#the photos i got are...not great but i WILL be riding this high

[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!

[witchstone]

ladies...gentlemen...i dragged myself off to the conservancy around the corner this afternoon with just the thought of getting out the house and perhaps seeing the buzzard again. does my sweet little patch of paradise, small and humble as she may be, not turn up one hell of a lifer in the form of three magpie mannikins

[mee-op]

Facts about in-game Yuu (Twisted Wonderland):

NOTES:

This is an ongoing list and will be updated with new information. I'm not caught up w/ chap 6 and I'm not very perceptive. This list is so long because of all the people who commented/sent asks, so thank you Last but not least, some of these might be a stretch/be slightly incorrect so bare w/ me plz :] More Yuu facts [ ONE / TWO ] <- not mine

They've been good friends with Heartslabyul ever since Book 1.

They're forgiving/don't hold any bad blood with the people who've overblotted (at least on the outside).

According to the Harveston event, they can play the flute.

They don't like mentioning that they might return to their world (Deuce's Wishing Star vignette).

Many people consider them a "goody-two-shoes" (Leona, Ruggie).

A good listener.

Based on Malleus' interactions with them, Yuu talks to him a lot more off-screen as he states that he values their opinions.

Loves Grim to hell and back.

It's implied that Yuu invites Malleus over frequently enough that he visits unprompted.

They can be snarky and brutally honest when they're pushed into it.

Comes up with stupid plans that nobody believes will work but it somehow does.

They're insecure about not having any magic.

They want to be able to help their friends.

Has a sense of self-preservation.

Does not actively seek out danger (*cough* om mc *cough*).

They've cleaned up Ramshackle since living there, however, it still looks "abandoned & ancient" on the outside.

Crowley doesn't give them more money than "needed".

Silver states that Yuu is good with swords (PE Uniform).

Both Jamil and Silver seem to think that Yuu is somewhat weird/strange.

They don't know much about mushrooms (Floyd's Camp Vargas vignette).

They're very patient.

Used to be afraid of ghosts until they got to Twisted Wonderland.

They adapt to new/difficult situations quickly and calmly.

They don't complain much.

Very much so the silent type.

The audience doesn't really see anyone helping them out with their situation, so I assume they fix most of their problems themselves.

They don't have any memories of the Great Seven before coming to Twisted Wonderland.

Fluctuates between being observant and not noticing really basic stuff.

Doesn't hesitate to say cheesy things.

Keeps calm in harsh situations.

They know how to play a blowing horn (White Rabbit Event).

Good with instruments.

Not a very good singer (NRC Uniform).

It's implied that they have high stamina.

They're interested in horseback riding and wants to play soccer with Sebek (PE Uniform).

They recommend a few books to Sebek, implying that they read in their free time.

They're short in comparison to Floyd (he calls them Shrimpy).

Grim comments that they're shorter than Vil.

Crowley mumbles that Yuu looks effeminate.

They're a bit of a romantic since they seem to often ask about love stories/fairy tales (Epel & Jade chats).

They have a habit of poking, tugging, tickling and just touching people in general. This is proven through the Home Screen character interactions, so their love language seems to be physical touch.

They get scared easily but is bad at scaring others (Halloween voice lines).

Vil notes that their uniform is baggy.

Malleus says that Yuu has gotten better at dancing (Masquerade Event).

It's implied that Yuu is good/decent at cooking since they have to make meals for both themself and Grim every day.

Yuu is decent at basketball (Ace Halloween).

Deuce remarks about a tiny piece of furniture in Ramshackle and asks if it's for Grim, meaning Yuu makes small furniture for him.

They're a good photographer.

Takes part in photography competitions (Rook Port Fest).

It's implied that Yuu carries their ghost camera everywhere because Crowley constantly makes them record events.

It's said that the game cards are actual photos that Yuu took with the ghost camera. [I don't know if this is true but a lot of people have said so]

Most, if not all the characters tell Yuu to hurry up when choosing a class, which suggests that they're indecisive.

Ace, Deuce and Cater tell Yuu to relax during classes or else they'll run out of energy.

Jack says that he got tips from Yuu while he was working in Monstro Lounge, implying that Yuu might've worked in customer service before (Book 3).

According to Grim, they have a hard time saying no to people, but when they absolutely need to-- they're very serious and a bit intimidating. "You're a real sap sometimes, you know that? Then again, when you bare your teeth it's no joke."

While they won't say no to helping others, they prefer to keep to themselves and avoid drama.

Yuu is sometimes a bit distrustful of Ace and thinks he's tricking them if he offers to do anything nice (2024 Player Birthday Greetings).

It doesn't take much to make them happy. (Deuce & Idia 2024 Player Birthday Greetings).

They became nervous when Riddle invited them to a salon for their birthday. Riddle response saying "I'll be right there with you, and will instruct you in etiquette every step of the way."

They're competitive in class-- at least when it comes to Jack (2024 Player Birthday Greetings).

They took chess lessons to try and beat Leona in a match (2024 Player Birthday Greetings).

For their birthday, Yuu asks Azul to get something that's supposedly hard for an average collector to acquire.

They're surprised when Kalim gifts them a pop-up card for their birthday.

They own a pair of fingerless gloves (gifted by Epel).

They personally invited Vil over for their birthday party and made sure to have healthy food options for him.

Not very close with Idia.

Owns a glass tumbler that reads 'Happy Birthday!' (gifted by Ortho).

Lilia gives them a CD with his screamo performances.

They were gifted so many presents on their birthday that they had trouble carrying the gifts around. (Malleus 2024 Player Birthday Greetings).

[pseudowho]

"Itadori-kun. Good. You're on time."

Kento checked his watch, clearly distracted, as Yuuji approached with pocketed hands. The shopping centre was bustling, a hive of activity around them. Yuuji ruffled his own hair, unsure.

"Yeah, I just...wasn't sure why we're meeting here, is all."

Still distracted, Kento tapped off a message, before slipping his phone back into his inner pocket. He rarely offered smiles when there was business yet to be done, and today was no different.

"I was hoping for your assistance with a few errands before your school term ends. I'm sure you'll be busy with your friends after then, and I shouldn't like to take your vacation time. I'm sure you're looking forward to the break."

In truth, Yuuji deflated just at the thought of it; though he was an orphan amongst orphans, he didn't favour empty time in the way he used to, with memory and the devil as his constant companions. Still he smiled.

