to say, but instead he just laughed, unsure of how well his self-deprecating humour would translate.

You stepped off your board, before popping it up with your foot on the tail end to grab it with your hand. You hadn’t expected them to laugh, because it wasn’t exactly a joke. You guessed it kind of came across as one, though.

You told Alex and Logan your name, gently reaching out your hand to shake theirs, but Angie’s hand pulling down the brim of your hat over your eyes stopped you in your tracks. 

“I have a feeling you’re going to be stuck with Paddington around here,” she laughed.  

“The Williams hat you gave me can’t stand the rain,” you argued, fixing the hat back into place. 

It was true. The cotton of the team hat she had given you would’ve been drenched at this point. But you still appreciated her effort because she thought the hat was more your style than the classic baseball cap that most of the other employees sported.

“You’re such a child, you know that, right?” 

That was something you’d heard all your life, because you somehow always turned out to be the youngest one at every family function. You didn’t take it as an insult when Angie said it, though. She had valued what you brought to the table for as long as you could remember. Maybe that was the only child within her showing through. 

“That’s kind of on you, Angie,” you pointed out. “If you hadn’t been mostly kind, I wouldn’t be here to annoy you.” 

You saw how Angie wanted to argue back, but was interrupted by the sound of your ringtone. Teenagers by My Chemical Romance. You had intention behind it when you initially picked it (something about rebellion and fuck the system), but now it was mostly a running joke that you couldn’t let go of, no matter how many times you swapped phones.

You also loved the embarrassment that flashed over Angie’s face as it interrupted her. Alex and Logan couldn’t help but laugh as you excused yourself to answer. 

Logan watched as you slowly cruised over the parking lot, phone up to your ear as you talked to whoever it was over the phone. He heard you raise your voice, speaking in a language he didn’t recognise, or at least didn’t understand.

“Her family sort of… resents her? So, I did what I thought was right.”

Angie felt the need to explain as the three of them heard you start to argue. She knew it had to be your mother calling, because you had given up on arguing with your father already.

“Is she at least a good photographer?” Alex asked with a sigh.

“She’s the best.” 

. . .

Melbourne, Australia

. . .

The season started with a whirlwind. You definitely hadn’t mentally prepared for the challenge it would be to travel nonstop, and even if you had some downtime, the anxiety of always being on the move didn’t leave your body. Before you had the chance to experience a new city, you had to be thinking of when you were going to the next one. 

And you were rusty. You didn’t yet have the right mindset to be in the position you were in, constantly forgetting things and not getting the perfect photos. You’d done sports photography for a long time, but there was a difference in speed between x-games sports and fucking Formula 1. 

That was why you found yourself back at the hotel in Melbourne, riding the lift to your floor to retrieve some equipment you’d forgotten in your room, your body teeming with nerves and embarrassment over what had just transpired. While Formula 1 was a travelling circus with a lot of important and famous people, you hadn’t expected to actually run into anyone that would leave you speechless. You were usually too good at talking. 

As you exited the lift, you spotted Logan in the hallway, looking like he was about to enter his own hotel room. Your speedy steps interrupted his actions, and even if you two hadn’t really had a one-on-one conversation before, you had to tell someone about who you just ran into. 

“I just made a fool out of myself in front of Keegan Palmer,” you exhaled loudly as your steps came to a stop in front of him. 

“Who?” Logan questioned, holding the door to his room open, a little bit taken aback by your boldness. 

“Olympic skateboarder,” you clarified. “He’s kind of a big deal, and he’s friends with Lando somehow.” 

Logan remembered something about a famous skateboarder in the back of his mind as he let out a short laugh. “So, what did you do? Ask for a selfie?”

“I wish. No, I just ran into them in the lobby and couldn’t form a sentence because I was shocked. I literally froze,” you groaned, rubbing your temples as your emotions started to settle. 

As they did, you took in Logan’s expression. While you hadn’t necessarily talked much before, you had taken a lot of photos of him. He always portrayed a certain charm, even when he was focused on racing or unaware of the camera. He didn’t do that now. Something seemed off with him from his blank stare at you. He was there, able to laugh at your awkward interaction, but he wasn’t present. 

“Shouldn’t you be at the paddock?” Logan asked after a moment of silence. 

“I forgot an SD card in my hotel room,” you explained. “Shouldn’t you be at the paddock?”

His face twisted in disbelief. “You haven’t heard?” 

“Heard what?” 

“I’m not driving,” he answered plainly, but the words landed heavily. “Alex is taking my car because they don’t have a spare chassis to repair the damage from his crash yesterday.” 

You blinked out of confusion as you raised your eyebrows. “Is that even allowed? It’s your car.” 

“I don’t know, but it’s probably for the better,” Logan shrugged with a certain nonchalance. “I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.” 

“You’re paying for a mistake that he made. It is a big deal,” you argued. 

You’d practically ran up to him to talk about your embarrassing moment that you had failed to even acknowledge what kind of mood he was in. That was a bad habit of yours—badly reading people and basically running them over with your talking. 

And here he was, feeling like shit over a decision that no one thought was possible. He probably had no will to talk about some skateboarder with you.  

You noticed the way his hands trembled slightly, holding a tight grip on the door to the point where his knuckles whitened. The realisation hit you at the same time his expression shifted, his bravado cracking under the weight of something much deeper, his breath coming quicker than normal. 

“Mate, are you okay?” you asked him softly. 

“I’m fine,” he muttered, but his wavering voice betrayed him.

Logan wasn’t angry at the team, or at Alex. He knew that it was the right decision because Alex would have a better chance to score points. He probably would’ve made the same decision if he were team principal. 

He knew he wasn’t good enough to deserve a chance.

He knew he wasn’t good enough to argue his case. 

He knew he wasn’t good enough. 

It was killing him inside. Logan wanted to flee the scene. He wished he could rewind time five minutes and just walk into his hotel room instead of stopping when he heard your steps. He wouldn’t have had to explain this to you. He wouldn’t have had to feel this way in front of another person. It had been bad enough when he got the news in a conference room filled with team members. 

This was different, though—you two alone in a hotel corridor. 

He felt like he was choking, like the feelings inside of him wanted to come out but he had no idea how to let them out. He couldn’t get enough air in his lungs, no matter how heavily he breathed. He’d never felt like this before. 

“You’re having a panic attack, dipshit,” you stated. 

It sounded like you were joking, but in reality you were fighting concern with humour. You could see exactly what was happening to him, all too familiar yourself with the overwhelming feeling of when anxiety finally catches up with you.  

Logan looked at you, eyes wide. “N-no, I’m not. I’ve never—” he stammered, shaking his head.

“You haven’t had one before? Oh, fuck.”

It hadn’t even crossed your mind that people in their twenties could’ve gone their entire lives without experiencing an anxiety attack. You could handle them quite well after years of being a miserable child and teen, but Logan didn’t look like he knew what was even going on. The first one wouldn’t always be the worst one, but right now, this would be hard on him. 

You took a step closer, your heart suddenly racing. You didn’t know if he wanted you to touch him, so you acted hesitantly at first. But by his shocked expression and shaking hands, you knew that he needed help calming down. He looked lost, like the ground had suddenly shifted beneath his feet and he didn’t know how to steady himself.

“God, here—” you reached out, grabbing his hand, your fingers firm but gentle. “Just hold my hand.” 

You dragged him into his room, to get privacy if someone entered the floor. He collapsed against the door as soon as it shut, sliding down it to sit on the floor. You crouched in front of him, now holding both of his hands to stop their shaking and to centre his focus. 

“Mimic my breathing, look at my chest,” you instructed, guiding him as you took deep and steady breaths, making sure that he could see the tempo in which they rose and fell. 

Logan couldn’t get any words out, but he tried his best to calm down. He was slowly able to sync his breathing with yours, the tightness in his chest and the pounding in his head easing as he got enough oxygen in his system again. The feeling inside was still foreign to him, like it wasn’t palpable at all. 

He realised he was crying when he felt a cold tear slide down his cheek. He wasn’t sure when was the last time he had cried in front of someone, but he was past the point of embarrassment. 

You didn’t seem to care about it anyway. You had a kindness in your eyes that was unexplainable to him, and he wondered how you knew how to deal with this so well. 

“See?” you whispered after a moment. “You’re okay. Just keep breathing with me.”

Logan closed his eyes for a second, feeling his wet eyelashes hit his cheeks. Your voice grounded him and he couldn’t think of anything else in the moment. He couldn’t think of racing. He couldn’t think of Alex. 

He thought of your unwavering grip on both his hands, sending a calm feeling through his body. He thought of the sound of your steady breathing, making it easy for him to follow. 

He slowly opened his eyes to look down at your intertwined fingers, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hand. Logan had seen that you had tattoos before, but now was the first time he was close enough to distinguish them.

Like patchwork, they lined both of your arms, getting cut off by the hem of your Williams t-shirt right before your shoulder. They looked like doodles. There was a disco ball, and flowers, and a stamp from your home country. As his eyes trailed further, he could see a few on your legs as well, revealed because you were wearing shorts. You had a tattooed band-aid on your knee and a ghost on skateboard on your lower thigh. He assumed they had a connection. 

“I like your tattoos,” Logan heard himself say, voice thick from the tears.

You glanced at him, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. The tenseness of your body softened, relieved that he seemed to be coming back to himself. “You do? You don’t seem like the type.” 

Logan shook his head, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Oh, I’m not—but I like them on you.”

He grabbed your hand again afterwards, unsure of why but relieved that you just continued rubbing absentminded circles. You flexed your arm slightly, turning it so that Logan could get a better look of the inked designs. 

“What are the paw prints for?” he asked, genuinely curious now that his mind had space for other thoughts. You had four little black paw prints on the inside of your arm. 

“My parents dog,” you said, warmth filling your voice. “A golden retriever named Tater Tot.”

He chuckled, a sound that felt foreign after the weight of his emotions. “They have tater tots outside of America?”

“Barely,” you replied. “Which is a shame because I love them. We went to Florida on vacation when I was a kid, and I think I ate about a thousand tater tots from the hotel buffet.”

“Florida?” Logan dared to look at your face fully now, intrigued. “I’m from Florida.

“I know, Logan.” 

You laughed gently. His Americanness didn’t go unnoticed by anyone in a place like this, where most of the team members were European. It was also one of the few things that had stuck with you from Angie’s rambling about her job—that she had to work with an actual Florida man, like they were mythological creatures. 

“We went to Orlando. Disney World and all that, y’know?”  

“Yeah, the classic American pilgrimage,” he smiled, then hesitated. “Have you been back? To America, I mean.”

You shrugged, your expression shifting to something more neutral, as if you were weighing the pros and cons in your mind. “No, it’s not really… something I want to do? With war criminals as presidents, and guns at grocery stores—oh, and no butter on your sandwiches?” You shook your head dramatically. “That’s my personal hell.”

Logan laughed again, feeling a slight stinging pain in his chest that he decided to disregard. If he kept on breathing deeper, he knew that it would go away on its own. 

You watched as he winced, even if he tried to hide it from you. You took a moment to breathe with him again before continuing. “I have a friend who moved to San Francisco, though. She lives with this skateboarding collective and uh, it seems really nice.”

That was maybe the only reason you would go to the US, for more than the American grands prix of course. It was an old university friend who skated competitively. Even if you weren’t on the same level, you still felt like a month or two on the west coast could do your head and mental health a favour. 

“That might be a bucket list thing for me,” you explained, at which Logan smiled. 

You observed his face, glossy blue eyes from tears and messy blond hair from the chaos he had just experienced. A certain hopelessness lingering in the air that you tried to not think about too much. It was still too early to tell how the season would end. 

“I feel a lot calmer now, uh… so thank you for all that,” he said, showing gratitude. He didn’t know how you’d known exactly what to say, but you had pulled him back from the edge, and that mattered more than anything.

“Yeah, distraction tends to work quite well,” you replied, giving him a knowing look. “You should maybe talk to someone if this becomes a reoccurring thing.” 

His smile faded, but he nodded. Logan didn’t know now what this could lead to, but maybe he needed to prepare himself for feeling like this. He kind of wanted to talk to you about it, making a mental reminder to ask if panic attacks were common for you. 

“We should probably get back to the paddock,” he murmured as realisation hit him. 

He would have to face a lot of questions, and he was destined to put on a brave face, showing that this wasn’t something that had bothered him. 

“Only if you feel like it. I don’t care if we get in trouble,” you said, reassuring him. 

He shook his head, dropping the hold he had of your hands as he stood up and smoothed out his shorts. 

“I’ll be alright, I think.” 

. . .

Miami, USA

. . .

It became a thing for you to calm Logan down. 

You'd said it yourself: It was too early to tell how the season would play out. But race after race, you grew more certain—this Williams car might just be the worst on the grid. And while you knew close to nothing about the engineering and mechanical side of things, you realised that neither did most of the audience. That was why people started to blame the drivers instead. 

It didn’t really get to you—until Miami. That was when you felt anger over racing for the first time in your life, but absolutely not the last. 

The Miami sun had been relentless, casting a hot haze over the track and the bustling energy of the crowd. The faint smell of burnt rubber lingered in the air as you clutched your camera, squinting through the lens, trying to spot the cars as they zoomed by in a blur of colour and speed. The piercing sound of engines roaring filled your ears, but it was a sudden crash that made your heart drop.

You hadn’t been too far away from the exact barrier when the crash happened. And when you realised that it was Logan, getting pushed off the track by Magnussen for a measly 18th position, you felt rage inside. He didn’t even get to finish his home race because of someone else’s carelessness. 

By the time you made your way to the garage, the race had ended. The sound of people cheering for Lando’s first win was still deafening. Logan was checked by the medics but had been released soon after. When you found him, he was sitting in his driver’s room, still in his racing suit with his helmet beside him, his face flushed red and tense. His eyes met yours through the open door and you hesitated going to talk to him at first, but with a slight nod, he showed that it was okay. 

“Sooo… Magnussen is a cunt,” you blurted out, leaning in the doorway, the words escaping before you had a chance to filter them.

Logan couldn’t help but huff out a laugh in frustration. It was an empty laugh, the kind that didn’t quite reach up to sparkle his eyes with any genuine effect of your humorous words. Instead, the only thing adding light to his eyes were the tears threatening to fall. You’d seen it before. 

You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you realised what you had said. “I’m sorry, I don’t actually know him, that was really harsh.” 

“Well, I’m glad you said it because I’m not allowed to,” he muttered in response, looking down at his hands, pulling at loose skin from his cuticles. 

He sighed loudly, leaning to rest his head on the wall behind him. You moved his helmet to sit beside him, knowing now that you weren’t pushing any boundaries. You wouldn’t exactly call yourselves friends—you didn’t really know anything about each other—but having travelled and worked so closely together for two months now, you were starting to learn how his post-race emotions functioned. 

“I think I might be the living embodiment of it could be worse,” Logan stated.  

“Yeah, you could be in that series where they race electric scooters,” you joked. 

The corners of his mouth turned upward for a split second, then he thought about how the people racing scooters probably were having more fun than him this season. 

A silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You watched him for a moment, noticing the tension still visible in the tight set of his jaw. The weight of the season was bearing down on him—the constant pressure, the unfair expectations.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said softly, eyes downcast.

“I want to,” you replied without hesitation. 

He looked up at you, fully taking in your appearance. Miami made everyone hot and bothered, and not in the good way. A sheen of sweat coated your forehead, and your skin had gotten more golden from being under the sun. Just as he spotted a fresh scratch on your elbow that he assumed was from skating, he also acknowledged the shirt you were wearing. 

It wasn’t the William’s kit. It had his face on it, with the American flag and a bald eagle behind him. Perfectly oversized in your street-style-skater way. The text on it said wtf is a kilometer.

He snorted out loud, getting your attention. “I like your shirt.” 

“It’s cool, right?” you replied, tugging at the hem. “A little girl from the fan zone gave me this friendship bracelet too.” 