"Yeah! Can't wait. Got...got loads planned."

Kento read Yuuji, shrewd for a moment, before hyper-focusing on the task at hand.

"Quite. Come along, Yuuji."

Yuuji grew more and more flummoxed as Kento's list of errands tickered out before them. Too polite to question why, and with absolute faith that Kento had good reason to drag him along for the ride, Yuuji stomached it all with confused good grace.

Yuuji blinked, momentarily blinded by the flash of light in the photo booth. He grinned for the next photo, and Kento's cool deep voice rumbled past the curtain.

"No smiling, Yuuji."

"H-huh? How did you know?"

"Was I wrong?"

"Uh...sorry, Nanamin."

As a strip of tiny poe-faced photos clicked into the dispenser, Yuuji couldn't understand why Nanamin was so satisfied by such bland pictures. Yuuji was, however, touched; clearly Nanamin liked wallet photos as he liked his suits-- beige. Kento clipped across Yuuji's thoughts.

"Do you like the beach, Yuuji?"

Yuuji blinked. "The beach...?"

"Yes. The beach. Do you like it?"

"Uh...I guess. Why?"

Kento hummed, satisfied, not answering Yuuji's question. Instead, as he passed Yuuji his coffee, he stood and leaned around Yuuji, gently pulling at the back of Yuuji's collar. Yuuji twisted to look, baffled now, and Kento released him, sitting with another satisfied hum. He tapped on his phone again.

"Your identification documents are in your room at Jujutsu High?"

"Nanamin...what's this about?"

"It's important to take care of your documents, Yuuji."

"...so you're just...checking up on me?"

Kento smiled, polite. "Of course." A pause. "I assume you'd like to come back to ours for dinner?"

Yuuji brimmed with unasked questions. "I don't need to-- I'm not really that hungry-- honestly a coffee is great--"

"Mrs.Nanami has cooked extra."

"God, yes, please, I'm starving."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The summer vacation approached Yuuji like a black cloud. He could not bring himself to be excited for enforced inactivity; his casual offers to assist staff on missions fell on deaf ears. Gojo laughed Yuuji off with a clap on the shoulder. Yuuji smiled away the gentle rejection; he did not have the stomach to beg to work.

Instead, Yuuji stewed, leaning on his rainy windowsill until cicada buzz replaced the pitter-patter of water on earth. Late July arrived, unwelcome, and Yuuji steeped in a pit of dread.

At 2am, on the first day of summer vacation, Yuuji's phone rang. Bleary-eyed, and flat, he looked away from his computer screen and lowered his headset. He looked at his screen with a lurching gut; he answered the phone.

"Nanamin?"

A voice, rusty with sleeplessness. "Ah, Yuuji. I apologise for waking you at this hour. I need help with a mission. Are you available?"

Yuuji perked up immediately, tail wagging. "Y-yeah! Yeah, totally! I can be ready...er...in ten? Yeah?"

Kento's voice smiled. "Good. I'll pick you up."

Yuuji danced from his desk chair, shaking off his joggers and wriggling into his uniform with a grin, ruffling his hair before the mirror. In barely two minutes, he was ready, a spring in his step as he headed to wait outside. He felt so light, so relieved, and he grabbed his keys, opening his door to--

"Oh, shi--...Nanamin?"

Kento stood at the door, comfortable in loose clothes, and...sandals? It was an odd contrast to the backdrop of night, and Kento's usual attire. Kento smiled again, polite.

"Yes. Are you ready?"

"Y-yeah, I'm...how did you get here so fast?"

"The roads are quiet at this time of night, Yuuji."

A pause. "...Nanamin."

"Yuuji."

"Are you fucking with me?"

"Language."

When Yuuji opened his mouth to argue back, his jaw dropped, as you bustled up the corridor behind Kento with a sleepy grin on your face. You slapped Kento's elbow, shooting him a chastising look.

"Morning, Yuuji! Excited?" You pressed a kiss to his cheek, whirling past to invade his bedroom. Yuuji was speechless, horribly confused.

Kento checked his watch as you bustled around. Tapped his foot as you bustled around. Tutted, and leaned pointedly round the corner to stare at you as you bustled around.

"Darling, we're going to be la--"

"--don't give me attitude, Kento, we are about 6 hours early, and you know it--"

"--it pays off to check-in ahead of schedule--"

"--hush. I'll have words with you later."

Kento bristled, pugnacious. You walked out of Yuuji's room with his rucksack in hand. You pinched his chin, gesturing him along with your hand.

"Come on, Yuuji. Before Mr.Organised has conniptions."

Yuuji felt himself swept along by Kento, who still scoffed, mulish. The night air smelled sweet, and Yuuji found himself gently bodied into the back seat of Kento's car.

"--Nanamin-- I don't understand--"

You shot Kento a pointed look from the passenger seat. At first frowning, then with dawning realisation, you scolded Kento in disbelief.

"...you haven't told him."

Kento almost smirked as he rolled the car away over gravel. "I don't know what you mean."

You looked from Kento, to Yuuji, and back again. You reached slowly into Kento's bag, rummaging. Yuuji felt a glossy little book pressed into his hands.

"...a...passport?"

"...Kento didn't tell you."

Never one for expecting a gift, Yuuji couldn't see one when placed before his eyes. "Tell me what? Nanamin?"

Kento chuckled to himself, his eyes glimmering at Yuuji in the rearview mirror.

"Our flight is at 10:30, Yuuji."

Yuuji peered into the seat beside him; a new suitcase, neatly labelled with a luggage tag in his name. He yanked it to the seat beside him, unzipping it, and finding it full of new swimsuits, t-shirts, shorts, sandals, everything he could possibly need. He opened the glossy new passport in his hands, and hiccupped, his breath catching in his chest.

Yuuji rammed into realisation with prickling eyes, and a quiet sniffle, his eyes hidden in the dark. His reply was thick, stilted.

"Our flight...to where?"

"Malaysia. Now give me back that passport. You'll only lose it."