You reached out your wrist for him to see, baby blue beads rattling together. He carefully moved his fingers to twist it, showing him how white alphabet beads spelled out his surname, right there on your wrist. You were fully decked out to support him today… and he hadn’t even managed to finish the race. 

As his hands moved, you saw how they were practically shaking, something his nerves caused him to do. It was an uncontrollable response to the adrenaline and pent-up frustration. 

“You’re not alright, are you?” you asked gently.

He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he stared ahead, eyes glassy. Then, after a moment, he let out a shaky breath. “Can you say something to distract me? Tell me something about you that I don’t know.” 

You realised why he asked that. Like with the tattoos in Melbourne, distraction had worked on his anxiety before. You didn’t know if he had experienced more panic attacks or if he had tried to talk to someone about what had happened, but if you could help even a little bit by just yapping, you would do it whenever he asked. 

You thought for a second, thinking of something light-hearted to tell him. An idea popped into your head as you pulled out your phone from your pocket. “Oh, I started this instagram diary thing to get some use out of all the photos and videos I take. That should tell you everything about me.” 

The screen showed a grid of colourful photos, and Logan immediately scooted closer to get a better look. They were themed and edited to match together with long captions to actually mimic a diary. Your account was relatively small, mostly followed by old friends and members of the Williams team. 

You didn’t really have anything to hide, so you handed him the phone to let him scroll freely. There were weekly posts, one from every country you had visited thus far and also ones from when you were back in England. He’d learnt by now that you weren’t English, but lived with Angie and her fiancé Matthew during this season, only because employees needed to be based in the UK. 

“You really get out there and explore every time we’re in a new city?” he asked, slightly amazed after stopping at the post from Australia. It was a photo dump with everything from the beach, to a skatepark, to you enjoying the nightlife. 

“Yeah, but my schedule is not as busy as yours,” you replied, your lips curving into a small smile. “You should join sometime, maybe not to a skatepark, but for dinner or karaoke.” 

“You got to do karaoke in Japan?” Logan wondered, scrolling back up to see the post you had made from there. 

Cherry blossoms, sushi, a skate shop with custom decks. Logan had seen that you had gotten a new board with The Great Wave off Kanawaga on it to match your blue Williams clothes, but he didn’t know from where. The last picture of the post was from a bar lit in neon lights, something written with Japanese characters. He assumed that was where the karaoke had taken place. 

“Yeah,” you grinned, thinking back to the night. “Angie does a mean Michael Jackson impression.” 

Logan had a hard time envisioning Angie singing in front of people. She was in her early thirties, and while she was lovely, she was also kind of stiff. Maybe it helped being on the other side of the world. 

He shook his head, an amused scoff escaping him, but then his eyes drifted to an older post, further down your feed. It was multiple posts actually, all aligning together in an explosion of colours. It was collages of pictures, that, when zoomed out, depicted a picture in and of itself. They were all of a girl with bright pink hair. 

“What’s all that?” he asked, tilting the phone for you to see better. 

“It’s a project I did for university, like a mixed media thing where we had to turn photos into an art piece of a different kind,” you explained. 

You said it simply, but Logan was beyond impressed at how much time and precision it must’ve taken. First to take and develop what seemed like a million photographs of the same person, and then to make a collage out of them, basically using the pictures as building blocks to make a much larger version of said person. 

“Did you go to art school?” 

“Oh no,” you laughed softly. “I did political science with a minor in photography. My entire family is made up of lawyers, so that was always my plan A.”  

He looked at you curiously. “So why aren’t you in law school now?” 

“Because I got rejected by every single one I applied to,” you dead-panned, tinged with a kind of self-deprecating humor. “I’m not that smart, Logan. Angie practically saved my life by letting me join her.” 

There was a brief pause, a moment of vulnerability hanging in the air. 

It was ridiculous really, how it all had happened—how you had been shaped your entire life for one future and then achieving nothing of it. 

You were the youngest of three siblings. Your brother was fifteen and your sister was ten when you were born. It was obvious to everyone except your parents that you were an accidental pregnancy. 

Being that much younger, you always felt behind because you were never on the same intellectual level as the rest of your family. Then, when you finally caught up in age and was supposed to be seen as an adult, you still couldn’t succeed in the things your siblings had succeeded in. You never got into a nice university, and while you just narrowly managed to graduate, it would have never been enough to get into law school no matter how hard you tried. 

School was never your thing. You found joy in art and sports, but you never had the concentration to sit down with your nose in a book to learn things. It took your parents a long time to realise this, because your siblings had never had any problems. Your brother was the youngest chairman ever at your father’s law firm, and your sister worked for the World Court in The Hague. 

You never stood a chance, but no one saw that. 

Angie was your sister’s childhood friend, and when she found out about your failed attempt at law school, she was the one to arrange this job for you. She knew that it was never your dream to do as the rest of your family. Your parents still didn’t see that. 

Everyone said that all they wanted for their children was for them to be happy and healthy, but that wasn’t really what they wanted. They wanted them to be like themselves, or even better—they wanted them to be better than themselves. And when the first two children actually managed to be better, who wouldn’t be a little disappointed in the third one? 

Logan’s voice brought you out of your spiralling thoughts. You watched as his eyes softened, and he said with pure honesty, “I think what you’re doing now is way cooler.” 

“Yeah, but my parents, and grandparents, and siblings do not,” you shrugged, the compliment washing over you but not quite sinking in.

“What would you have been doing if their opinion didn’t matter to you?” he asked, his voice suddenly louder. 

You contemplated for a moment, startled by his question and change of mood. 

“I would have skated a lot more, maybe even competitively. Or started with sports photography earlier. Not done political science, that’s for sure,” you said. “What about you?” 

“I think I’m already supposed to be living my dream,” he answered, but his voice lacked conviction. “I shouldn’t feel this… sad, I should be enjoying what I have right now because Sainz is taking my seat next year.” 

“Carlos? Jesus, that’s the downgrade of the century,” you blurted out without thinking, and Logan’s head snapped towards you, surprise in his eyes.  

“What? Do we think the Williams car will magically compete with Ferrari next season?” you chuckled. “No, it will be hilarious to hear him complain over the radio.” 

You hadn’t given him the time to answer, but he would’ve said something similar to what you did. He was reluctant to laugh, but he knew it was true. 

As he let the laugh out, he was immediately stuck by how freely he did it. He’d felt the same kind of weight over his chest like he had in Melbourne earlier. With the medics, and with the engineers, and with James. He didn’t feel that now, he could laugh without thinking of it. Without thinking of how his future was still very much undecided. You’d done it again—distracted him out of total anxious paralysis. 

“Do you know what you’re gonna do?” you asked. 

“I’ve got absolutely nothing figured out,” he admitted.

“Then I think we should use Lando’s win as an excuse to get absolutely wasted.” 

. . .

Montréal, Canada

. . .

Canada was cold, like actually freezing. And it wouldn’t stop raining. You tried to do your job the best you could, but when your shoes were soaked through and raindrops had started to trickle down the inside of your coat, getting good photos was impossible. So, you had to give up with capturing the track and the crowd and opted on finding something content-worthy in the garage instead. 

Logan found you on the floor of the garage, sat on your skateboard, using it to slide across to capture the car in some sort of panoramic view he assumed. He didn’t say much, leaving you to work in peace as he went on to focus on his own things. He could spot you in his periphery every now and then. You still wore your red bucket hat because of the rain, and your worn-out Nikes squeaked against the slick flooring. 

He heard Alex enter his side of the garage with a ringing laughter, patting his shoulder as a way of greeting him. 

“Might I ask why Paddy is on the floor?” he asked, voice laced with amusement at the girl in front of them, basically folded in half to get the perfect photograph. 

You looked up at Alex from your position, the camera still held up like a shield between you. The flash went off as you sneakily took a picture of the two drivers. “Angles, baby. Angles,” you grinned. 

Alex tilted his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “What angle is that exactly? My double chin?” 

“Don’t worry, you look great,” you reassured, standing up again. 

Logan could see how your eyes searched for something, and when he spotted your lens cap laying on a nearby table, he reached out to give it to you. You nodded slightly as a silent thank you, surprised at how observant he’d been.

He would’ve never admitted it at the time, but how easy the word baby left your lips definitely lingered on his mind. It didn’t exactly help that it was Alex you’d said it too, even if it was in a jokingly manner. 

You continued working, changing cameras from digital to film, capturing the team as they prepared for the race to start. You only stopped to go outside to photograph when a hailstorm hit the paddock. 

Logan saw you enter the hospitality, drenched from head to toe, your blue coat having turned navy from the rain. Your eyes watched the hail in miraculous awe. He spotted you shivering from the weather, your hands having a hard time holding the camera as the cold gnawed at your fingers. 

You felt him before you saw him, his quiet energy sneaking up on you, standing behind you as hail and raindrops hit the glass panes of the Williams hospitality building. 

“Here,” he said, holding out a steaming mug.

You blinked, momentarily confused by the gesture. “I don’t drink coffee,” you reminded him. “Everyone says I’m hyper enough without caffeine.” 

Logan’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “I know that,” he replied. “It’s mine, but you can use the mug to warm your hands.” 

“Oh…” Your voice trailed off as you reached for the mug, the warmth radiating from the ceramic a stark contrast to the cold that had settled in your bones. Your fingers touched his as you grabbed it, almost feeling igniting a hotter fire than the boiling hot coffee warming you. “Thank you.”

Logan watched you in that silent way of his, the hailstorm outside temporarily forgotten as the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you.

You glanced up at him, your heart doing a ridiculous fluttering thing it had started doing whenever he was close. His gaze was steady, searching yours with a familiar, unspoken understanding that had developed over months of working together. A soft chuckle escaped your lips, the sound surprising even you, thinking back on how he had handed you your lens cap earlier. And now this, too. 

“Why do you always seem to know what I need before I do?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, voice low enough for you to just about hear him. 

It took you a while to understand what he meant. Then it hit you, that your comfort—your distraction—was what he needed. And you did it without him asking. Ever since tears had fallen from his blue eyes on that hotel room floor somewhere in Melbourne. 

. . .

Later, the race began and came to an end. 

The rain had stopped and the streets had dried up, leaving an eerily quiet race tack left under glimmering city lights. As you skated the paddock, weaving through the lingering crowd, the adrenaline of the race still pulsed through you, but it was dulled by the quiet aftermath.

You hadn’t really had any time to talk with anyone, being out by the track all race. While the race was disappointing, the cars had at least been a pleasure to photograph as they sprayed water around them. 

You spotted a group of team members ahead, their heads low, conversations muted. Among them, Logan’s familiar figure stood out. You pushed off your skateboard with a quiet flick, coasting toward him. His ears perked up at the sound of the wheels against the concrete. As you got closer, you set your foot down, slowing to match his pace.

“Soo… uhm,” you started, voice unsure.  

“Yeah, we don’t have to talk about it,” he said quickly, his gaze locked on the asphalt in front of him as he continued to walk slowly, you riding beside him. 

You both knew what it meant. A double DNF, a race weekend that spiralled out of control, and hours of work undone in seconds.

“We can, if you want to,” you offered. 

You glanced at him then, really looking at him for the first time since before the race. He looked tired, but more than that—defeated. And yet, he was trying to be strong. You offered him a chance to vent, even though you both knew it wouldn’t necessarily help. Not when you couldn’t pinpoint a defining factor as to why the weekend had gone to shit. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t Alex’s fault. It was just a mess to race in this much rain. 

Logan let out a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not sure anyone on the team would want to talk about today,” he admitted. 

You could only nod, completely understanding that it was probably best to be quiet about the race. You were better off distracting him, like you usually did. 

“You wanna have dinner? A little pick-me-up? Maybe Alex and Lily will want to join.” 

Logan huffed a dry laugh. “They’re having what Alex calls DNF therapy.” 

“Do I wanna know what that means?” you questioned, acting intrigued. 

You didn’t need to ask. You understood what it meant. But you asked anyway, to see if Logan would explain it to you. 

“No, you don’t,” he replied short, shaking his head. 

“How about room service and a shitty movie instead?” you suggested. 

“You’re starting to know me so well,” he said. He then paused, the realisation settling in as he glanced sideways at you. “I guess you’re my DNF therapy, huh.”

You tried to stop yourself from making the conversation take a turn. You really did. But the joke was there, right in front of your eyes, looking so damn tempting. 

“I’m not having sex with you, Sargeant,” you said sternly. 

Logan blinked, his eyes wide for a second before he burst out laughing. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Noted. Loud and clear.”

For a brief moment, a tension so thick formed between you that you could almost feel it taking up space in the cold, still slightly rainy air. It was quickly replaced by the laughter—the easy banter you usually had with Logan. 

But the thought lingered in your mind longer than it should have. In reality, you probably would’ve done it. If he asked you, that is. Sex with Logan, huh. The heat that rose to your cheeks was almost painful. Your infatuation had been visible, right there on your face, if only Logan had been confident enough to see it. 

You had to push these thoughts away. You didn’t need things to be complicated between the two of you. Even if this stupid crush you had on him was starting to become harder to ignore.  

Instead, you nudged his arm playfully before pushing with your foot to skate in front of him, glancing back over your shoulder with a grin. “Come on. Let’s go order some overpriced food and find the worst movie possible.”

. . .

Baku, Azerbaijan

. . .

Azerbaijan was hot, like actually blazing. You could feel sweat running down your face and back every time you were out of the air-conditioned garage to photograph. By the time race day came around, you already had blisters on the inside of your thighs from chafing, and your skin was warm to the touch from being burnt.  

The moment you had now, on the Sunday morning, to sit inside and edit some photos was therefore sacred. It was the first calm and, more importantly, cool moment you’d had in days. The torment the heat had on your body had still left its mark. You couldn’t get comfortable. You couldn’t get your heart to stop racing. You wouldn’t have called it anxiety, but since this morning, you were now sure that heat exhaustion wasn’t the only thing you were feeling. 

Your mind was enough of a twisty place. Now, when it wouldn’t shut the fuck up, it was like a constant stream of emotions just overwhelming you. 

At least, the photos you had taken during practice and qualifying turned out sick. You’d tried out a new long exposure technique that really captured the speed even in static form. And you had definitely gotten better at candid portrait photography, which was a huge part of your job. Editing was usually the simplest part for you, but when the photos were so close that you could count the subject’s individual eyelashes, it was easy to get flustered. 

You finished the editing and decided on asking both Alex and Logan for their favourites before sending the content to the media team. It wasn’t something that was required from you, but you also knew that having your photo taken could be difficult. 

With your laptop in your hand, you walked to their driver rooms, rounding the corner to be met with a wide open door into Logan’s. 

“Logan, I—” you started, your breath catching in your throat at the sight in front of you. 

There he was, in workout shorts but no shirt, lounging in his room before changing into his race gear. He didn’t even have time to look up from his phone before you were rambling out an apology, ready to run out of the room—hell, maybe even the garage. 

“Oh fuck, shit, I’m sorry,” you hurried to say, feeling your pulse quicken. You hoped he didn’t notice how your mouth hung open or the way your eyes darted everywhere but his torso. 

“What’s up?” he said, straightening his back and running a hand through his hair.

His casual confidence made everything about your reaction feel even worse. He didn’t mind you seeing him shirtless, so why the fuck did you have to care so much? 

“I just…” you stammered, losing all sense of vocabulary as your eyes deceived you, glancing at his chest. “Forgot how to English.” 

Logan let out a gentle laugh, and you mentally told yourself to get your shit together. 

“I have some photos for you to look at,” you said, holding up your laptop that had been your reason to barge into his room in the first place.

“Right, right,” Logan nodded. “Let me put a shirt on first.”

Your mouth moved before your brain could stop it. The moment the words left your mouth, you wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. 

“No, I get it. I’d be shirtless too if it was socially acceptable.” 

He froze mid-step, his head slowly turning back to you with a raised brow.

You’d said no. In milliseconds. Like you were opposed to him putting a shirt on. Like that was a totally normal thing. Then, you just had to mention yourself being shirtless. So, you were forced to wonder if he was thinking about you without a shirt on as much as you were thinking about him without one. 

Well… you didn’t necessarily have to think. He was already standing in front of you shirtless. That was a known fact.

The moment you thought he might actually flirt back with you, it was like you could see how the tension washed away from his face. 

“It’s hot, right?” he asked, moving some things out of the way so that you could place your laptop on the table in his room. A part of you thought he wasn’t actually talking about the temperature. 

“Way too fucking hot,” you mumbled as your fingers shakily hovered over the mousepad. Your heart was racing and your body was overheating. You didn’t dare look up from the screen, afraid of what you might see in his eyes—or worse, what he might see in yours.

He overviewed the photos, pointing out some of his favourites. You’d gathered quite quickly that Logan had an amateur interest in photography. He didn’t shy away from complimenting your work or from asking questions about certain shots he found special. That didn’t make the rushing heat flowing to your face any better. 

“You alright?” you heard him ask as you closed the laptop shut, your photo viewing session done for now. You couldn’t really focus, a ringing sound hitting your ears. 

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah, just a lot to do. I’ll see you after the race.” 

With that, you dashed out of his room, on your way to find Alex instead. You couldn’t keep doing this to yourself, but that didn’t exactly matter. Either way, you were in too deep, and you knew it.

. . .

The Williams car was decent in Baku—fast on the straights, as expected. Alex got points and Logan wasn’t far from archiving it too. Still, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t the most depressing result—he would manage this weekend without once collapsing like an anxious mess. That was a win in his book nowadays. 

Logan walked with Alex from the media pen, adrenaline in his steps, talking freely about whatever came to mind. 

“Did she show you the photos she took during practice yesterday? She used some kind of long exposure. I don’t know what it’s called or how she did it but it looked so cool—” 

“Logan,” Alex stopped him. 

“What?” 

“Take a breath, you’ve been talking about Paddy for like five whole minutes,” Alex teased, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I get that you like her photography, but this is borderline obsessive.”

“I’m not obsessed,” Logan defended. “You were the one who brought her up in the first place anyway.” 

“Mate, all I did was ask if you’d seen her. She didn’t take any photos as we exited the cars,” Alex explained. 

Logan shrugged. “I haven’t seen her since before the race.” 

“Me neither, that’s why I asked.” 

Realisation dawned upon Logan that something wasn’t alright. You’d seemed sort of unbalanced earlier in the day, but he assumed that was the heat and a massive workload. It wasn’t something he hadn’t seen before, and you seemed to quietly get through every hurdle in your way anyway. He would be blind if he didn’t see your embarrassment to barging in on him shirtless, but he had explained that reaction away too in his head. He mostly found you cute, but that didn’t have to mean anything. 

He couldn’t find an explanation for this, though. Even after shit races, he looked forward to seeing you with your camera held high every time he exited the car, got weighed, or was walking to the media pen. But you hadn’t been there today… 

His emotional support photographer hadn’t been there. Sure, today’s race wasn’t that bad, and he didn’t necessarily need you as a distraction for his anxiety. But you didn’t know that. That had to mean that something had happened to you. 

“Angie, where’s Paddy?” Alex asked as they entered back into the Williams garage, practically running into the obviously stressed-out marketing manager. 

“Uhh…” Angie hesitated, not lifting her eyes from her phone. “Still with the medical team, I think. She passed out during the race. Heatstroke, most likely.” 

Logan froze. He didn’t understand why he cared so much, but for some reason he did. He cared about you, and he cared so much that he was about to act irrationally. 

“She passed out? How are you so calm?” he questioned. 

Angie shrugged, far too nonchalantly for his liking. “It’s a million degrees outside, heatstrokes are bound to happen—”

Logan didn’t wait for another word. He was already moving, cutting through the garage with purpose.

Alex shouted after him, “Logan, where are you going? We have debrief soon!” 

“Tell them I’m not coming!” was all that he yelled as a reply. 

. . .

The air in the small, sterile room seemed to hum with the tension that had followed you since you woke up.

“Miss, how are you feeling?” 

You blinked, still trying to find your bearings. It took you a second to even see the medic that was talking to you. The heat clouded your vision like a mirage. Your mouth was dry, your skin sticky from sweat, but at least you were conscious. They’d placed you in a secluded room in the makeshift medical area, lying on a stiff and temporary cot. 

“It’s a lot better now,” you replied hoarsely, managing a weak smile. “Still have a slight headache, but I guess that’s normal.” 

You didn’t know if it was the bright fluorescent lighting or the heat still affecting you, but your eyes burned and your head pounded. You felt the instinct to rub your temples, but was hindered when you felt an IV-needle inserted in your arm. 

You didn’t know how long you’d been out. You weren’t  even sure what had happened really. One second you were in the garage, trying to get a perfect shot of Alex making his pit stop. The next one, you have a vague memory of being moved into the medical area and multiple people’s voices buzzing above you. 

“Yes, it is. Do you know what happened?” the medic asked. His voice was kind as he stood by your bedside, an iPad in hand with information. 

“Uh, I… passed out? Did I hit my head?”

“No, no, you didn’t. You should be lucky that garage was filled with people to catch a falling lady,” he joked lightly. 

You smiled, albeit a bit forced. You looked at the medic’s name tag, trying to make out the letters with your clouded vision. Amir. That was a pretty name. At least your brain was working somewhat.

“We just want to observe you for a little longer to make sure you’re no longer dehydrated, otherwise you should be completely fine. Are you on any medication now?” Amir continued by saying. 

You thought for a second. “Yeah, wait… I can never remember the names.” 

Looking around you, you were thankful to see your camera bag with your phone inside placed neatly on a table next to the cot. You moved carefully to reach it, opening your notes app to show Amir the prescriptions you had written down. 

“I take those daily for ADHD, and uh… those for anxiety when I feel like I need it,” you explained, pointing at the screen even though it hurt your head to look at it. 

Amir nodded and tapped something down on his iPad. “Did you take one today?” 

“Yeah, one of each.” 

“Good to know. I’ll go get you something for that headache,” he reassured you before leaving, letting his hand gently squeeze your arm as an act of thoughtfulness. 

You closed your tired eyes for a moment, a feverish cold sweat catching up to you, making you realise just how uncomfortable your Williams kit was, practically glueing your warm body to the cot. 

The door clicked shut softly behind the medic as he left, but it wasn’t long before you heard it creak open again. You looked up, expecting Amir, but instead, it was… Logan.

You blinked, a little confused. His blond hair was slightly damp, still sporting what was obviously helmet-hair. He looked tired, maybe as exhausted as you felt, yet he stood there, hesitant for only a moment before stepping inside. 

He shouldn't be here. He should be debriefing with the team, or doing interviews, or—

“What the hell did you do?” Logan asked, only half-teasing as real concern bled through in his voice. 

“Apparently I passed out,” you answered, trying to downplay it with a weak smile.

Logan sighed, the tension visibly draining from his body as if seeing you alright, even in this condition, was enough to ease the worry that had been weighing on him. You were sure you looked like a complete mess—sweaty, shivering, barely able to keep your eyes open.

He moved inside the room, sitting down on a stool next to your cot. You turned to look at him, feeling his intense eyes on you already. You didn’t know what to do, or what to feel. Your system was already cooked, fried up completely from feeling bad all day to passing out in front of a crowded garage.  

“So, uhm… you’re just as anxious as I am?” he asked nervously, tilting his head. 

Your stomach twisted. It didn’t take you long to realise that he had overheard your conversation with Amir—about the medication, about your diagnoses. It wasn’t a secret in  any way, you just hadn’t planned to tell him about it unless he asked. Your magical cure to dealing with his anxiety was… two decades of dealing with your own. 

“Not that it’s a competition, but I’m way worse,” you joked. 

Not fitting in at school, not fitting in at home—it would make anyone anxious out of their skin. And younger you were surrounded by people who didn’t know how to deal with it—to deal with you. Your family labelled you as a sad child, or god forbid sensitive, and sort of just accepted your anxious responses to every minor thing. Doctors and therapists called you emotionally intelligent, but you never found that to be a compliment, like it was a positive thing to be so aware of your own problems. 

Logan stared at you plainly. “Do the meds help?” 

You scoffed. “Yeah, they do. Just not against heat exhaustion.” 

You saw how Logan’s expression stayed the same, slightly emotionless, slightly annoyed at how you just couldn’t help yourself from joking about the situation. You’d experienced it before—how people disliked you for it. 

“You don’t have to be here, Logan. I’m fine,” you added, shying away from looking at him. 

That broke his demeanor. He was quick to grab your hand, careful with the IV-port connected to your inner elbow. His grip was firm but tender, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I want to be here,” he shortly replied. There was no room for debate. 

You wanted to protest, to tell him that he didn’t need to babysit you, that he had more important things to do. But the truth was… you weren’t fine. Not really.

You were used to keeping to yourself, even in busy places like the paddock. You were used to the chaos and noise of your family, where attention was either forced or withheld, never calmly showed. Silence was your refuge. You were talkative, sure, but you had learnt early on that asking for help meant admitting weakness—something that wasn’t welcome in the household you grew up in. As a kid, you would shut down when you felt this overwhelmed. Even now, sat in a medical room after collapsing for heat exhaustion, that old instinct was there, tugging at you to shut down. 

Logan, however, was still there, unfazed, waiting.  

Maybe he wanted to tell you how it was slightly reckless to feel this bad and not inform anyone, but he also understood more than anybody—that admitting a weakness while doing a job people questioned your talent for—wasn’t something easily done, or something that would even help your cause in the end. 

But he didn’t say anything. He just held your hand, breathing steadily. His fingertips traced upward to one of the floral tattoos you had on your forearm. His touch felt… gentle. Intimate, even, your clouded mind envisioned. It sent a shiver through you—not from the feverish cold sweat, but from something else entirely.

“How did the race go?” you asked, swallowing down emotions, more to change the subject than anything.

“Not important.” Logan shook his head. “What? I mean it. I’m focused on you now.” 

You tried to roll your eyes, but the effort was too much. You could feel yourself unravelling, the exhaustion too heavy to ignore anymore. He noticed it too.

“My father called me this morning,” you blurted out after a moment of silence, surprising even yourself. “I think that’s why I was feeling so off today.” 

Logan, again, didn’t say anything, just waited, his gaze steady, patient. He wasn’t rushing you, wasn’t pushing you to say more. He was just… there. He’d learnt from you, you slowly realised—to let anxious people talk when they wanted to talk and to distract them when talking would only make things worse. 

“We haven’t talked in months,” you admitted, biting your lip. “So, I thought… I thought he was finally going to be the bigger person and actually show some interest in my life and the job I’m doing.” 

Logan nodded slowly, sensing the conclusion before you even voiced it. “I’m guessing he didn’t?” 

“He called to offer me a job at his firm because one of their legal assistants is going on maternity leave.” You let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow. “I’ve been working and travelling the world for half a year, making a name for myself, and he still doesn’t believe that I can do it.” 

It was funny, how the first man to ever break your heart was your own father. And he hadn’t done it with malicious intent, but because he was just too blind to get to know his own daughter.

Your breath hitched, and before you could stop them, the tears spilled over, silent but insistent. You wiped your face with the back of your hand, embarrassed by the vulnerability, the rawness. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying.” 

“Don’t apologise. You’ve seen me cry enough times to know that it’s okay.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened just a fraction, a quiet reassurance. You didn’t have to suck up the tears and build up a façade to prove that you were unbothered.

“He doesn’t need to believe in you for you to succeed,” Logan said quietly, his words like an anchor to your focus. “You can do it, actually, you are doing it.” 

And the first time in your life, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

. . .

Austin, USA

. . .

Austin was… disappointing. 

That was the word of this season. Disappointing. Because no matter how hard it looked like Alex and Logan were pushing themselves and the cars—they got nothing out of it. Now, Logan knew for certain that he wasn’t coming back to Formula One next season. As much as Logan had wanted to go out on a high note, to leave with his head held high, reality didn’t allow it.

The only moments that really brought him any sort of joy nowadays were the ones off track. Especially the ones with you. He didn’t like to overthink it because it was complicated, and God knows he wasn’t in the right state of mind for anything complicated. But calling it platonic? That would be a lie. It wasn’t necessarily love either, just a deep understanding of each other. 

Like now, on the Sunday evening after the disappointing race, when you and him spent time in his hotel room, watching a movie that was so bad and eating room service food that was so tasteless. You were there, for him, as a distraction, as a constant. You laughed at the ridiculousness of the plot, made sarcastic comments about the actors, and occasionally hummed along to the cheesy soundtrack. You showed him attention and affection when he quite literally felt like the worst person in the world. 

“I should probably go to my own room,” you said, trying to hide a yawn as you spoke. The food finished a long time ago and the end credits rolling on the TV-screen at the end of the bed.  

Logan looked at you over his shoulder from his position on the bed, the one he’d been sinking into from exhaustion since you’d both entered his room. He was laid on his side, back turned to you. You were sat against the plush headboard, your hair looked a mess as you leant your head. He’d been quiet for a long time, barely even laughed during the movie’s funnier parts. But now, he slowly shook his head as he looked at you. 

He didn’t want you to leave. 

You silently agreed to stay for a little longer by just a look from your eyes. He turned his back to you again and you reached for the remote to turn off the TV. A static and quiet sound of air-conditioning the only thing audible in the hotel room. You shuffled behind him carefully, letting yourself lie down with your front facing his back. You didn’t dare to move under the covers like he had, only his blond hair and shirtless shoulders peeking out. 

“They should’ve just sacked me off before the summer break,” he finally muttered. You saw how a breath left his lungs, weighing him further down into the mattress. “Or after the crash at Zandvoort. Y’know? Just done something to get rid of me so that I didn’t have to feel this way.” 

He hadn’t talked like this in a while. You’d heard it a lot earlier during the season, when there were talks of him getting replaced after every race he didn’t score points. The talking never stopped, but Logan’s attitude definitely changed. He was indifferent to it, and that was scary to see—someone so young, kicked to the ground repeatedly, that his dreams lost their importance even to himself.

He’d been more careful with you since Baku. You thought maybe that had an influence on him too. He didn’t want to crowd you with emotions and anxiety when he now knew that you didn’t have it easy either. You didn’t think that was fair. You had never once felt like he added on to your anxiety. He only made it better. 

“You’re not saying much,” he added quietly, as your silence became too much for him. 

“For once in my life, I thought I’d try out what it’s like to be quiet,” you responded, but there was no bite in your voice. It was gentle, sympathetic—not joking like you used to do. “No, I’m sorry. I was letting you vent. It sounded like you needed it.” 

Logan's body slumped further as he exhaled, realising that you were right. 

“Logan, listen,” you said. “It would make no sense to sack you off. No possible replacement would be able to adjust in time for a better chance at points. Williams is doomed this season no matter what if they can’t give both cars equal machinery.” 

Your words hung in the air, not offering a solution, but trying to relieve him of some of the guilt he had piled on him. 

Without thinking, your fingers began tracing a pattern on his back, just by his exposed shoulder blade. Small, mindless circles—something to occupy the space between words. You weren’t even aware you were doing it until Logan spoke again.

“Are you doing one of those children’s rhymes?” Logan asked with a slight amusement as he recognised the pattern your finger was moving in.

“Who says they’re just for children?” you joked. 

“X marks the spot, a circle and a dot…” he started, trailing off with a soft laugh. His voice was muffled by the pillow he was lying on, but you could hear the faint hint of a smile in it. 

“Wait…I don’t know the right order in English,” you admitted, a little embarrassed as you lifted your finger from his skin. 

“Do it in your language,” he suggested in a heartbeat. 

“But you won’t understand it?”

“I just like listening to you speak,” Logan said softly, sincerely. 

“Really? I’ve been told that I sound like a muppet before by English speakers,” you questioned, feeling a flush rise in your cheeks despite yourself.

That wasn’t a lie. Muppet. Cartoon character. Or just any national stereotype people could think of. You’d heard it all. 