[requiemforthepoets]

babysitting duties 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: who knew that babysitting your four-year-old niece would make you feel things and imagine a life with lando, with a kid and family of your own.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: all these lando interactions with kids in my fyp got me, so here you go. hope you enjoy this one! :)

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

WARNINGS: typos, photos grabbed from pinterest, inaccuracies of the photos, and baby fever

It was a busy race week, but it didn’t stop you and Lando from taking on a new role as temporary guardians. Your brother and his wife are currently away for a business trip, and flew their four-year-old daughter, Chloé, to Monaco to be in your care for three weeks, so that’s basically a whole month with her. Chloé had quickly become attached to both of you, especially Lando, who had easily embraced the added responsibility very proudly. Now, she’s living with you both in your shared apartment in Monaco, and despite the busyness of the race week, she was certainly coming along for the ride.

You entered the paddock hand in hand with Lando, while he was carrying Chloé in his arms, balancing her weight effortlessly as if he’d done it a hundred times before, with her tiny arms wrapped around his neck. Chloé, with her bright eyes and boundless curiosity, had become an instant star amongst the paddock. She was also dressed to coordinate with you and Lando, with miniature personalized ear defenders completing the whole ensemble. You couldn’t help but laugh at how effortlessly she charmed everyone around her.

“She looks so much like you two!” Someone exclaimed as you passed by. Lando quickly gave you a playful nudge.

“Well, we do make a good-looking family, don’t we?” He said cheekily, sending you a wink. You couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of rolling with the misconception that Chloé was your daughter suddenly became amusing for you.

“You two look like a proper happy family, eh?” Carlos teased as he approached, grinning mischievously, and giving Chloé a high five.

Lando chuckled, glancing over at you with a playful smirk. “Maybe we should let them think that, huh?”

You playfully rolled your eyes and chuckled, “you really have a knack for stirring the media, don’t you?”

“Anything to keep them in their toes.” You all laughed. “Let them have their field day. They want headlines, then let them eat this up.” He added.

Chloé, oblivious to the whole conversation that is going on, tapped Lando’s shoulder gently. “Can we see the cars now, Uncle Lan?”

He ruffled her hair and pressed a soft kiss on her temple. “In a bit, Koko. First, we have to make sure that Uncle Lan wins this weekend.” She giggled, her innocent laughter melting the hearts of the people around.

As the three of you continued through the paddock, other drivers couldn’t help but stop and coo at her and with Lando joking that Chloé should call Fernando ‘grandpa nando’, in which the older didn’t mind, and find Chloé a very wonderful kid. She even got Oscar to play with her, pretending to race alongside her as she ran towards him, he got Chloé to behave like a car, and squealed so hard with laughter, clearly enjoying every second of her playful interaction with Oscar.

Then Max came over, pretending to be serious but a soft smile was threatening to break through. “I didn’t know you two had a secret kid. When did this happen?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “She’s my niece. But for the thrill of it, let’s start some rumors.”

“Could’ve fooled me! You three looked like a picture-perfect family.” Max smirked, “she’s too cute not to be yours, mate.”

“See?” Lando chimed in, nudging you lightly with his elbow. “Told you, we’re a great team. Maybe we should borrow her every race weekend, love. Just to keep everyone guessing.”

“Yeah and I’ll get an earful from my brother in return for making her miss Kumon just to attend a race weekend with us.” You laughed, shaking your head.

Chloé had asked to be brought down from Lando’s arms, wanting to walk, and now, she’s swinging between the two of you, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way Lando looked at her. Lando had always been really great with kids, but seeing him in this light, with Chloé, felt like something deeper. There was an unspoken ease in the way he handled it, as if it wasn’t a huge leap from where you both already were.

Just then, Charles strolled over, taking a good look at the three of you. “A mini Norris already?! This weekend just got more interesting, huh?”

Before you could reply, Chloé pointed at Charles’s shirt. “I like your red shirt!” She announced, earning a laugh from everyone around.

Charles knelt down to her height, his eyes lighting up with genuine affection. “Thank you! I like your ear defenders. Maybe one day you’ll be in the car too?”

She beamed, nodding with all the confidence in the world. “I will! And I’ll beat Uncle Lan!”

You all burst into laughter, and Lando playfully feigned shock. “Whoa, hold on! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“Koko is really adorable.” Charles smiled as he put out a hand for Chloé to high five, “can Uncle Charles get a hug?” She giggled and ran up to Charles, her tiny arms wrapping around his neck.

You smiled, watching the scene unfold, heart full from how she effortlessly fit into this world. It was sweet, chaotic, and somehow, everything just felt right. But honestly, all of this is making you feel a little bit of a baby fever.

The day continued on and more drivers stopped by to say hello, each of them being enamored. Even some of the team staff were swooning over how adorable she runs towards Lando and climbing to sit on his lap during brief moments in the garage. Lando even gently placed her inside his car, much to her delight. Chloé’s eyes sparkled as she explored the cockpit and touched the steering wheel, her giggles echoing through the garage. The whole team watched it all with fond smiles, exchanging knowing looks.

Chloé continued to win everyone’s heart, even joining Lando in signing autographs, and each time a fan got their merch signed, she’d beam proudly and say, “I helped!”

At one point, Toto passed by, taking one look at the three of you and shaking his head with an amused grin. “You two should just get married already and have one of your own. This one suits you.”

You blushed, the thought of you and Lando getting married and having a child of your own. Stammering out a response as Lando laughed beside you. “Oh no, we’re…we’re just babysitting.”

“Sure,” Toto said with a knowing wink before walking away.

By the time the day came to an end, Chloé had fallen asleep in Lando’s arms, her tiny body curled up against him. You glanced over and saw how tenderly Lando held her, stroking her hair softly. Witnessing this scene had made your heart flutter and melt.

“You know,” Lando said quietly, not wanting to wake her, “if this is what having a family looks like…I wouldn’t mind having one someday with you.”

You smiled, feeling your chest tighten with a mix of emotions. “Someday,” you agreed, leaning in to kiss him on the lips and him meeting you halfway.