Logan chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Is that why you try to not have an accent?” 

“Yeah, I guess so,” you shrugged. “It was either a borderline offensive British accent or sounding like I’m one of the Kardashians.” 

He felt a short breath fall on his naked shoulder, something between a giggle and a huff. He could imagine the look on your face—smiling, trying to not be too loud for the room’s sombre atmosphere. 

You did as he asked, tracing the rhyme onto his back in the way you remembered your mother doing it to you as a child when you couldn’t sleep. His skin was tan and slightly freckled, feeling smooth under your fingertip. You whispered the words quietly in the language you knew best. 

“I love how you sound when you don’t care,” Logan said after a moment. “And in your native language.” 

You raised an eyebrow in confusion. Not that he would be able to see your expression anyway. You had no idea that he’d even heard you speak in your native tongue before.

“When you’re on the phone with your family and so on,” he continued. “Your tone changes, it’s more melodic.” 

You’d always been self-conscious about your accent, always trying to blend in, to sound like everyone else. Again, it was one of those things that had always made you feel just a little bit inadequate. A little bit less than the older people around you. But here he was, appreciating the very thing you tried to hide. Loving it, even. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice barely audible as you let your head fall forward, your forehead resting gently against his shoulder blade. 

You stayed like that for a moment, tracing his back, savouring the quiet, intimacy of the moment without needing to explain or define it. You could’ve told him that you liked him. Your lips were only centimetres away from kissing the bare skin of his shoulder. You sensed that it was not the best time to try messing with his head and digging up your emotions to the surface, so you squashed them down all over again. 

Logan fell asleep first, but you weren’t long after. Right there, behind him. That was never your plan, but a tired mind did whatever the tired mind wanted to, you supposed. Now that it had happened, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. It didn’t end up being an issue until morning came around. 

It was early—earlier than what it needed to be—when the sun broke through the curtains and filled the room with light, evidently waking you. The daily alarm you had set on your phone wouldn’t be ringing for another hour or two. 

You had slept fine. Nothing disrupting you. Nothing waking you. You didn’t even dream. When you woke up, however, you thought you might be dreaming. 

During the night, your positions had changed. Somehow, you weren’t behind Logan anymore, with a safe distance. No, he was spooning you. An arm lazily draped over your stomach and his warm breath tickled the skin of your neck every time he exhaled. 

Nope, you definitely weren’t dreaming.

You laid as still as you possibly could, tensing your entire body, gathering that he was fast asleep. But, you had to move at some point. Your body would go into rigor mortis if you didn’t. And you were scalding hot. Falling asleep in a sweatshirt, Logan’s arm hugging your waist. It was all too much for you. 

That was when you felt it. You accidentally shifted your legs, moving further back. You felt him, poking the back of your thigh. Hard, frustrated, large. A warmness spread through your body as you realised it, making the climate even more unbearable in that bed. You knew that it was involuntary. It was just how the male body worked sometimes. You knew that this wasn’t some indication that he reciprocated the feelings you harboured for him. 

Somehow, that wasn’t even the worst part about it. You could feel his heartbeat racing, as his chest was so close to your back. That was the worst part. Like this was exciting him, or making him nervous—even in his sleep, even involuntary. 

You were going to die. This was about to kill you. And you’d let it happen. You wanted it to kill you. 

You had to get out of here, and that was now. 

You sure looked comedic, trying to get out of that bed quickly while also not waking him. Like a newborn giraffe, attempting to stand up for the first time as a heavy comforter clung to its body. 

But you did it, shutting the heavy hotel room door behind you, eyes darting around the hallway of rooms, looking to see if you’d been caught by anyone. Just as you started to walk to your own room, a voice from down the hallway stopped you. 

“Why were you in Logan’s room at the ass crack of dawn?” 

You spun to meet Angie’s gaze, and she came up to you, just having left her own room, dressed and ready for the day. You were in yesterday’s clothes and makeup, looking positively frazzled. She read your expression in a second. 

“Oh my god,” Angie gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “You slept with him!” 

“No, no, I promise I did not!” you defended quickly, voice laced with panic. “Or, I mean—” you fumbled over your words as you watched Angie try to not burst into laughter. “We fell asleep next to each other, but we did not have sex.” 

“I don’t really care what you did or did not do with him, because I trust you to still be good at your job. I just—” she paused, her face softening as she looked at you, the big sister mentality coming into place even though you shared no ties of blood. “I want you to know your worth, and that race car drivers are notorious for being—” 

You cut her off, voice steadier than before. “I know my worth,” you said, before adding with a dramatic sigh, “I just happen to be on sale for a certain sad and anxious American.” 

“I get it, it happens to the best of us,” Angie nodded, her lips curling into a smirk. “You think you know what rock bottom feels like and then all of a sudden you want to fuck the blond guy.”

You could only laugh at her unusually crude words. Maybe it hit too close to home for her. 

“You’re engaged to a blond guy, Angie,” you pointed out. 

Matthew’s hair was almost white, that’s how blond he was. He most certainly had some Scandinavian in him. Logan would be considered brunet in comparison. 

“Like I said, it just happens,” she shrugged, draping an arm around your shoulder. Back to comfortable camaraderie. “Let’s go get breakfast, lover girl.” 

. . .

On the other side of the door, Logan had woken up by the sound of it slamming shut. It took him a moment to piece together what had happened. His increased heart rate. His throbbing morning wood. You, running out of his hotel room before he could wake up. What the fuck did this mean? God, he felt like dying. Or maybe just taking a really long, cold shower.

. . .

Mexico City, Mexico

. . .

“This is a waste of your time,” you called out from across the park, feeling the warm wind sweep through your hair as you carved the side of the bowl. You pushed your weight into the deck, the skateboard responding to your every shift, gliding along the concrete.

While you’d gotten to skate in some impressive parks around the world this year—this one in Mexico might take the price for being the best. It was gorgeous, in an area that you could tell flourished with graffiti and street artists. The concrete was smooth, the bowl was deep and large enough. The local skaters were talented and ranged from kids with their fathers to groups of teenagers.

“It’s not wasted time if it’s with you,” Logan said from his seat by the edge of the bowl, his eyesight focused through the little viewfinder on a vintage polaroid camera.

You’d both been asked to go to dinner with some team members after the Mexican Grand Prix, but you had answered honestly with how you’d much rather go explore this skatepark that you had heard amazing things about. Logan had answered with less honesty that he was too tired. With one look, you could tell that he silently asked to join you instead.

He was happy to just sit in the evening sun, looking out over the people skating, and stealing a camera from you to take some photos. You’d given him a polaroid camera that was only for your personal use. The film was getting expensive and your case of developed pictures was getting full, but you knew the memories would be worth it.

Logan wasn’t sure that he was very good at photography at first. He was too impatient to wait at the film developing, thinking he’d ruined most of the shots before colour even started showing on the little squares of film.

But he hadn’t ruined them. He just had to wait. And after he had waited, he was pretty damn proud of the outcome. There were gorgeous murals, a lot of the setting sun, some of kids skating around—but most of them were of you. The sun kissed your skin, and the sweat from your ride clung to you, but still, there was something about the way Logan saw you through that camera lens. Young, sweet—maybe even beautiful.

You rolled your eyes at his cliché words, pushing the tail of your board to get a bit more speed as you curved around the deep end of the bowl. Your body had memorized the movements of skating so deeply that you no longer thought about them; you just moved, instinct guiding you. It was moments like this when everything else fell away, and you were simply alive.

Logan snapped another picture, the click of the shutter audible even over the distant chatter of the park. You could tell he was smiling, even though the camera obscured half his face.

“You’re such a shutterbug!” you teased, your board coming to a stop just below him in the bowl.

“And you’re very photogenic,” he shot back without missing a beat, the sound of the shutter following swiftly after.

He could only imagine what the picture would look like without it having fully developed yet. Your high pitched laugh materialising in a wide smile with crooked teeth. You looked like a little train conductor in your striped denim boiler suit, worn-out to the point of tearing, showing off banged-up knees and elbows from never enough wearing protective gear.

After what felt like hours of skating, you finally called it a night, and the two of you began to walk back to the hotel. The buildings around you, old and worn, were painted in soft pastel shades that had faded with age. Mexico City had that effect—beautifully chaotic, with stories hidden in every crack and corner.

You were still buzzing with the adrenaline from skating, unable to stop yourself from laughing every few minutes. It was a lightness that came from doing something you loved, and being with someone who, in his own way, seemed to love it just as much.

Out of nowhere, you pointed up, a giggle bubbling over. “Look!”

Logan followed your gaze, his eyes landing on a pair of old, beat-up Converse dangling from a power line overhead.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” you said, half to yourself. “Isn’t that used to mark a spot for drug dealers?” Logan asked, brow raised in amusement.

“Maybe. But it’s also used to commemorate things. Graduation, marriages, all sorts of stuff.” You gave him a playful smirk. “You know, to mark a memory.”

“You should do it, to commemorate this year.”

“Actually…” You trailed off, biting your lip. “I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo to commemorate this year.”

His eyebrows shot up, clearly interested. “Really? What of?”

“Not sure yet. Something small, meaningful. I’ll figure it out.”

Logan hummed in approval, then looked pointedly at your shoes. “You know, you could commemorate this moment by tossing those sneakers up there. God knows they’ve seen better days.”

You glanced down at your well-worn Nikes, the soles starting to peel, the laces frayed. The cobalt swooshes had practically turned a faded navy-brown shade instead. Thinking about it, your suitcase was filled with other sneakers too.

“I mean, you’re not wrong. But how am I supposed to walk back to the hotel?”

Without hesitation, Logan smiled. “I’ll carry you.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “No, you won’t.”

His response was swift. He knelt in front of you, leaning down to untie your shoes with an easy, confident motion.

“Logan,” you protested softy, when you really had nothing against it.

“Come on, just do it,” he coaxed, glancing up at you.

Who were you to say no to a man on his knees? You decided on listening to him. Stepping out of your shoes, you felt the warm ground beneath you, hurting slightly from tiny rocks and dirt digging into the soles of your sock-clad feet.

You tied the shoes together by the laces and with a pathetic first attempt, you launched them high up into the air, no way near the power line. Logan let out a little laugh in utter disbelief because he found the action so endearing.

“It’s harder than it looks!” you defended.

“That’s what he said,” he joked under his breath as you tried again… and again.

Thankfully you were decent at other things, because throwing was not your forte. You were about to give up as you tossed one single last throw, groaning out of frustration as you tried your best. With eyes closed, you hoped for the best. A slow applause from Logan made you dare to look. And surely, there were your blue Nikes, dangling on the power line above you.

“Oh my God, I did it!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms up in triumph. “Logan, take a picture, please!”

He chuckled, snapping a quick shot with the polaroid as you stood under the shoes, grinning like an idiot.

Before you knew it, Logan had swept you off your feet, literally, hoisting you onto his back. You kicked your legs weakly in protest, though your laugher told him you weren’t actually mad. Graciously, he even picked your skateboard up, sticking it between his arm and ribs.

“No, no, put me down. This is not working,” you squealed, feeling like you were about to fall off, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck for balance.

“I’m not putting you down,” Logan retorted as he started walking with ease down the sidewalk with you on his back. “You’ll hurt your feet.”

He shuffled you higher up on his back, his hands grasping tightly around your legs. You were scared he was going to drop you, or worse, fall over because of the weight.

“Put me down.” You tried your best to sound serious, but it did nothing, he just kept on walking. The hotel was only minutes away and he didn’t show any signs of slowing down.

“You’re enjoying this,” Logan accused. “I know you are.”

You leaned your chin on his shoulder, finally giving in. “You've carried me this far, you might as well take me home.”

As you approached the luxurious hotel the team stayed at, Logan didn’t set you down until you were in the lift, earning looks from both guests and workers. Neither of you cared. He set you down gently, your sock-covered feet making a soft thud against the lift’s marbled flooring.

He gave you your skateboard back, shifting uncomfortably in his spot as the lift started moving upward. “I had fun tonight,” he whispered to you.

You leant against the wall, a loud exhale escaping you. “So did I.”

As you watched Logan, the laughter that had filled the air moments ago now gave way to something quieter, something more charged.

He took a small step towards you before you could even think, his face soft but his eyes intense, searching yours as if waiting for permission. There were a million things you wanted to tell him, to interrupt him, just to make sure—but the weight of the unspoken pulled you both together, speechless.

Your heart pounded in your chest as his gaze flickered down to your lips, then back to your eyes. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, your heart racing in sync with his as your lips hovered inches apart. He was just as nervous as you were.

You both closed your eyes, anticipation tingling through you, waiting for that inevitable spark—

“Hey!” Alex’s voice cut through the moment like a knife as the lift doors opened with a ding. He blinked at you both, stumbling away from each other, a curious smirk tugging at his lips. “Where are your shoes, Paddy?”

You stared at him, dumbfounded, and then down at your sock-clad feet. “Uhh… on a power line?”

Logan laughed, shaking his head. His cheeks were burning from what had almost happened, and from getting caught by Alex. It was so obvious. If only your rooms had been on a higher floor.

. . .

Las Vegas, USA

. . .

You changed after Mexico, and Logan took notice. You worked longer hours—a lot more than you needed to. You didn’t find the time to go exploring. Or if you did, you didn’t post it to your instagram diary. You also drifted apart from Logan. Your conversations were shorter, your movie nights extinct, and you being a distraction for him was exchanged with you saying that you had more work to do. You became a ghost in his world, present but not truly there.

It didn’t matter how many times Logan tried to talk to you about it. The message was clear. You’d shut him out. And he couldn’t for the life of him understand why. 

Your evening in Mexico City had been magical; at least that was what he felt. And even though Alex had interrupted at the worst possible moment, Logan still naively thought you’d be able to go back to that magic if you got a chance alone together. 

But you were busy in Brazil, and the promotional aspect of the Las Vegas Grad Prix was nothing short of crazy. Some might even have called it torturous. He just didn’t find the right time, and you didn’t even make the time for him to try. 

The stumbling, awkward times he had tried—Logan couldn’t even form a sentence. He’d interrupt you when you were working, or catch you just as you were about to go to bed. It was never good enough. His emotions had shifted insanely fast, or maybe they had moved at a slow pace for such a long time that they now felt like a tidal wave hitting him straight in the heart. 

He liked you. 

Your obsession with tater tots, your inability to sit still, your love for shitty movies, your ability to always match the colour of your sneakers to your work clothes. It was all the little things. Your way of treating him like he wasn’t wasted potential or fragile like fine china. That you knew how to deal with him, like this season wasn’t the end of the world. 

And the worst thing was that he was pretty damn sure that you liked him back. Yet, you were running. 

. . . 

You weren’t there to bother him when he finished the race in Las Vegas. You didn’t stand there with your camera, ready to get an unflattering picture of him dripping with sweat. And it wasn’t like in Baku, where he had sensed something was wrong immediately. This was calmer, and Angie just told him that you were back at the hotel when he asked. 

He got a point in Vegas, but you weren’t there to capture it. He got to look happy in pictures for other photographers and he got to finally express some happiness in the post-race interviews. And while a part of him was over the moon, he couldn’t stop thinking about how it seemed like you hadn’t even seen him accomplish it. 

That was why he now stood outside of your hotel room, freshly showered and changed but still buzzing with adrenaline, a shaking fist knocking lightly on the door. 

He shifted his weight, unsure if he was meant to be here, but he needed to see you. He needed to talk to you. He needed to actually kiss you, without interruptions. The both of you needed to celebrate, to feel a night of joy after this nightmare of a season. 

The girl who opened the door looked tired, clad in sweatpants and a hoodie draped over her head. Your makeup-less face showed dark circles under your eyes—something that had gotten worse in the last couple of weeks. You looked like you were on the move, already with your shoes on and your suitcase packed, standing right in the doorway. 

Logan saw it, but in his excited state—he didn’t immediately connect the dots. 