For now, this was enough—an amazing race weekend, Chloé, and the unexpected joy of playing family for a little while. It was sweet, it was funny, and it was everything you didn’t know that you needed.

yourusername

liked by landonorris, yourbrother, yoursisterinlaw, oscarpiastri, lilyzneimer and 67,938 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername when koko is in monaco ✨ on babysitting duties while the parents are away! yourbrother & yoursisterinlaw 💗

view all comments

username1 GIRL DAD LANDO!!!!

username2 not her decking lando’s car with stickers 😭😭😭😭

yourbrother so the little monster went karting, huh ♥︎ liked by the author

yourusername yep, she has been BEGGING landonorris 😭😭😭 you might have a future racer in your hands soon 😆

yourbrother should we start saving now? 🙂‍↕️

landonorris oh you should, mate. koko’s got some talent

yourbrother 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

yourusername oh come on u drama queen, not like you can’t afford it 🤥 also lan asked if koko can join us every race weekend 😂

yourbrother ?????? make your own ?????? she can’t miss her kumon

landonorris what do you say, love? 🤩

yourusername marry me first??? 🤨

landonorris won’t be a problem 🤪

yourbrother already asking her to marry you, when you haven’t gotten our blessing yet? 🤨

landonorris working on it!

yourusername 😭😭😭😭

landonorris she’s (and our future kids) the only one allowed that can deck my car in stickers ♥︎ liked by the author

yourusername already thinking about the future, huh 🤨🤨🤨🤨

landonorris ofc??? you’re the only one that i want to spend my life with, woman

yourusername aw, lan 🥺 i love you 🫶🏻

landonorris i love you more 🤪❤️

username3 not this post and all the comments calling me single 😔

username4 HER KART NUMBER IS LANDO’S NUMBER TOO 🥹🥹🥹

lilyzneimer it was a pleasure meeting koko! she’s such a pure sweetheart! 🥺💗 ♥︎ liked by the author

yourusername she’s happy to meet you too, lils! when we got home, she asked me when can she meet you again 😆

lilyzneimer omggg what a sweet baby! i’ll visit you guys in monaco before she heads back home to france! ❤️

yourusername ofc! just beep me anytime 🫶🏻

username5 SHES DEFINITELY THE STAR OF THE PADDOCK!!!!

yoursisterinlaw thank you so much for babysitting koko, you’re the best! 🥺❤️ ♥︎ liked by the author

yourusername anytime!!! she’s such an angel ❤️

yoursisterinlaw you and lando are both life savers! i hope she’s not giving you a hard time

yourusername oh nooo, she’s such a good kid!

yoursisterinlaw thank you! we’ll see you by the end of the month ❤️ ♥︎ liked by the author

username6 oh i can already imagine the moment y/n and lando have their own kids 🥹

username7 lando is born to be a girl dad!!!!

username8 he’s gonna be the BEST dad

username9 NOT OSCAR MAKING KOKO ACT LIKE A CAR LMFAO THE EXACT SAME THING HE DID BACK WHEN HE WAS A KID 😭😭😭

username10 y/n and lando being the fun and cool aunt and uncle 🥺🫶🏻

username11 HER PUTTING STICKERS ON LANDO’S CAR IS SO CUTE WTF 😭

username12 lando with kids is definitely top tier, chef’s kiss

[jflemings]

— big sister duties

pairing: kyra cooney-cross x reader

synopsis: harper is the best wingwoman

warnings: i’m iffy on this but fuck it we ball

୧ ‧₊˚ 🌈⋅ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

you sat attentively with a handful of children at a blue plastic table, paints and messy fingers surrounding you. you had been in charge of the finger painting portion of the rotating activities for the past hour and it was safe to say you were having a great time.

you smiled at the giggles coming from two of the children that sat across from you as they painted their names with pink, green and yellow paint. to your left sat little harper gorry, her blonde hair in a braid that had slowly gotten messier through the day. you tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and look at how she’s going writing her name.

your eyes widen in shock at the sight of her first name painted in orange on the page “harper! that’s so good” you praise

she gives you a small smile “kyra help me learn” she says, still focused as she begins to paint the ‘g’ in her surname “we did it on the weekend”

your curiosity perks at the name you don’t recognise. you knew katrina and clara well, having seen them time and time again when they’d drop off and pick up harper but you can’t ever recall hearing of a kyra.

“who’s kyra?” you ask, dipping your finger in some red paint

“my big sister” harper answers easily, completing the letter ‘o’ with a smile.

you quirk a brow. you weren’t aware that katrina had two daughters since she hadn’t mentioned it before, but you suppose there was no real reason for her to if her other little girl was primary school aged.

you dip another finger in some white paint “she sounds like a very good big sister”

“she is!” harper exclaims, looking to you “she does my hair and gives me piggy back rides whenever i don’t wanna walk anymore” the young girl tilts her head as she talks, admiring her work whilst she tells you about her older sister.

smiling, you wipe your pointer finger off and dip it in a small pot of green paint “that’s what good big sisters do”

harper sends you an affirmative nod as she paints the last three letters of her name, earning a small cheer and high five from you when she holds her paper up proudly. you quickly snap a quick photo for the weekly kindy newsletter before ensuring that harper and the other kids all have clean hands as you send them off to their next activity.

a week later you’re doing drop off greetings when harper runs in, her little raincoat dripping on the floor as she tries to shrug it off. you smile and help her unbutton it, handing it up on her coatrack when a disheveled looking woman pushes open the door.

she looks to be around your age, her hair is pulled back into a high messy bun and she’s dusting the rain off of her freckled cheeks “harper you can’t run ahead like that” her australian accent is prominent and she zips open harper’s butterfly backpack, pulling out a piece of paper.

she seemingly notices you standing there and pauses to just stare at you before offering her hand “hi, i’m kyra”

kyra. as in harper’s kyra. as in the kyra you had been thinking was a pre-pubescent girl for the past week.

since that day fingerprinting kyra had come up more and more with harper telling you different stories about things her and harper got up to together. not once did she mention that kyra was an adult and not a kid.

“y/n” you say, shaking her hand “harper’s talked about you a few times”

kyra chuckles whilst putting harper’s backpack down “she’s talked about you too. speaks very highly of your fingerpainting abilities”

“kyra!” harper exclaims whilst holding out a hand expectantly “painting please”

she hands the roller up piece of paper over before taking out her waterbottle and hanging up her bag on the hanger. harper unrolls the paper and shows you proudly, a wide smile on her little face “look miss y/n!” she says to gain your attention “this is you, and this is me, and this is kyra” she points to each painted person “kyra’s wearing red ‘cause she plays for ars’nal”

you raise your eyebrows “that’s very good harper! do you want to put it in your bag for safe keeping?”

harper shakes her head “no, you keep it”

“don’t you want to keep it at home so kyra can see it too?”

“kyra doesn’t need a painting she sees me all the time” she says as she shoves the paper into your hands “mama says sometimes too much”

you can see kyra roll her eyes in your peripheral before harper runs off to the other kids, plopping herself down onto the floor to play with another little girl named sarah.