“I got points—,” Logan started, his voice brimming with pride before he corrected himself, the enthusiasm in his tone softening slightly. “Well, one point, but still.”

“I know, Logan,” you replied gently. “I’m proud of you.” 

Even if you hadn’t been at the paddock tonight, you hadn’t kept your eyes off the livestream for even a second. You may even have shed a tear as he crossed the finish line. 

Logan beamed for a second, the glow of the accomplishment still warming his chest. “You weren’t there after the race, so I thought I’d come see you now,” he continued, a hint of nervousness as he paced uncomfortably in place. “A bunch of us are going out to dinner—” 

But then his attention drifted. His brow furrowed, his attention drawn to the luggage again as realisation dawned.

“Why is your bag packed already?” 

You looked at the suitcase, the same realisation flashing across your face as if you'd forgotten it was there, or perhaps hoped he wouldn't notice, and then back up at Logan with a visible uncertainty. You shook your head as you knew you had to explain it to him. 

“They’ve agreed on an exemption from my contract,” you said quietly. “I’m not working the last two races.” 

“B-but why?” Logan stammered. 

“Because I asked for it,” you shrugged with an audible sigh. “I have a flight to catch tonight.” 

Logan felt his stomach drop as he took in your words. “Wait, you’re going home?” 

“No,” you scoffed. “I’m not sure I’m welcome there.” 

The weight of those words settled heavy between you both. Logan was unsure of what to say. He felt like he knew more about your family than you let on, but he hadn’t expected you to be this lost. He thought you were still figuring it out, like him.

He swallowed hard. His mind raced, piecing together the fragments of the conversation, but nothing added up. “Then where—?” 

“I’m starting out in San Francisco,” you said, cutting him off before he could finish. “And then I’ll see from there on.”

San Francisco. You’d mentioned it numerous times before. You had friends there. Professional skateboarders. It made sense that was where you were running to. It made sense that you had been distant these last weeks. Because this couldn’t have been an easy decision for you. 

“I know we’ve talked a lot about your future, but mine is just as uncertain, and I need to do something about it. I can’t go home to a place where I don’t belong. I need to find my own ground.” 

You were almost desperate as you spoke. 

Logan took a step closer, still having a hard time grasping what was even going on. “Wasn’t that what this year was all about?” 

“It was always a fixed-term contract, you know that. Angie just bought me some time to figure things out,” you explained. 

“So, running away is you figuring things out?” His words came out sharper than intended, and regret instantly washed over him.

“Logan,” you said, almost pleading now, as if asking him not to push any further.

Maybe you weren’t running away now. Maybe you had already ran, the start of this season being your first stop. 

“I’m sorry, I just—” Logan paused, his hands gesturing toward you as if he wanted to hold on to something, anything, to keep you from slipping away. “I have something to say to you.” 

“I know you do,” you replied instantly, not letting him speak any further. Your voice creaked as you felt a cry clogging up your throat. “Trust me, I do too. But it’s not the right time for either of us. It will only complicate things.” 

Logan opened his mouth to argue, but shut it just as quickly. The words he longed to say hung heavy in his throat, unsaid and unacknowledged. He knew you were right. He knew it. But the words felt hollow in the face of you leaving. The question hung in his throat, unspoken. Would you stay if I asked?

You both knew that the answer to that question would be yes, in a heartbeat. He couldn’t ask that from you. He would never be the one to hold you back. You had enough people against you. He needed to be with you, even if that meant oceans apart.

“Is this goodbye, then?” His voice cracked as he asked it. 

You shook your head slowly, reaching into your carry-on bag. “I have this for you.” From the depths of the small bag, you pulled out a simple, leather-bound photo album, perfectly pristine, and handed it to him. 

Logan looked down, fingers tracing the edges before opening it. Revealed was a collection of photos you had taken over the past year—candid shots, moments of him between races, behind the scenes. His chest tightened as he looked at the first one, an image of him laughing, helmet in hand, caught mid-conversation with his team. You had always seen him differently, and now, looking at these photos, he could see how much it meant to you.

There was a mixture of digital, film, and polaroid pictures, all signed with the corresponding city and date. You’d started this collection when you were simply work acquaintances. The best photos were the ones that had nothing to do with racing. Sightseeing, views from hotel room balconies, and restaurants with the local cuisine. 

His ultimate favourite that you had included was the one he had taken of you in Mexico, barefoot with your sneakers hanging over you on a power line. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you said, the guilt clear in your voice. “I didn’t know until this morning—” 

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation,” he cut you off gently, his eyes still focused on the photos.

You bit your lip, still on the verge of tears. Seeing him so captivated by your year together in photos made it much harder. 

He looked up, gently closing the album, and with a quick motion, he had embraced your body, wrapping his arms around you with a loud sigh. His t-shirt was soft against your skin as you felt it grow wet from your tears that had finally fallen. You could feel his heartbeat, ticking impatiently. 

“Do you think I’m making a mistake by leaving?” 

Again, if he said yes… You would rethink everything. 

“No, I think you’re doing what you need to do.” 

Logan was determined.

“I really have to go now,” you said softly, but you didn’t make any effort to move away from his embrace. You leaned into him instead, your head resting against his chest. You felt his trembling breaths, almost like a stuttering, keeping him from crying out loud. 

“Just a couple more seconds,” Logan whispered into your hair, his arms tightening around you. “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he added, a slight tone of hope noticeable. 

“I know we both will.” 

Finally, you pulled back, but you left the goodbye unsaid. You reached to squeeze his hand as a last gesture. You’d never been good at goodbyes, so you left it to the lights. The soft glow of the Las Vegas skyline was the only thing illuminating the hotel hallway as you flipped the switch and slipped out the door, making a beeline for the lift. 

It was the end of an era. Logan knew it before the year had even started. He just hadn’t imagined it to feel this important—to feel this uncertain. He hadn’t imagined you. And when he started to imagine you, it was already too late. It had always been too late.

He tried to tell himself that he hadn’t lost you. But it felt strangely like it. 

Logan stood still in that hotel corridor for way too long, staring at the spot where you had been. This was the way it had to be, but he wasn’t sure that made it any easier. 

. . .

Fort Lauderdale, USA

. . .

Logan went home after the season ended. He stayed for the prize giving ceremony. He stayed long enough to say goodbye to the people that it mattered to. Then he went home, and he wasn’t sure how he would look back at his past experiences. Now it mostly hurt, but still—he had made it there in the first place. 

Home meant Florida this time. England, or Europe in general, had been his home for most of his conscious life, yet he never felt homesick for it. That was until now, when it wasn’t his home anymore. Florida was nice, it was always just nice. The weather was warm and the beaches were pretty, but when he was sunburnt to the point of peeling and had sand in his shoes, he missed the bleak English mornings with rain pattering against the windows. 

He signed for Indycar in the end, and when the season started in March, Logan found it refreshing. He loved racing, and he loved that he got a chance to do it again. He didn’t love the pressure put on him, mostly by strangers on the internet. He didn’t love the rookie title because he wasn’t treated like a rookie. He’d raced in the pinnacle of motorsport, he should know better. He should be better. Logan tried to not let it get to him, because in the end—he was the one that had made it to the pinnacle. Not a lot of other drivers could say that, especially other Americans.  

You liked every single one of his Instagram posts. Commented when he did well in races. That was the closest thing you two had to communication. Logan understood you, though—that you needed to leave when you had the chance to. He couldn’t have changed that. He wouldn’t have changed that. 

He thought of messaging you, but he had a hard time figuring out what to say. Writing down something long in his notes app, only to cringe at himself seconds later. Nothing seemed right and nothing seemed fair, like he was guilt-tripping you into reminiscing the last year. He knew what he felt for you, but he could never force you to be closer to him, to give up your chance at exploring and finding yourself. It was better to just let you live, but he knew what you felt for him too, that was why it was so hard for him to stay away. 

Stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

Logan liked every single one of your Instagram posts as well. You kept up with the diary, even if the travelling wasn’t as rapid as under the racing season. 

He saw pictures of you all over the American west coast. You were on cable cars and steep streets in San Fransisco. You were skating in Venice Beach, surfing in Santa Cruz, and hiking in Yosemite. You went on road trips up north to go to concerts in Portland and Seattle for bands that Logan had never heard of. 

You hadn’t been kidding when you said you had friends there. The skateboarding collective you lived with in Cole Valley was a never ending stream of eclectic people coming and leaving. 

Your closest friend was the girl with bright pink hair that he had spotted on your Instagram before from your numerous university art projects. She skated on a competitive level and you would join to take photos of her. 

Another one of your friends was a boy who looked strangely like Timothée Chalamet. He was a tattoo artist who would go skating with you at night to spot pretty sunsets. He tried not to be jealous. He should have confessed his feelings for you to even have a reason to be jealous. 

Your posts became more scarce during the early summer. When you posted a slideshow of pictures of Tater Tot with a long caption about his passing, Logan understood why. He felt tears forming in his eyes as he watched the pictures of you and the golden retriever, the fur around his face having faded and his nose all pink from old age. 

He felt like reaching out to you even more after that, especially since you were back home with your family and he could only imagine how that felt for you. When you posted a picture of a new family dog not too long after, with a normal boring dog name that he could tell you hadn’t chosen, he felt a slight anger inside.

You went skating around Europe after that, the girl with pink hair by your side. You posted a video of Angie trying to skate while in Barcelona, and Logan connected the dots that you had gone to the Spanish Grand Prix. He liked that you were still welcomed by the team, but he was unsure if he would’ve gotten a similar treatment. 

On a weekend without racing, Logan was back home in Fort Lauderdale. He spent the evening with his brother and some friends in their backyard. He was there, but he didn’t feel present. Something you had taught him stemmed from anxiety. It wasn’t as bad as it was during his last F1 season, but he still liked to look at your pictures as a distraction when he felt anxious. The stories they told were still better than what was going on in his actual life. 

“Since when are you interested in skateboarding?” his brother's voice broke through his focus. Logan barely had time to register him hovering over his shoulder before he took a seat across from him, sinking into a deck chair with a teasing grin.

Logan didn’t realise that he had a video of yours on repeat. It was you in a skatepark in Copenhagen, landing a trick you’d never done before. 

“Oh, I’m not—” he started, his tongue suddenly feeling clumsy in his mouth as he fumbled for an excuse. “It’s the old Williams photographer, she’s travelling to all these places to skate. It’s quite cool to see.” 

His brother raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. Logan flushed under the scrutiny, knowing full well that his brother could read him like an open book. He didn’t just think it was quite cool. He was invested—and not just in the skateboarding.

“A girl, you say?” his brother pressed. 

“It’s not like that, she’s on the other side of the world,” Logan protested quickly, slipping his phone back in his pocket as if to hide any evidence of his admiration. 

His brother could only laugh at his poor attempt of conviction. “Would it be like that if she was closer?” 

Logan froze, unable to answer. His brother was able to read his expression all too well again, his smile softening as he watched Logan carefully. 

“I am taking that as a yes.” 

. . .

Oxfordshire, UK

. . .

Angela and Matthew Thompson, read the sign outside of the rented out manor house. Somewhere in the English countryside, as the evening sun cast a golden glow over the courtyard. You’d snapped photos of the garden and the exterior, but the sign stopped you for a moment. 

You found it odd, firstly seeing Angie be called by her actual first name and then secondly, not by her maiden surname. You guessed that was what it was like—getting married. The formal side of it all, at least. 

Click. 

You got a quick photo of the sign before you entered back into the manor. The big ballroom was filled with the soft murmur of guests and the rustling of chiffon dresses. 

The ceremony had been earlier during the day, a small gathering with only immediate family around. You’d only been there because of your duty to photograph the entire thing. Otherwise you probably wouldn’t have. Angie’s cousin was her only bridesmaid and Matthew had his closest childhood friend as his only groomsman. Both their parents were present as well, and Angie’s grandmother had been ring bearer. Adorable, that was the only way to describe it. Quaint and quite literally perfect, in the manor’s rose garden with birds chirping and a violin player. 

Click.

You stood in the doorway to the ballroom, adjusting your camera, scanning the scene for the perfect shot. You found it in two of the party’s younger guests, looking at the wedding cake with temptation in their eyes. The was just something about kid’s in formal clothes. A little crooked bowtie and sparkly silver ballerina shoes. 

The reception was bigger, with friends, distant relatives and work colleagues invited. Your family was included in that, but you had gotten good at keeping a distance and they had gotten better at ignoring you instead of arguing with you. That was some sort of improvement. Having the excuse that you were technically working was also in your favour, even if Angie probably wanted to drink you under the table and get you dancing one of Matthew’s rich colleagues. 

There hadn’t been a dress code beyond formal, but somehow a lot of the guests seemed to match, making the photography blend together in perfect hues. You couldn’t wait to edit and put them together. Sage green, baby pink and light yellow. The men and their suits in tones of beige and blue. You guessed that was the English summer in colours. 

You were never really one to dress up nicely. You preferred something practical, but even you felt a little whimsical tonight. A periwinkle dress and white heels—a complete juxtaposition of your usual streetwear and sneakers. 

Click.

You managed to get a picture of the happy couple from far way. Candid, when they thought no one was watching. Those were usually the ones that turned out the best. No posing, no fixed smiles. Angie showed a wide and almost painfully happy grin as Matthew whispered something in her ear, sneaking in a kiss on her cheek. Only they would know what had been said when they, years down the line, flipped through the photo album from their special day. 

That was the beauty of photos. The secret stories they held. 

You smiled to yourself, getting lost in the scene that showed through the viewfinder, shifting to find something new and equally magical in the movements of the ballroom. 

Suddenly, all you could see was one singular familiar face. 

You blinked, not believing your eyes before you zoomed in. Tall, blond, blue eyes catching the light—talking to a man you recognised as a Williams engineer. It couldn’t be… but it totally was. 

In a navy tailored suit, his tie slightly loosened, he raised a champagne coupe to his lips. He smiled at something the engineer said, flashing his teeth. You took a picture, and then one more—it was achingly familiar, yet so different.

It was like he knew he had a camera pointed towards him with how quick he reacted. He hadn’t even seen you when you took the first one, but by the time you were about to take a third one, his face was turned completely towards you—looking at your lens, looking at you. 

And of course, he waved. He smiled and he waved. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

He quickly excused himself to the engineer and was then set on only you. He crossed the room with easy confidence, threading through the crowd. Since when was he so smooth?

You lowered your camera as your breath got caught in your throat, finally looking at him not through the viewfinder. 

“Logan,” you whispered, voice softer than expected. 

He said your name with an easy familiarity, one you’d almost forgotten. It pulled you back six months in time in mere seconds, as if nothing had changed. 

“Uhm, H-how did you get here?” you stammered, cursing yourself for sounding so surprised. You should’ve known he’d be here. Angie’s wedding had been a big talking point even back when he was driving for Williams. 

“There’s these things called airplanes,” he teased, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “Ever heard of them?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile was impossible to suppress. Silence fell over the two of you as you struggled to find ways to continue the conversation. The tension was palpable, stretching thin as if either of you could snap it with the wrong word. Logan looked lost too, like the confidence he thought he had washed away when he finally got close to you. 

You’d thought about it—what it would be like to talk to him again if you ever got the chance. Being speechless was never in those thoughts. 

“You’re hair has gotten long,” you blurted out, desperate to fill the silence and because it was honestly the first thing you noticed to be different about him. His blond hair had grown longer, with a slight wave to it, almost curling at the ends.

“Is that a compliment?” Logan mused.

“Yes,” you were too quick to reply. “Or, I think so. It’s different.” 

Logan chuckled softly as you winced at how clumsy you sounded. 

“So… you work weddings too?” he asked, glancing at the camera still in your hands. 

Great. He was shit at small talk too. 

“Only when it’s Angie,” you answered, trying to sound at ease. “I promised to make her look gorgeous even before she met Matthew.” 

You did not remember the first time she asked you. It was a decade ago at this point. But every time you had taken a photo of her—professionally and privately—she liked to remind you of how she felt like no one else ever had captured her fairly, or flatteringly. She was always your biggest fan, even when you were just taking grainy pictures of your friends at the local skatepark. 

“Can I see?” Logan asked and you handed him the camera without a doubt. 

There was something so familiar in the gesture, like muscle memory kicking in. You used to share everything with him. You were happy to know that even through it all, he at least still cared about your photography.  

Before you could even react, he raised the camera and snapped a picture of you, completely unprepared. The flash was too bright, and you squealed in surprise.

“Dude, what the fuck?” you exclaimed, blinking away the aftershock of the flash.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Dude? You’ve turned American!”  

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “I have not turned American.”

Logan joined your laughter, but only for a second—something on the camera catching his attention instead. He looked at it intensely, only for you to realise that it was the photo he’d taken of you. Overexposed and blurry. Not perfect in any way, but candidly capturing a moment. 

“My god, you look lovely.” 

He said it softly, like an afterthought, like he didn’t mean for you to hear it. 

Heat crept up to your cheeks as he handed you the camera back to you. You couldn’t look too long at the photo he’d taken of you, so you pressed the button to show the one taken prior. It was him, of course—smiling as he had clocked you from across the room. 

“So do you,” you said, showing him the picture of himself. “Happiness suits you.”

Logan’s smile faltered for a moment as you surprised even yourself with your honesty. You realised how he could overthink what you had just said—like happiness was something new for him to express. And maybe that was true. But it was a sad realisation, and a mortifying thing for someone else to have discovered about oneself. 

Before an uncomfortable silence fell between the two of you, a familiar voice broke through the moment.

“There you are!” Alex’s voice was bright, his cheeks tinted pink from champagne and dancing. “I’ve been looking for you!”

You turned, grateful for the distraction, as he came up and enveloped you in a hug. You smiled, hugging him back, telling him how you’d missed him. 

“Logan!” he exclaimed as he turned his attention to him. “It’s so good to see you.” 

They did one of those awkward side-hugs that men insisted on giving each other. Logan said something similar in response, his voice warm but his eyes still flicked to you. You gathered from just that little interaction that their departure must’ve been stretched and difficult. They were good friends, for christ sake, but Williams had made everything toxic. 

Alex beamed. “Well, come on! It’s my turn to pester Paddy with a camera. Scoot together.”

Before either of you could protest, Alex grabbed your camera, leaving you both standing there, shoulder to shoulder. A fire burning through the fabric where your bare shoulder touched his blazer. 

Click. 

. . .

After long speeches, and first dances, and consuming too much wedding cake, you found yourself on a balcony, taking a breather, looking out over the garden. You heard the door open behind you, and it was like you could feel that it was his presence. You let out a small laugh as you kept your eyes focused on the view. 

“What are we looking at?” Logan’s voice came soft and steady beside you, making you turn your head.

“My sister sharing a cigarette with a Williams mechanic,” you scoffed, nodding towards two figures below the balcony. 

Your sister, known as an overly ambitious goody two shoes, wasn’t only sharing the cigarette—she was shotgunning it. Your past self would’ve wanted to go tattle to your parents, but now you were kind of glad to see a human, imperfect side of your sister, acting promiscuous with a greasy mechanic.

There was a brief silence as the evening air wrapped around you. Logan slipped his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight slightly.

“How’s it been? With your family and all?” he slowly asked, trying to make it sound casual. 

“They still treat me like a toddler, if that’s what you’re wondering. But we don’t argue anymore—just pretend each other doesn’t exist,” you scoffed. 

He glanced at you, the hint of a frown on his face, but didn’t press further. Instead, he pulled out his phone from his suit pocket as it vibrated, the faint sound breaking the quiet between you.

You let your eyes linger on him for a moment. The small gesture shouldn’t have meant anything, but something about the way his fingers moved so delicately over the screen made you pause. Then you saw it—the photo behind his clear phone case.

“That’s from Mexico,” you said without thinking. 

Logan glanced at you, then back at his phone, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. My favourite from the album you gave me.”

You blinked, remembering the moment instantly—tossing shoes over a power line, him carrying you home, Alex doing what he did best—interrupting.

“I know it’s slightly pathetic, but that was one of the best days of my life,” Logan admitted, shying away from looking at you. 

It had been one of the few peaceful moments amidst the storm of races, pressure, and long, chaotic nights. It was supposed to be just another moment, but it had become more. You both knew it meant so much more. 

“It’s not pathetic, Logan. At least, I don’t think so,” you reassured him. Your heart clenched at his honesty, but you felt it all the same as him. 

Logan let out a small breath of laughter, but the smile that accompanied it didn’t reach his eyes. He slid his phone back into his pocket, but the photo lingered in your mind. Logan glanced back at the ballroom, then back at you, his gaze lingering as if he was working up the courage to say something else.

But then his eyes dropped, right to where your arm touched against your ribs, a small glint of ink peeking out, darker than any of your other tattoos. Logan froze. 

“That’s my number…” he said, his voice soft with disbelief. 

You felt your breath hitch as he stared at it. You instinctively rubbed your fingers over the tattoo, tracing the outline of the small F1 car inked delicately with his racing number on the nose. You suddenly felt very exposed, but not in a bad way. You moved your arm to give him a better view. 

“What other number could I possibly have picked?” you wondered, tilting your head. “I did tell you that I was planning to get one.” 

His hand nervously reached for yours, his thumb brushing over the tattoo with tenderness, touching you in a way he hadn’t before. The new ink sat just centimetres above the tiny paw prints you had in memory of Tater Tot. Logan could’ve cried on the spot. 

“I really like it,” he whispered. 

He dared to meet your gaze. You stood there in silence for a moment, the weight of everything between you suddenly heavier than ever. His thumb continued to caress the tattoo. 

“Are we okay, Logan?”

He exhaled as you asked it, out of relief it seemed. 

“I thought everything would be different, seeing you again,” Logan explained. “But I strangely feel like nothing has changed since Vegas.” 

You nodded, a smile creeping up on your face, as you could only agree with him. The distance, the time apart, hadn’t dulled anything between you. If anything, it had only clarified what had always been there.

In the background, you could still hear the music play loudly from inside the ballroom. Your sister and her mechanic were long gone from the garden. You had nothing to worry about and everything to win. 

“So… how do you feel about dancing at weddings, Sargeant?” 

. . .

The manor had rooms for all the guests to stay overnight. You stumbled into yours in the small hours of the night—tipsy from champagne, tired from dancing. Logan was right behind you, laughing at you almost falling over from trying to unclasp your heels.

“Need some help there?” Logan teased.

“I’ve got it,” you mumbled, finally getting them off to feel the carpet against your bare feet.

Logan took a stance by the window, hands shoved into the pockets of his navy suit pants, looking out onto the moonlit garden. His jaw was tense, a sign that he was thinking—no, overthinking.

You watched him for a moment, how his fingers flexed slightly in his pockets, how his shoulders rose and fell with a breath, before you went into the en suite bathroom, desperate to get your makeup off after wearing it all day. It was an oddly familiar feeling, being alone with him in a hotel room.

The rest of the wedding had been so lovely. It hadn’t mattered much about what had been left unsaid, but instead what mattered was the way you acted towards each other now. You had been bracing yourself for the moment it all would break loose the entire night, ever since your eyes met his across the reception hall, but you had no idea how to start.

It turned out, you didn’t have to.

“You wanna know something?” Logan’s voice was slow, his back still turned against you, as he spoke. He waited for you to say something, but all you did was mumble a huh from the bathroom, clearly more focused on your makeup than on him.

He took a breath, slowly turning to you. He felt himself melt at the sight of you—in your pretty dress and a squeaky clean bare face. His gaze held yours, and in that quiet second, the world shifted.

“I’m tired of acting like I’m not in love with you.”

The words slipped from his lips easily, almost like they had always been there, waiting for this moment to escape.

You froze in your movement, putting your skincare back in your makeup bag, not sure that you had heard him correctly. “What?”

“I said,” Logan repeated, a touch firmer, “I’m tired of acting like I’m not in love with you.”

You stepped away from the sink, opting to stand in the doorway instead as you watched him—how emotions washed over his face like colours melting together in a sunset. You had a hard time hiding the smile that began to form on your face. “You’re in love with me?”

Logan shifted, looking almost sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t look so smug,” he muttered, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re gonna make me regret saying anything.”

But you didn’t feel smug—not in the slightest. Your chest instead filled with warmth, something dangerously close to… well, love.

“Well, excuse me for being a little happy about the fact that you love me back,” you said, almost argumentatively, crossing your arms.

“Back? You love me too?” Logan walked closer, almost stumbling as he passed the corner of the bed.

“Yeah, dumbass.” You rolled your eyes at his oblivion. “I’ve had a crush on you since before you even knew I existed.”

“A crush?” Logan chuckled, a sound full of disbelief and a little wonder. “How long have you—”

“Since Baku,” you interrupted, your voice quieter now, more serious. “I think I’ve loved you since you stayed with me in Baku.”

That admission hung in the air, heavy with memories of long flights, foreign cities, whispered conversations in crowded spaces, and the closeness that had grown between you. Logan stared at you like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

Maybe the two of you hadn’t exactly known what the other wanted to say, that last night in Vegas. Or maybe, neither of you could’ve expected the intensity of emotions that would come to the surface when you finally did get to say what you had wanted to.

“Why are you still standing so far away?” Logan took a deep breath, his heart pounding against his ribs. “Come take what’s yours,” he then whispered, his voice a soft command that sent shivers down your spine.

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Without another thought, you exited the bathroom and crossed the room in a few quick strides. You felt your pulse thrumming in your ears as you reached him, and without hesitation, you slid your hands up his chest, feeling a steady heartbeat beneath your palms.

Logan’s arms closed around you, his warm hands brushing the skin of your back, exposed by the low hem of your dress. He pulled you closer, until there was no space left between you.

His lips found yours, soft and sure. You melted into the kiss, into him. This time, there was no one to interrupt you. Months of longing and unspoken feelings poured into one single moment.

As soon as Logan felt you smile against his lips, he was sure world peace was achievable. With more confidence, he kissed you with a feverish intent, slipping his tongue in your mouth, falling backwards onto the mattress with you on top of him.

Moving your legs, you straddled his lap, sinking down comfortably on top of him while you put your arms around him. He rested against the bed frame, hair getting messed up as your fingers played at the nape of his neck. You continued to kiss, his hands rushing to touch your body—one on your cheek and the other on your waist. Your dress bunched up around your thighs as you pressed closer to him, feeling the heat of his body through layers of fabric.

You pulled apart after a moment, but only far enough to inhale, your noses still touching. The room was dead quiet, save for the panting sound of your breathing.

“You have no idea the things I’ve wanted to say to you,” Logan murmured, resting his forehead against yours. “The things I’ve held back…” he added softly, his thumb now gently stroking the side of your face.

“You could tell them to me now,” you teased, sneaking in a small peck. A smirk tugged at the corner of Logan’s lips. “My brain can’t really focus when you’re sat on me like this,” he said, his fingers tracing slow circles along the exposed skin of your upper thigh.

You bit your bottom lip, brain filled with lust and sudden bravery. “Unzip me, please?”

“Should we— I just don’t want to rush anything,” Logan mumbled out of nervousness.

“You don’t think a year worth of tension is enough?” you whispered, smiling.

Logan swallowed, his hand daring to move behind you. The sound of your zipper easily sliding open filled the silence between you as his fingers delicately touched your exposed back. His eyes never left your body as the thin straps fell off your shoulders, the top half of your dress pooling around your waist. With a soft tug, you were all exposed. The white lace of your bra doing almost nothing to conceal your chest.

You were privy to his persistent stare at your body. You couldn’t pretend you weren’t, and your satisfaction was hard to withhold, a devious smile forming on your lips. His hands moved under your skirt, gently lifting it over your head, revealing delicate white lace panties that matched your bra.

“Did you plan this?” Logan had to fight himself to not let his jaw physically drop at the sight of you.

He held a certain emotion in the way he looked at you. You’d seen desire before in a lover’s eyes. This was softer. This was different. Devotion, maybe. Love, most definitely.

“Better safe than sorry,” you shrugged.

With a soft exhale, he chuckled in utter disbelief. Dipping his head, he couldn’t help but kiss the valley between your breasts, nipping and sucking at the soft skin. His hair tickled against your neck as his mouth explored, surely leaving a mark or two.

With a quick movement, he unclasped your bra, discarding it as he continued to kiss your skin. Your breasts, your collarbones, your neck and jaw. He even moved to kiss a spot on your arm, making sure you took notice at how his lips gently pressed against your tattoo of his racing number.

You both took a moment, letting your eyes linger on each other’s. It was hard to find things to say, but you guessed the silence, panting breaths and growing humidity were enough to express what you both wanted.

Your fingers diligently started to unbutton his shirt, leaving kisses on his neck and sternum as each inch of his skin was revealed for you. When you reached the last button, your hands dangerously close to his lower stomach, Logan moved swiftly to remove his shirt in one go, tossing it on the floor to land next to your dress.

Immediately, you sunk your fingers back into his blond waves, tugging lightly as you kissed his swollen lips. He matched your ferocity, sliding his hands from your waist down to your ass, squeezing over the soft lace. Both of you groaned at the feeling of your hips grinding down onto the fabric covering his growing hardness, almost a surprised feeling at how quickly it all had evolved.

“I’m starting to think you might like me or something,” you giggled, like an angel.

Logan wanted to argue. He wanted to say something witty. But he had no choice. With your wandering hands, all he could do was bite down on his lip to drown a pathetic moan trying to escape. With your wandering hands, you pulled his zipper open, helping him out of the rest of his clothes.

His cock sat hard in the space between your bodies, and as you tentatively touched him, feeling hot and heavy in your hand, he whined out a sting of curses. His stomach flexed as he ached for real friction, your hand only lazily stroking him. He groaned, head falling back to hit the headboard. The loveliest of pinks suffused his cheeks, a trail of rose-coloured blotches lingering all the way down his chest.

He tried to drag you closer to him with a firm grip on your hips, desperately searching for more. His hand found its way down between your legs, gently touching over a wet patch that had formed on your panties.

You hummed at the sensation, kissing his jawline, feeling him tense at your touch. “Can I ride you?”

“Mhm, yeah… you want that?” Logan panted, gentle little breaths pushing past his lips.

Nodding enthusiastically, you placed your bottom lip between your teeth as you looked at him, eyes darkened. “I have condoms in the bathroom,” you said getting off of his lap, walking over. At the loss of touch, Logan couldn’t help but audibly whine.

You made a point to shake your hips as you walked. You knew you had his eyes on you. After fetching the little foil packet from your makeup bag, you stopped in the doorway to pull your underwear off, dragging the flimsy lace agonisingly slowly down your legs as Logan could only watch.

“You look heavenly,” he whispered as you towered over him to kiss him, before straddling his lap again, your naked body finally touching his without anything in between.

Logan swallowed his moans as you carefully tore open the condom packet and rolled it over his sensitive length. He helped you lift you up on your knees, enough to align himself with your soaking entrance. A year of tension really was enough foreplay. Fluttering around him, you adjusted to all of him, carefully and slowly moving into a perfect rhythm.

You couldn’t be held responsible for the words and sounds leaving your mouth as you rocked against him. His hands gripped your waist and then your ass, kneading the soft flesh, spilling out between his fingers. You heard him suck in a breath as your fingers got entangled in his hair, gently pulling at the ends.

“Logan,” his name left your mouth with a delicate whine.

“Hm?”

You needed him to look at you. Logan’s hand found home on your cheeks, keeping his eyes tightly locked with yours as you connected in the most primal way. “Tell me I’m yours,” he whispered gently, feeling himself bottom out inside of you.

“You’re mine, all mine, baby,” you reassured, finding his lips for a messy kiss.

Slowly, you started bouncing faster, Logan’s hands guided you, helping you with every move, rise and fall. You were both stuttering out moans at the almost overwhelming feeling—the wetness, the squeezing, the friction.