“mini said there’s a sheet i have to sign?”

“mini?” you question

“katrina” the australian clarifies “we call her mini cause y’know” she waves her hand at about katrina’s height whilst giving you a small smile.

you nod and grab the clipboard from the admin desk nest to you “right” you laugh, handing kyra the papers.

“just harper’s name, your name and number and then your signature”

she fills the form out easily and hands it back to you before tugging on the front of her coat “min– katrina, and clara have some busy mornings coming up with getting ready for the new baby and everything so i’ll be dropping harper off a few times” kyra explains easily.

“okay i’ll let our admin staff know”

you send her off with a smile and a small wave, blushing slightly when you se ever look back at you through the door before walking off.

over the next month you become very aquatinted with kyra. you learn that she does in fact play for arsenal and the australian national team, that she sneaks chocolate into harper’s lunch and that she cannot parallel park for the life of her.

one morning she’d run in late with harper on her back, dressed in her full arsenal training kit and shooting you an apologetic look when you mention the way she’d thrown her car in park. she’d blushed and hastily signed harper in before kissing the top of her head and running out the door with a wave.

“kyra thinks you’re very pretty” harper had said whilst watching her get into her car “do you think kyra’s very pretty?”

harper’s big brown eyes had stared up you innocently as she awaited your answer. you had made the fruitless attempt to fight off the blush dusting your cheeks, trying to hide your surprised expression from the young girl “yes i do think kyra is very pretty”

she giggles and pats the side of your leg before running off to find her friends to play with. you don’t have time to dwell on harper’s strange reaction before another mother and her little boy named ethan walks in. he loudly recalls his weekend to you, boasting about getting to watch chelsea play whilst taking off his coat and following you into the classroom with kyra on your mind.

you aren’t doing drop off greetings the morning harper comes barrelling through the door with kyra not far behind. you can hear a quiet commotion in the hall, kyra seemingly protesting whatever harper is doing.

“harper” she hisses “stop it”

harper stomps her foot “do it now! do it now!”

your back is turned to them as you set up a cut and paste activity for the morning, the pair’s voices getting closer. your move around the table to ensure you’ve got the right amount of everything for each kid you’re expecting when you’re interrupted by some knocking on the wall.

you look up to see harper beaming whilst gripping kyra’s hand for dear life, the latter giving you a tight lipped smile as her cheeks go pink. you check your watch and glance back to the pair curiously. they’re earlier then usual and kyra is once again dressed in her arsenal training kit with harper’s backpack slung over her shoulder.

“hi guys! bit early today, aren’t we?” you greet whilst smiling “is something the matter?”

“kyra has something to ask you!” harper almost yells, dragging kyra in front of her and then giving her a shove before going back towards the bag rack.

she’s like a deer in headlights. her brown eyes are blown out wide and one hand is frozen on harper’s bag strap. she purses her lips and looks behind her, seemingly looking for harper, before sneering and turning her attention back to you.

“you okay kyra?” you ask mildly concerned. she’s shifting her weight from one foot to the other and is looking anywhere but you, seemingly interested in the animal abc’s hanging on the wall.

“yeah, yeah i’m good! just uhh” she draws out “just waiting”

you smile and your brows crease “waiting for what?”

“for harper to stop being nosy” she jerks a thumb over her shoulder and harper’s little face pops out from behind the door frame

you kiss your teeth “harper go see miss ella at the desk, she’s got a surprise for you”

“okay!” harper says as she scurries off, leaving you and kyra alone.

kyra releases a breath and turns back to you “thanks”

the smile remains on your face as you move from desk to desk, your curiosity growing as kyra steps further into the room “what are you doing this saturday?” she asks nervously, fiddling with the ring on her right middle finger.

you stand and turn towards her, the multi coloured construction paper crinkling in your hold. you bite your lip in an attempt to suppress a smile “nothing, why?”

“i was wondering if maybe you’d like to get lunch with me? i’ve got training in the morning but uhm, i’m free after that. if it works for you”

your hands drop in front of you “i’d love to”

“okay! great! i do have to go but i’ll be picking harper up this afternoon”

“doing the double shift today? that’s new” you joke with her, walking past her to put the left over paper away.

kyra shifts on her feet again “i wasn’t sure i was going to ask you this morning so i told mini i’d do drop off and pick up”

you can’t help but smile at kyra’s planning, finding it endearing that she was so nervous to ask you out. you check your watch out of habit and your eyes widen before leaning over and taking harper’s bag off the footballer “you’re going to be late”

kyra’s eyes also widen and she hustles out the door, patting harper on the head “harps i’ll see you later, please eat your sandwich” she says, her eyes pleading as she looks at the mischievous little girl standing behind your legs “i’ll see you later, too” she says lowly, a blush present on her face.

you nod and wave her off shyly, blushing when she looks back again like she did that first time. you hang harper’s backpack up on the rack and grab out her lunch to put in the fridge.

“kyra wouldn’ stop talking ‘bout you! you don’t even understand” harper says dramatically, still gazing out the glass door before turning to you “miss y/n are you and kyra girlfriends now”

your eyes widen as you direct harper back to the classroom, waving off ella at the admin desk as you go “no harper we aren’t girlfriends”

“what a shame” she says as she sits down at the dollhouse in the corner “maybe if you were kyra would stop talking ‘bout you”

“harper!”

[hyuny-bunny]

groupie love | Y.J. ft hyun

genre: established relationship, rockstar bf x groupie gf, smut, a touch of fluff, a sprinkle of angst

part II

MNDI (+18) CW: oral, unprotected p in v, afab reader, use of she/her/hers/girlfriend, pet names, degradation (slut, whore) , depraved possessive & slightly mean innie, hyunjin is a flirt, vouyerism, riding, squirting, fingering, oral (m receiving), mouth fucking w fingers.

a/n: if i miss any warnings let me know! also would love to turn this into a series. this was also one of the songs that got me through writing this, the other song was own my mind another recommended listen.

summary: your bf innie always had girls throwing themselves at him, just wanting a chance to say they slept with a rockstar.

He was strikingly beautiful, both on and off-stage. It couldn't be helped that every where you went people gawked. The stares were never just towards him though but you always had a hard time believing it. You two made a power couple, something ripped straight out of a book. People would look at you two like you were a dream couple you only ever saw photos of on pinterest.