It didn’t take long before you were both panting, flushed messes, the movement slowing down as the desperate feeling of release grew stronger.

“Are your legs getting tired?” Logan asked, voice hoarse. “F-fuck, let me help.”

He tilted you, shifting to a more horizontal position, as he wrapped his arms around your waist, letting you bury your face in the crook of his neck, sucking and kissing wherever you could reach. With forceful thrusts, he up fucked into you, digging his fingers into the fat of your hips to pull you even closer.

He took care of you. Your tits bounced against him as you moved together. The tension inside of you only growing and spiralling. Logan reached between your bodies, moving his limber fingers to circle your puffy clit.

You repeated his name through broken moans, all choked and caught in your throat, as he continued his mission. Through deep breaths, you got lost in the scent of him. Cologne, musky and warm. It was almost distracting, until he reached a soft spot, thrusting inside of you.

“I’ve got you,” he reassured. “I’m right here, let it all out.” Logan brought you over the edge. You bit down on his shoulder as the feeling washed over you, a white fire lighting from inside of you. His writhing against you told you he wasn’t long after, filling the condom as he rode out both of your highs. He rested still inside of you for a while as you both caught your breaths.

You needed help to get off him, your legs still shaking. With a tired moan, he slipped out and you collapsed on the bed next to him, feeling the sheets ruffle around you. Logan glimmered under the moonlight seeping in through the windows, as sweat stuck to his flushed skin. His outgrown hair falling over his forehead.

You faced each other on the bed, your voices barely above whispers, not necessarily thanking each other, but more just mumbles about how special this felt. Logan’s hand found your arm, delicately tracing the car tattooed on your bicep. It tickled, so you let out a breathy laugh as you placed your hand on top of his.

Logan’s lips curled into a lazy smile as he felt your reaction. “Did you get any other tattoos?”

“Nope,” you replied, shaking your head lightly. “I think you’ve seen them all now.”

There was a softness in his expression that made you feel safer than ever before. It was the kind of comfort that came with time, with knowing someone deeply and being known in return.

“When did you know that you liked me?” you asked suddenly, thinking back to your own admission about falling for the sight of him through your lens before you had even had a conversation together.

“In Australia,” he said after a beat, his voice gentle. “You were talking so fondly about tater tots.”

“Tater tots?” you echoed with a grin. “That’s when you knew?”

You had a feeling it wasn’t only about your love for fried potatoes, thinking about what had happened just moments before that conversation. He had started to like you because you cared about him in a moment where he felt his weakest.

“I was quietly observing you before that, but I think that was our first actual conversation,” Logan said, reminiscing. “And then,” he continued, his tone growing softer, “I just kept falling for you. Every city, every race, every little thing you did.”

Your heart warmed in your chest as his words washed over you. You felt the pull of the past, the shared experiences, the way your lives had intertwined across the globe.

“Seeing you throw your sneakers over the power line in Mexico made me realise that I love you,” Logan finally whispered.

“I love you too,” you mumbled against his lips, reaching to gently kiss him again… and again.

Afterward, you left the bed to take a moment for yourself in the bathroom. Discarding the condom, peeing to prevent a UTI, staring at yourself in the mirror for an undisclosed amount of time. You looked like a mess, but a beautiful mess—with splotchy love bites and scratches.

You turned the shower on, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you didn’t get the clinging feeling of sweat off your body.

“Are you getting in with me?” you asked Logan, peeping out behind the bathroom door to hide your naked body, spotting him still sat on the bed, the sheets covering him.

Logan lifted his gaze from the floor, meeting yours with a slow smile. He didn’t move; he only tilted his head in thought. “Why does that feel more intimate than what we just did?”

“Because it is,” you hesitantly answered, fidgeting with your fingers as your nails tapped on the door.

It didn’t take long for you both to be drenched and humid in the warm water of the shower, not having any hurry of getting out, steam fogging up the bathroom. You were just enjoying the closeness for now. Body against body. Your hands massaged his scalp as you washed shampoo out of it.

“Soo…” Logan began, dragging out the word, droplets were falling from his hair over his face. “What happens now?”

“Round two?” you teased, buying yourself a moment to think about the actual implication of his question.

Logan chuckled, but waited for a true answer. Round two was inevitable. He was asking something deeper.

“I’ve got nothing to do and a newfound love for racing and the US,” you finally said, easy as pie. “You should take advantage of that.”

“I think I might,” he smiled. “Life is a lot better with you close.”

You reached up to cup his cheeks, the pads of your thumbs gently rubbing over his pink cheekbones. His eyes looked onto yours, pulling you closer as his hands found the curve of your waist, the water still falling on you like an outburst of rain from a stormy sky, electricity unloading.

“We’ll be alright, I think,” you mumbled, gracefully placing a kiss on his wet lips.

Logan’s voice echoed softly in the bathroom, words leaving with an unusual certainty.

“I’m starting to think so too.”

Thank you for reading! ♡ Please comment, reblog, like or send me a messenger pigeon.

I'm calling this beast my best attempt at a fix-it fic. This was a nightmare and tumblr's paragraph limit is my mortal enemy. I had to remove like three scenes to even fit all of this which messed up the timeline like crazy. The title is from Worst Case Kid by Tommy Lefroy!

[ariannag6-blog]

Nanami in bed 18+ MNDI

3k words. Female reader.

Spoiler he’s a simp for poc women

All nanami stories by me will be under the hashtag NanamiAria

Soft dom Nanami

Nanami would be a soft dom. Loves giving you lots of prep for him. Lots of sushing. Sushing if you squirm too much. Sushing if you become overstimulated. He wants to be the one who does all the work. He doesn’t want you to move just stay still and take his gentle love making. He won’t let you lift a finger. If it becomes a bit too much he’ll gently push your limits staying in slightly longer each time to build your stamina. I see him as someone who can last a long time and like long sessions so he will try to slowly and gently build you up to his level.

Occasionally rough fucks you and degrades you slightly when you tease him too much or when he’s had an extra rough day at work. He prefers to be gentle but when you push his buttons too many times you’ll find yourself bent over his desk, dicked down with no preparation. Immediately after a rough session he’ll go back to being sweet. Leaving soft kisses over your whole body. Pulling you in for a hug or cuddles. Saying things like “are you alright love?, You’re perfect., I love you darling.”.

He likes being the provider the one to do all the work so he would prefer being with someone submissive in the bedroom. If you were a top he would let you grind on him a bit but after a few mines Kento would grab your hips, ending up taking charge, being the one bouncing you up and down on him. He’s never aggressive about needing to be the one in charge it’s just in his nature I don’t think he would even realize he’s like this often times.

Nanami experience level

Not that experienced probably has only been with three people tops. Probably hates casual sex or one night stands. Despite his low experience Kento fucks like he’s a porn star quite literally. He can last forever if he wants to, even cum on command. Always knows the right words to say to get you off too it’s like it was scripted but it wasn’t. Love making just comes naturally to him.

You’d think based on his professional quiet composure that he doesn’t think about sex often but that would be a lie. I think he’s quite hyper sexual. Though he would try to match whatever sex drive you had out of respect. To get off when he’s not in a relationship or when you’re not around I don’t see him being the type of guy to watch porn. I see him reading smutty novels. He honestly reads them quite often. As sort of a guilty pleasure. Thats probably where he learned his skills and pillow talk from.

Nanami’s taste in women

Everybody headcannons him as liking women of color. I 100% agree! He loves tan skin, olive skin, dark skin, dark hair, long hair, wavy hair, curly hair, braids, straight hair. Hispanic women, black women, Asian women, mixed women, he loves it all. He would be captivated by some woman that doesn’t look like the usual girl he sees walking around town. He’s never really liked a white girl before especially if they’re blonde because it reminds him too much of himself. He doesn’t realize this consciously he’s always just liked who he’s liked in his eyes. I see him getting turned on everytime you get a tan. Everytime he sees the contrast of your tan skin next to his pale tone. It makes him want to eat you quite literally. He’ll use any excuse he can to drag you down to the beach with him to see your skin glow and grow darker under the sun. Also as an excuse to see you in the new bikini he secretly bought for you. If his woman wore a bonnet he would find it adorable whenever you had one on. He would often buy you new ones that are the highest quality silk in your favorite colors to spoil you. He’s obsessed with dark hair. Doesn’t matter if it’s straight, curly, wavy, braided, coily. He loves it all. You’ll often times find Nanami sneaking up behind you to smell your hair or finding any excuse he can to run his fingers through your locks/touch your hair. He’s quite literally obsessed with all of you. If you were from a different culture he would get turned on everytime you cooked him meals that you grew up with or spoke your native language. He would learn how to speak your Native language secretly to surprise you. Especially as a cute way to propose and a sneaky way to spice up things the bedroom. He would do little things to learn more about your culture overtime to feel closer to you and get to know you better. I see him liking curves on your bottom half. Such as thick thighs, juicy bottom. Definitely more of an ass man. I don’t see him caring if someone has a big chest or not it’s just something that’s either there or isn’t. He’ll cherish whatever body shape you bless him with.

Body hair preferences.

He literally does not give a single fuck what you do with your body hair. He’s obsessed with you no matter what. Nothing will stop him from eating you out. Pubes. He loves you bald, trimmed, different patterns, landing strip, bush. He will love and cherish whatever you have whenever you have it simply because it’s you. Other body hair. He doesn’t care if you shave or not. I think he’d be used to someone who did shave their body hair but wouldn’t tell you what to do. Hes a grown man he doesn’t find body hair to make someone any more or less attractive. I do think he would probably be with someone who preferred to remove all their body hair and preferred him to have some specifically just because I see him being with someone more feminine and traditional. Traditional fem women seem like the type prefer those things at least to me.

For himself I see him having light chest hair and leaving it untouched. Lightly trimming his underarm hair. For his pubes I see him leaving them trimmed, preferring just a little something on his skin. If you asked otherwise for him to be bald or bush he would do whatever you asked to please you.

Nanami dad

Everyone headcannons him as wanting children but personally I would think he’d be scared of that. He would find children to be cute yes but at the end of the day he wouldn’t want his children growing up in a world they ultimately just have to work a stressful 9-5 and probably overtime in. He doesn’t like work he just does it because he has to. He knows he would have to work more if he had a kid and wouldn’t be able to spend the time he wanted with his family. He wouldn’t want to curse a kid with that life.

Regardless of kids he would ask you to quit your job and let him be the provider. He doesn’t want you to feel the same stress he does over work. I think pregnancy would worry him too much. He’d hate how hard it was on a woman’s body. He’d constantly think something bad would happen to you because he’d spend too much time on the internet trying to learn every possibility of something that could happen to stay ahead of it. I do think he has a kink for cuming inside you so he would most likely get a vasectomy so no accidents happen. If you really wanted children he would fuck you silly and remind you with his words how you wouldn’t be able to take him like this often if you were pregnant or busy with kids. When he’s finished with that he’ll buy you a cat instead to keep you occupied and hopefully for you not to ask again or he’ll buy another cat. I see him being a big cat person. Seeing you take care of the cats just doing simple things like that turns him on a lot.

Jealous Nanami

He tries not to be too possessive or jealous. He’s a grown man and understands a woman can live her own life, have her own friends, and what not. Though he tries his hardest to be good but he’s such a jealous man. He tries his best not to show his jealousy thinking it’ll turn you off. Not knowing that you’d actually love that side of him. Everytime you come back from an outing that he didn’t attend he missed your attention so much he’ll fuck you till your dick drunk off of him hoping you’ll feel so good and spoiled from him that you won’t leave again without him anytime soon. Any time you’re out together and a man looks at you he grips you tighter. It makes him want to take you to the nearest restroom, pin you up against the wall, fuck you passionately with love, while he begs you to tell him he’s the only man for you. He’s not insecure he knows you won’t leave or cheat. He also likes when men look at you he likes seeing their eyes shine at you then gaze up to him and realize they can’t have you. He still get’s so jealous from it though he can’t really understand why.

Nanami turn ons.

Doing domestic things turns him on a lot. Such as bringing him lunch, making him coffee,

cleaning, doing laundry. He likes it more than you wearing lingerie especially if you’re doing your chores wearing his shirt. Not that he thinks a woman has to do the domestic labor but he is old fashioned and traditional so he prefers traditional roles. He sees you doing these things as a sign of love and care. He also does the household duties when he has time off of work if there’s anything that needs to be done. Knowing you get to relax while he takes care of a household duty turns him on. You’ll often find him dragging you into the shower with him to fuck you silly when he’s finished mowing the lawn, or mopping the floors. He especially loves it when he comes home to find you doing something you love like cooking. When you’re cooking one of his favorite meals he’ll often eat you as the main course first as a way to say thank you for spoiling him.

He would never admit it but loves when you’re bratty on occasion because it gives him an excuse to bend you over his knee. He loves when you talk back without a care like you don’t know he’ll quickly put you in place. Nanami loves when your bratty self teases him while he’s at work. Weather it being you sending him pictures, videos, or you showing up and getting down on your knees under his desk toying with his waistband.

Husband Nanami

He loves being a husband. He would get married quickly. When he finds the right woman he doesn’t see the need to wait. He’s a hopeless romantic. Just being married turns him on. Knowing you have his last name, knowing he gets to take care of you from now on, it drives his mind wild. Anytime you casually call him husband or remind him that you’re his wife his member perks up instantly.

Nanami dirty talk

“Shh shh look at me love I have to break you in or you’ll never be able to take me. Just let it sit here I won’t thrust alright.

“Shh I told you to let me love”

“You’re so beautiful when I’m inside of you love. I always love how you let me take my time with you.”

“I’m so glad i met you. I feel so spoiled having such a sexy wife. Maybe i should spoil you with my tongue?”

“Shh hold still my love. Relax.”

“I love you darling. That’s right. I love it when it’s all the way inside your pretty walls”

“Yes that’s it love, let it out. Dont you dare hold back those moans from your husband.”

Kinks

I see him as old fashioned. Not super kinky. If being a care giver (not age play just like being the protector and provider) and a top in bed is a kink you can count that. Also finishing inside of you. Not sure if thats a kink but he has to finish inside of your pussy. He loves the feeling it gives both of you. On the rare occasions you last long enough for him to finish twice he’s in heaven. He’s obsessed with you being filled with him. He pulls back up your panties after and lifts up slightly to push his cum further inside you he doesn’t want anything dripping out of you. He wants it to sit inside of you for the rest of the day/night so that every time you feel filled you remember the sweet love he made to you. I see him enjoying spanking. Bending you over his knee when you’ve been bratty. Or slapping your ass while he fucks you from behind. Eyes winding and mouth watering with he sees you grow wet/wetter from his slaps. Aside from that I see him liking to use his tie to occasionally tie your hands behind your back. Mainly when you’ve been bratty and he wants to fuck you rough. Aside from that at most he would probably use a vibrator on you if you wanted/needed but would prefer to use himself.

Name calling

I don’t think he would be into much name calling. I mean maybe he would be into daddy or sir? Though I see him being softer I could see him having a darker side to him and liking it. But I think he would probably prefer you to names like; love, my darling, husband, baby, both in an out of bed. He would like calling you the same names in an out of bed as well.

Nanami receiving

He loves getting his dick sucked. Groaning at the sound of you lubing him up for your hole. He loves guiding your movements with his hands tangled in your lucious hair. Though he loves this he doesn’t like cuming in your mouth he prefers to cum down your cunny instead. He has a lot of stamina and control so he can prevent himself from cumming down your throat waiting until he uses your other hole.

Thats about the most receiving he likes the rest of the time he’d rather do all the work. Even though technically while you’re sucking him he still doing all the work by being the one to guide all your movements and telling you what to do.

Nanami moaning?

He’ll give soft grunts and moans occasionally. He’ll softly moan and grunt or pant heavily when he finishes inside you. He’s more of a talker than a moaner In my opinion. He loves whispering sweet things into your ears and sushing you quite often. He loves the sound of your moans he doesn’t Sush as a sign to be quiet but more as a sign to “take it” and also out of habit. He’s so used to saying “shh” he sort of does it out of instinct instead of moaning.