He was tall, handsome, had a cold look but only had warm eyes for you. Most would assume you were just some silly side piece, but he'd fly off the handle if anyone ever so much as implied you were anything less then his muse, his love. How could anyone believe he was so committed and dedicated to you when girls threw themselves at him every night after his shows? All of them wanting a chance to check off the "i-slept-with-a-rockstar" box.

You were a goddess. Everything you touched turned to gold, including him. You were there on the side stage or balcony every show, wearing whatever trendy vintage clothes you'd find the weekends before. A rockstar girlfriend has to have a brand to live up to right? Your wardrobe littered with sparkle, lace, leather, and animal prints. Tonight was no different, knee high boots with a lace slip dress paired with his leather jacket.

The same leather jacket that's just a few nights before, a girl tried to sneak off his chair to wear while you disappeared for a moment. Shooting a glare that would make you sink back into your own skin.

His band hadn't been together for very long but they gained a lot of attention in a short span. Jisung, their lead singer, had an insane vocal range and writing ability like no other. Their drummer, Chan, was a wet dream to watch. Let's just say he was great with his hands. Their bass player really sold it though, Hyunjin, had a dark mystique to him. One couldn't quite put their finger on his energy, he was both serious and nonchallant about his talent, on top of being so strikingly beautiful. Then there was your boyfriend, lead guitarist, recognized for his sharp eyes and sharper guitar skills.

The show closed out and you made your way towards the green room, keeping a watchful on the girls lingering around the stage. Once you nodded towards their manager Minho, you slid back to find a sweaty bunch. Jeongin's head was thrown back against the couch, eyes shut, chest heaving and adam's apple bobbing. You couldn't help but notice how chiseled his muscles looked in this tank top or how his rings made his hands look extra big and the veins in his arms stood out even more-

"Stop eye fucking him and just fuck him," Hyunjin was leaned over your shoulder whispering in your ear. Jeongin still sat breathing with his eyes shut "I'm sure one of those groupie sluts out there is more then wet and willing, if you're not."

"Over my dead fucking body" You said so condescendingly sweet with a smile looking Hyunjin in the eyes.

You walked over to him, sliding the jacket off and next to him. The thud of the jacket had him turning his head and ever so slightly opening his eyes to find the source. He was happy to see you sat so perched next to him with a grin on your face, a pretty berry tint to your lips.

"Hi, enjoy the show?" He sighed lifting his head to look you fully up and down.

"Hi. Of course I did, you were amazing as always." You caressed his face while he leaned forward to kiss your lips. Holding your head in hand and the other laid on top of your thigh ever so slight rubbing the skin just underneath the hem of the dress. Another peck before he leans back to stare at you in all your beauty.

"Drink?" You ask pushing back a few hairs from his face. He hums at your touch and question.

"The usual, please." He grabs your hand kissing the palm with the end of his sentence. "I'll shower up right now while you get the drinks, i'll be quick kay?" He kisses you once more before jumping off the couch to stroll towards the bathroom that Jisung is walking out of.

"No groupie for you, Sung?" You ask while he try's to pack his bag up for the tour bus. He was shy for a lead singer. He wasn't one for one night stands unless he felt a real connection.

"Not tonight, I prefer my own company. I have another song Chan & Jeongin wanted me to go over tonight, need a clear head to do that so I'm calling it in after my drink." He was so passionate about his songs, a bit of a perfectionist.

"Someone say drinks?" Hyunjin is standing in the middle of green room now in just jeans with no shirt and a towel drying his long dark hair. He's got roses adoring the side of his body leading from his back trailing to the front his lower body near the v line.

"When did you get those?" You ask genuinely curious as you'd never seen those before. He's got a cock grin on his face. He strolls over to you standing right in front of, his crotch almost in your face. You lean back to put some distance.

"Last month. My friend, Felix, works at a tattoo parlor. I sketched it out myself, all he had to do was put the ink to skin," He lifts his arm twisting the way it travels across his body. "Wanna see where it leads to?"

He grabs your hand letting it trail from the top of his ribs moving it down to the top of his waistband, you pull your hand back, snapping out of your daze. He really was something carved by gods.

"That'll do." You clear your throat "Thanks for the tour though, let's get those drinks Ji." You stand up brushing up against Hyunjin. That cocky grin still plastered on his face.

"Will you ever give me a chance?"

"Keep dreaming."

Jisung and you order drinks at the bar, the same groupies are lingering. They get jumpy and try to rush up to Ji once you reach the bar. Minho is already blocking their chance to step between you both. You mouth a thanks to him while Ji starts talking about the next show. Hyunjin comes out of the back room emerging with a tank top now. The groupies once again flock to him seeing he's alone, all barking to trying to buy his drink.

As you're about to turn to walk back to the green room with drinks hand there's a set of arms caging you at the bar. It's not Jeongin though.

"So you cope a feel of my tattoos, run off to the bar and leave me to hyenas?" Hyun talks into your ear.

While this type of behavior would be crossing a line for most, Hyunjin, had always been like this. Even before you got with Jeongin. He had a big crush on you before and you've never given him a reason to move on, even with a boyfriend who'd probably break his hand at a given chance. He has confessed his love to you on several occasions both drunk and sober. It doesn't bother Jeongin too much, it did more in the beginning but he's come to understand, Hyunjin will always be head over heels for you. You were Hyunjin's besfriend first, it's how you two met, you were always there at his band practices. Whether it was bringing lunch, offering feedback, or passing out flyers with them for upcoming shows. Hyunjin would gush over you but never made a move, at least one that actually indicated he was genuinely interested and not being a cock fuck. He was always back and forth with people who just wanted to use him. It wasn't until Jeongin had swooped in one day, he realized it was too late for him. So he'd continue with his usual flirty banter, waiting for another chance.

"Those so called hyenas are your people, Hyun. They're just looking for a cute fuck." You beam at him with a coy smile. You slide under his arm, grabbing the drinks to head back to the green room. He made your head spin sometimes, his flirty advances always made you feel flattered but you only had eyes for Innie. When you see the entrance that leads to the green room, Innie is standing there watching you. It seems as though he's just watched everything play out, his normally soft eyes for you are narrowed on Hyunjin's silhouette.

Hyunjin must've felt the daggers the younger was throwing his way because he turned around slightly shocked to see mean demeanor that paints his face and posture. There's a girl trying her earnest best to get Jeongin to look at her but he's focused on the way you walk up to him with your drinks in hand. He smirks at the way the other three girls watch you cheerily walk up to him, he loves the way they turn green with envy. They want to be you but they will never be you or ever come close to you. He takes the drink you extend to him and wraps an arm around your shoulders pulling you to him.

"Sorry not interested." He mutters to the girl who still hadn't picked up the hint.

He walks you back to green room, you situate yourself on the couch watching him checking the hallways before closing the door. You take a few big swigs, slightly scrunching your nose at the cheap liquor used in your drink. It's only to brings your buzz sooner. Jeongin stands beside you where you sit on the couch, he throws back the whole drink. He pets the top your head with one hand while he consumes the entire drink, setting the cup down he sits next to you.

He smells heavenly, the smell of his body wash and shampoo lull you into a sweet daze. He's wearing another tank top with a loose pair of black straight leg sweats. His rings still on, accenting his pretty long fingers. He holds your hand in one hand and caresses you face with the other, his eyes scanning all over your face searching for something.

"I hate the way he paws at you." Jeongin's eyes darken with the way you look at him.

"You know I'm all yours baby," you say softly bringing his hand to your lips to kiss the finger tips.

"Hmmm... I don't know how much i believe that... Maybe you're just another groupie slut for us... for me... and he just wants a taste now..." He says this while grabbing a fist full of hair at the back of your head, using his other hand to rub up and down your thigh just under your dress. His words send shivers down your spine and makes you grow wetter with every touch.

"No I'm not like those girls out there. I'm only yours baby." You gasp at while he tightens his grip in your hair. "I'll show you, please. Innie, please you know I'm only yours."

"Show me" He's pulling you against him, his mouth latching on to yours. He's pulling you straddle his lap, gripping your hips while his mouth explores your own. He's pulling your dress up all the way to have your panties flush against his hardening cock. You can feel how hard he is and the way your panties drip you wouldn't be surprised to find a wet mark in place of where you are now.

He's slipping his hand under the waist band of your panties over your thighs. Your hands are tangled in his hair, lost in the feeling of his fervent kisses. He pulls back to you pull you off for a moment.

He's standing in front of you now undoing the drawstring of his pants. He pulls the sweats down just enough to free his cock, letting it slap against his stomach. A pumps a few strokes while you adjust to situate yourself on the edge of the couch to take him in your mouth. His fingers web in your hair as your eager mouth opens wide for him, he taps the tip just to your lips before letting you start your ministrations on him. Your hand gripping his thighs for stability, he gives only a moment to adjust to his cock in your mouth before he's moving your head for you. You gag on him as he shoves his way down your throat, your nose almost touching his abs. He pulls out the way to let breathe before stick himself back in, he's letting filthy moans out, sloppy wet gagging moans from you and your nails digging into thighs.

He pulls off your mouth just before he's about to cum, enjoying the sight of your eyeliner and mascara running on your cheeks. He taps your cheek with his hand, gesturing you to open. He's shoving fingers in your mouth without warning, be gives you a break this time, allowing you to coat in your own spit at your own pace.

"So pretty suck me off.. such a good girl suck my fingers, should let Hyunjin see what a whore you are for me." His words have you clenching your thighs together yearning for some friction.

"You want him to see you like this huh? Want him to see what a cock hungry slut you are for me? Or maybe you want his cock too?" He coo's at you while thrusting his fingers on your tongue.

He pulls his fingers out lifting your dress to shove his hands into your panties.

"So wet baby and i've barely touched you. Is this all for me? Hmm? Or is this for him too?" He's circling your clit with the fingers covered in your spit. "Such a needy slut. Gotta show you who this pussy belongs to."

He pulls the strap of your dress down with your bra latching a mouth to your tit as his fingers thrust into you. You yelp out at the pleasure and shock. He's brushing against the g spot and attacking your neck in small bites. The building orgasm is about to tip you over.

"Jeongin please... please fuck me please need your cock in me..." You whimper out and let out another whine when removes mouth and fingers. He pulls your boots off for you while you pull your dress over your head. Discarding the rest of your clothing till your down to nothing. He pulls you up off the couch sitting back down first and patting his lap.

"Ride me then. Show me how badly you need me." Without hesitation, your lifting your self onto his lap, lining his cock with your entrance. Once you're fully sat on him you both let out a moan. He lands a slap on your ass, a hard one, signaling to move. You lift off your thighs begin to rock your self against him, his hands are covering each cheek helping you with your movement but not with out a smack every second or so. It's not long before you're shaking with pleasure. You're begging him to help you.

"Don't worry baby, I got you. Just hold onto me." He lifts your hips for you and starts thrusting up into you. You yell again at the angle he hits that spongey spot inside you. Your lost in the euphoria of his thrusts, head spinning with every groan he lets out, how tightly your cunt sucks him in, and the sound of skin bouncing off the walls of the room. You almost don't notice that Hyunjin is standing in the door way, with hand cupping his crotch. His eyes are moving all across your body, taking in the scenery, every bounce, every whimper, the nail marks that cover Jeongin's shoulders from the way you clung to him.

Hyunjin's eyes don't have a chance to meet yours as your head slumps into the crock of Jeongin's neck. Innie picks up speed on his thrusts pulling you impossibly close to his chest, lifting you up just enough to hammer his cock into you. Your moans turn to cry's and screams, finally releasing all over Jeongin's lap. He's never felt more proud to make you squirt especially with Hyunjin as your witness.

You feel his cum dripping out of you, too tired to care from the orgasm. Jeongin is pushing the hair out of your face, leaving a sweet kiss on your temple whispering sweet nothings of 'good girl' 'so good for me baby'. Hyunjin ever so slight snakes out of the room into the hallway breathing heavily, processing what he just saw and how stiff his pants feel. Jeongin is quick to lift you with him to the shower for a quick rinse knowing he'll be running a nice hot bath for once you get back to the hotel.