All nanami stories by me will be under the hashtag NanamiAria

[applestorms]

L can be such a possessive character at times. he always strikes me as the type of person who is deeply aware of everything that he owns, both in a more literal sense and metaphorically-- like, he knows what money he has and how to use it, what resources are readily available to him and what he has to be sneakier to utilize, the habits and tendencies and emotional states of individuals and world governments both. the DN musical really puts an emphasis on the more computer-y aspects of how his brain functions, which isn't as obvious in the manga/anime but i think still works well as a way to follow his thinking. it's kinda what near does too: everything is a factor to them, every tiny detail a new opening to optimize for the best results, every person and location and object a part of a puzzle waiting to be solved. and as a part of that, L is deeply aware of every and any little thing he may or may not have control over, and exactly to what degree.

his habit of stealing titles as depicted in the LABB murders novel is such a good example of this. ryuzaki, eraldo coil, deneuve. he eats people alive and then takes their names for himself like some kind of fucked up fae or trickster god, creating new masks and personas to hide behind from the remains of the people he's devoured. i have to wonder if he would've used the title of KIRA for himself had he won-- i can hardly imagine what kind of power such a title could hold if held in his hands. of course, he could've just used the defeat of KIRA as a way to build up the L title even further, offering up the body of a dead god like perseus showing off the head of medusa. but L is so emotionally attached to the kira case, i struggle to see him allowing it to fade from existence so thoroughly as near does, even if it is only kept close on a private level...

this is part of why i think it genuinely makes a lot of sense that L's ultimate win state would include capturing light to some degree. even if the memory of KIRA somehow manages to fully disappear from the public consciousness, there is no fucking way L is letting light yagami out of his grasp. honestly, the moment that L truly loses this game is not when he starts investigating misa while still under rem's watch, not when light gets back his memories, not even when he dies, but the moment when he allows light to be freed from the handcuffs. the moment when he allows the other members of the task force to turn off the cameras and keep him from watching light and misa talk in the lobby. the moment when he gives up, lets light yagami go outside of L's personal sphere of control, is the moment when L starts the clock ticking down to the end of his own life.

this is one of the key ways in which i see light as a true equal and parallel to L, as after L's death he, intentionally or no, continues the same tradition and takes L's title for himself, twisting the two sides together into the L-KIRA amalgamation. only, the L title functions a little bit differently than every other persona or title that we see in the series-- because L's true name is L. that's all that he is. on a literal, legal, and emotional level, i don't think that L is anything more than L. he is the world's greatest detective, he's an incredible, weirdo super genius, but he does not afford himself much more than that, barely allows himself personhood or humanity outside of his work. light was the one to ultimately defeat L because he did not just put a stain on his character (as BB attempted), did not just kill him, but stole his very identity and took it for himself.

one of the biggest contradictions of L's character that i think you must accept should you attempt to portray him accurately is that he is both deeply detached from humanity while also having all of his work and effort and life be focused around saving it. it's one of the ways in which he is an exact opposite to light-- where light relies on humanity for external validation, to be Seen, while also looking down on it as dumb and immoral and spineless, L is so separated from it that he barely exists as a person, all the while dedicating almost every action he takes to helping it. remember: for all the emotional turmoil that wammy's house and the legacy of L may put on the kids living there, ultimately it's entire existence is nothing more than L's logical solution to his potential demise. if he dies, the world goes down with him, all of the cases that are yet to happen and he is yet to solve being left in the air. he has the foresight to set up a fail safe, but not to consider the emotional implications of what being that fail safe might feel like, how high the price of your own humanity is if you are not already alienated from it, the inability to have your own name on your gravestone-- though perhaps some of the blame also falls on watari's shoulders in this case, philanthropic old bastard that he is.

imo, playing his game really got it right in presenting L and light as one and the same, synonyms on either side of the mirror. in every action they take they are both so selfishly selfless, playing the game for themselves and their own pleasure but plastering the needs and will of humanity on top of it. L isn't invested in saving humanity for the sake of humanity-- he just likes the thrill of having the stakes raised so high. hard to shit on ryuk for wanting entertainment when the humans he finds are just the same as him.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

To clarify,I don't believe in porn makes you evil and I don't believe in like fantasies are evil. I'm pulling this quote off Scarleteen "“If we aren’t both careful and creative we can get stuck in fantasies that don’t mature and politicize with us."" I'm also new to being about to vote, so I'm trying to be careful about what I consume and what stereotypes media perpetuate. Like I'm not moralizing about kink or anything, and my ask was how can I get aroused with media wo my kinks or wo media

hi anon, welcome back! I'm genuinely very glad to hear some follow up.

for anybody who doesn't stay vigorously up to date with all of my anons, this ask is a continuation of this one.

so I went and checked out the Scarleteen articles you mentioned in your first message, or at least I tried to. How to Approach Sexual Fantasies and Desire on Your Own Terms is here, and while I couldn't find anything with the exact title 50 Shades of Abuse, we do have 50 Shades of BS - How to Tell the Difference Between Kink and Abuse as well as 50 Shades Crappier: On Selling Abuse for Valentine's Day, both of which cover how the 50 Shades series isn't a great model of real, responsibly-practiced BDSM.

now, here's what I didn't see in any of these articles: an assertion that anybody needs to, as you've decided to do, avoid any work that depicts anything less than perfectly healthy sexual practices.

the closest we get to that is the quote by adrienne maree brown from How to Approach Sexual Fantasies, which you mention above. now, here's the thing: first of all, I actually disagree pretty substantially with brown's assertions that one's sexual fantasies need to "politicize." I know what my politics are; the fiction that I enjoy can't change that, because I don't have the moral backbone of a chocolate eclair. I actually just talked about that earlier today in another ask.

(also, and this may be an unpopular opinion, but adrienne maree brown is kind of a dork who doesn't really say much of anything in Pleasure Activism that Audre Lorde didn't already say better and more succinctly, and I personally lost interest in Pleasure Activism pretty much the moment she casually dropped that she practices reiki healing because that's a pseudoscientific alternative medicine that doesn't do shit or fuck. but I digress.)

listen, I'm not trying to peer pressure or bully you into watching anything you don't want to watch. your porn consumption is up to you. but what you're doing here is absolutely moralizing, I think maybe because of an underlying assumption that media that involves sex is just, like, innately different than any other type of media, which is in itself an idea that stems from sex negativity!

I don't know, let's just try to play out a little thought exercise here. like, would you consider it reasonable if somebody told you that they've decided not to read or watch anything that depicts problematic behavior because they don't want to normalize it. like, first of all, they're never watching anything but Bluey again. except actually not even Bluey because I just remembered about Bluey in the genocide, which actually makes for a great illustration of how nonsensical and impossible it is to try to only engage with media that is 100% ideologically pure.

and again: that's fine! that's literally fine! it is 100% okay to watch or read or play things with morals that don't totally 100% align with yours. it's okay to enjoy them, even. it's a lot healthier than trying to avoid upsetting or incongruous things entirely, because that gives you the chance to actually think about it rather than trying to shut it out entirely! that article actually provides an entire list of questions you can run through with yourself to critically analyze the things you watch if you feel so inclined! that's a much better skill to practice than avoidance!

I get that when you're new to sex, as you said in the previous ask, this might seem daunting, but your brain isn't just a sponge that will uncritically soak up and adopt anything you expose it to. you very clearly have the ability to research, differentiate between fiction and real life, and form your own opinions! and it is absolutely fine if you want to just watch porn with your kinks!

like, listen, I see what the question is, and the easiest answer is just. do whatever gets you off.

[catnipster69]

The evolution of an answer.

Austin Con August 18, 2024 J2 Meet & Greet (leaked audio) (x):

Question: In season 5, Dark Side of the Moon, when they’re in heaven, it’s implied that Sam and Dean are soulmates, that Ash tells them that there are special cases that share a heaven. Was that talked about in the filming of the episode and your reactions, and do you think that Sam and Dean are soulmates?

Jared: That was only 15 years ago—[to Jensen, who looked confused] …When we shot the heaven sequence— Jensen: [to Jared] No, I remember that. I just don’t remember that soulmate thing. Jared: Yeah, I think it makes sense. [after clarification about the scene] Ah, OK. Jensen: So it’s implied. There are a lot of things implied in the show. Jared: I’d guess if you asked every person here what the definition of what a soulmate is, you’d probably get 30 different answers, so I think it’s pretty obvious that what Sam and Dean did together, they couldn’t have done solo. And they were better together, working together as a team, and we saw them often at odds with each other, and then when they were on the same page, they were essentially unstoppable other than that damn rebar that one time, that one time. Jensen: Their souls were bound. Their souls were bound together. Jared: I guess the real answer to the question is the final scene of the series. Like yeah, they’re in heaven together; maybe that’s Dean’s, maybe Sam has his own and Dean is there as well, but something to explore next season. Jensen: It also brings up the question of is there only one soulmate? Or do you find multiple soulmates? Jared: Yeah, Sure. Jensen: You know? Does your soul reach out to—you find a connection with that kind of gravity in multiple people, and I think that maybe you do, maybe those are the people you spend the afterlife with, those mates that you found. Jared: I like that. Jensen: I don’t know, I just came up with that. Write that down.

DC Con September 22, 2024 Main Panel (x):

Question: In the season 5 episode Dark Side of the Moon, Sam and Dean found out that they were soulmates, and it was never really addressed after that. So what did they think when they found that out?

(x)

[shiongenkai]

TD Captain Swap

I have crafted a captain swap so hilarious to me I need to talk about it so here's the stupidest thing ever.

Frostheim: Yuri

Vagastrom: Jin

Jabberwock: Ed

Sinostra: Alan

Hotarubi: Taiga

Obscuary: Haru

Mortkranken: Subaru

My insane ramblings below the cut.

My basic premise is that one day Darkwick is like. In order to promote harmony across the houses and establish rapport with one another we will be assigning captains to a new house for the next month. And then they do that. And it all falls apart immediately.

Frostheim

Yuri voice ill never go back. And then Darkwick is like okay you're too biased against them go make up!! And Yuri seethes so hard something in his body pops.

First off, nooo way he gets along with Tohma or feels comfortable in Jin's room. Secondly, Kaito? Kaito. Literally no way that guy won't scream every other day. It's not even that he dislikes Yuri, it's just that the rumors are too Big for Kaito not to freak out every single time. And Luca of course will not help this concern ever, and will ask for Yuri's history and why he seems so familiar with Frostheim stuff, and Yuri will have to decide how far morals can carry him.

Somehow someway everyone in this scenario comes out appreciating Jin just like. A smidge more. His Frostheim runs as smoothly as Yuri's Frostheim but there's something slightly more dignified about it.

Vagastrom

I really just need a Jin Leo bitch off. Leo trying to get info from Jin except he soundproofed his room again, Jin not giving a shit about what the two of them do which makes it considerably less fun despite neither Sho nor Leo being willing to admit that, Jin using his stigma when MC is around to force Leo to do things. It's technically functional, like Vagastrom doesn't fall to chaos after Jin asserts his dominance on day one, but it's like. Everyone misses Alan so bad. So bad. Sho and Leo would never admit it to his face but they prefer their captain over Jin even if most things haven't really changed.

Also I think the only reasons Jin would leave his room is if Leo was bothering him too much and even then it would take a bit. I think Sho's life wouldn't be changed a whole lot but he'd miss the sparring and also find Jin's philosophy like.... not strange or bad but too different???? Like yeah it's annoying to spar every day but it's also fun. That's his enrichment...

Jabberwock

This is what inspired it all. The exact sequence of events was that I thought to myself, wouldn't it be funny if Ed was in Jabberwock since it's usually pretty sunny and it requires a lot of work? And then I thought, and also Towa is there. And then I remembered Towa hates Ed and I laughed so hard I cried trying to envision Ed announcing that he's replacing Haru for the time being and Towa trying to electrocute him.

Ren and Ed would also be funny because as long as Ed leaves Ren alone I'm sure he'd be fine. And doubly so if he draws Towa's attention away from him. But I can't tell if after that it'd be funnier if Ren gets annoyed because Ed is actually high maintenance and if Towa isn't doing it then Ren definitely has to. And he'd hate that. OR Ed has seen all his movies and knows all his games and keeps trying to talk to him about it but in a way that pisses him off about it and he's like mad about that. Either way I can't imagine anyone in this house is happy about this arrangement and it's killing me to imagine.

Sinostra

You'll have to stick with me for this one because it's a very specific dynamic in my mind that I'm not very good at articulating but basically. Romeo is at first glad Taiga can't mess things up anymore (even though deep down he misses him) and glad Alan is capable of scaring people straight just by Looking but then Alan is like hey this operation isn't very honorable. It's a low blow to threaten and intimidate and cheat. And then they butt heads about it endlessly.

Which is why Ritsu has to come in and be the equalizer but Alan can't take him seriously because he's like you're way too skinny you have no muscle what is your diet what's your trianing like. Spar with me. And Ritsu, embarrassed and offended, is like ILL HAVE YOU KNOW IM WORKING ON IT. And Alan genuinely offers to help but Ritsu is too used to Taiga and lowkey assumes Alan is making fun of him. And Alan is sincere. So he keeps going.

Hotarubi

PLEASEEEE PICTURE IT. THINK ABOUT IT. Think about the Haku Taiga prologue dynamic and make that daily life. Now add in the fact that Hotarubi is meant to be traditional Japanese themes with grace and tranquility and then imagine Taiga is there and try to tell me that's not the funniest shit ever.

And then add in Zenji. We already know Taiga can see or sense more than others so I would bet everything he could probably sense Zenji in some way, which he honestly probably wouldn't care about but I think he'd care a lot about the doll or the biwa. Basically I think he'd try to eat it. I think he'd try to eat something and it would be chaos and hilarious and please just imagine the three of them together. Please. Please. Please.

Obscuary

House Simulator. This is the only truly fully functioning house with no problems outside of Lyca complaining about noise and annoyances and so on so forth. And that is because Rui and Haru are so used to doing like 100% of the work all the time that they both try to do it and end up finishing all the work in half the time since they've split it and now they randomly have free time??? And it's so strange??

Haru helps with breakfast and cleaning and taking care of the animals and chores and so forth and Rui helps with Peekaboo and relieving Haru's exhaustion and it's basically such a functioning pair that it's almost scary. Like Lyca is scared. But also Haru smells bad and is too high energy and LOUDDD so he's in his rebellious teenage phase atm.

Only downside is that Haru has too much bar access and has to be cut off but it's a small price to pay for a house that isn't up in flames by day one. Unfortunately it can't last bc Haru would miss his animals and Rui would feel too worried about hurting Haru so when they swap back both have made peace with it. And Lyca will still kick rocks they couldn't have Subaru.

Mortkranken

I think Subaru would become a legend very quickly but not because he's this secret medical genius but because he seems to have this uncanny ability to guess things. And the secret is that he is using his stigma fully on accident and seeing what they were up to and then Jiro is figuring it out from there. And he keeps trying to give Jiro credit but nobody will listen.

He's also squeamish. Like he can't handle blood so when Jiro is like 'Move that to the other table please' Subaru is happy to and moves this weird lump under a sheet and the sheet falls off and its a severed arm and Subaru faints. and Jiro laughs for a second before putting Subaru on the table and making sure he's like actually okay. And they are both very patient with one another and very cordial. But it's so so awkward. And Subaru honest to god does not know how to take care of Jiro and is constantly having to ask Yuri how to do things except Yuri is always occupied by Frostheim so Subaru has to follow Jiro's instructions and they are both praying Every Day.

And that's also why they're both happy when its over. Not because it was bad or they dislike each other but bc they're both glad Yuri will come back and it won't be Does Jiro Die Today Roulette. and then Subaru goes to Haku and grabs his shoulders and is likep lease do not start dying ill cry right in front of you forever. and Haku just nods slowly.