[svnarin]

⊹˚₊‧ twenty (20) BF!SUNARIN headcanons!!

yes, you read that right. it's 20 hcs!! bcs it was his bday :3

ps! if this post seems familiar—i actually posted this on my old blog months before privating the post :> and i love this post sm that i rlly want to repost it here T-T uhm, anyway! this is also the newly edited version 😁

bf!sunarin who loves sending tiktoks to you—his entire tiktok fyp. he doesn’t care if the tiktok was relatable or not, he would still send it either way. you can’t really blame him—his tiktok fyp is frankly interesting. it is also common for him to send you some of the latest couple trends along with the message saying, “let’s do this trend.”

bf!sunarin who loves posting you in his instagram stories more than anything. he even made an instagram highlight on his profile dedicated to you. he posts you a lot on his stories to the point that his followers thought that his instagram account is a stan account about you. 

bf!sunarin who would always carry a hair tie with him in case you needed it. he would even help you tie your hair if you wanted to. you want a simple ponytail or a braided updo? he can nail both. thank his skills for he got those after being his little sister’s personal hairstylist when they were younger. 

bf!sunarin who is a great photographer who loves and enjoys taking candid pictures of you. he even made a folder dedicated to candid pictures of you. sometimes he would even be such a tease and make a meme out of your candid pictures before sending it to you.

bf!sunarin who still loves taking those “soft launch” photos with you and posting them on his social media even if almost everyone already knows that the two of you are dating. 

bf!sunarin who loves coming over to your home—uninvited or not—to have some quality time with you. most of the time the two of you would just end up cuddling together and watching movies until both of you falls asleep. 

bf!sunarin who will often message you to ask if you want to go to a convenience store or any other fast food chain available in the most ungodly hours. sometimes he would randomly drive by your home to come to pick you up even if you haven’t replied to his text message yet. 

bf!sunarin who enjoys having midnight walks and car rides with you. he finds this as the best time to have a one-on-one conversation with you since it would just be the two of you and the silence of the night. and the most common topics that the two of you always talk about are the “remember when” conversations. he would even pull up his phone and show some receipts like photos or videos he had taken during those times. 

bf!sunarin who will definitely make a spotify playlist about you and your relationship. he also loves playing those playlists whenever the two of you go on your occasional midnight car rides or just road trips in general. 

bf!sunarin who loves seeing you wearing his hoodies and jerseys—especially his high school jersey. he also likes taking candid pictures of you wearing those before putting them in a separate folder in his gallery. 

bf!sunarin who always holds your hand in public. and if he’s not holding your hand, his hand would either be placed on your waist or at the small of your back. 

bf!sunarin who is absolutely physically affectionate towards you in private. he loves peppering you with kisses on your forehead, jaw, neck, and nape, before giving you a passionate kiss on the lips.

bf!sunarin who loves spooning you whenever the two of you cuddle or sleep together on the bed. and if the two of you are sleeping on the couch, you bet you would be sleeping on top of his body with his arms wrapped around your body.

bf!sunarin who will always try to find you among crowds of people—may it be during a party that he knows you’ll attend or on the benches whenever he has a match. 

bf!sunarin who will always mention your name during special mentions in interviews and awards—highlighting that you are very significant in his life. 

bf!sunarin who likes talking about you positively to his family and friends. he isn’t such an open person to his family, but when it comes to you? he’s definitely talking about you in full detail even if they just asked a simple yes or no question about you. 

bf!sunarin who likes listening to your interests and rants. you like this certain book or video game? he’s listening—he might even try it out for himself. you find this one coworker of yours annoying? he’s listening. he’s like your living diary but don’t worry, your secrets are safe with him.

bf!sunarin who likes listening to any tea you have to spill. he would even share his thoughts and knowledge about the tea that you are sharing with him. and of course, he also likes spilling you the tea he has gathered all over social media and in person.

bf!sunarin who may not be good at studying and cooking but will try his best to help you out. you don’t have the time to prepare some snacks for yourself while studying? he’s already getting his car keys to go to the nearest fast food chain to get you a takeout. you’re going to make dinner? you bet he is already on his way to buy the ingredients that you’ll need. 

bf!sunarin who suddenly insists that the two of you should try making waxed hands for some quality time with each other. little did you know that he’s going to use the waxed hands that you guys will make to measure your ring size so that he can finally buy an engagement ring and pop you the question.

bf!kita shinsuke headcanons

𝐒𝐕𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 | repost, modification, and translation of my works on any platforms are strictly prohibited.

[crayooongle]

Sweet Mistake (1.9k)

akaashi keiji x (f)reader

cw: unprotected sex, (f)receiving, boob play, fingering, breeding, public sex (car sex)

pet names: princess, pretty girl, baby

summary:

you accidentally send your best friend, Akaashi, a frivolous photo you took in the shower while you were at work. He couldn’t be more grateful by your honest mistake.

Your mind was racing, you had about a million and one things to do before the week was over and not a single thing was completed. Work seemed like it had been piling up on you no matter how much you got done. You laid back in your office chair and slowly rubbed your temples with one hand before taking a sip of your coffee with the other. You were desperately trying to calm yourself down and brainstorm some ideas for your next work project. 

You sat up straight as you heard what you thought might be your supervisor treading down the hall. Unluckily for you, you forgot about the hot espresso still in your hand. The sudden movement made some of the coffee shake out the cup and right onto your white button up. 

“Shit,” you grumbled as you looked down at the damage. Great. Your new button up was completely ruined and you didn’t have another to change into. 

You let out a frustrated sigh, snatching your phone off your desk. You opened up your messages to see who could come drive by and give you a quick ride home to get a new shirt in your time of need. You didn’t dare to drive to work due to the crazy traffic in the morning, alongside having to pay for parking every day. You figured taking the train was much cheaper despite taking longer— at least you can sleep on the train the way to work.

You:  heyy kaashiii, you think you could do me a huge favor?

You prayed your friend would be quick to respond. I mean, today was his day off from his tedious job as an editor so theres no reason he wouldnt be able to help? You thought to yourself before your phone lit up with a new notification 

Akaashi: of course, what’d you need?

You: well i have a bit of a problem and i’d really appreciate if you could come pick me up

[attachment: 1 image]

You thought you had snapped a picture of your shirt covered in coffee and sent it but it seemed like the lack of sleep had gotten to you.

Akaashi: Y/N… did you mean to send me that?

You opened the message with confusion written all over your face, you quickly looked back at the picture and realized it was a spicy photo you’d taken while in the shower the other day. Your eyes widened in disbelief as you drowned in embarrassment. You just couldnt believe you accidentally sent the most inappropriate picture in your camera roll to your friend. You let yourself sulk in shame and had completely forgotten about responding when your phone went off again.

Akaashi: doesnt matter, ill be there in 15 

You had your location shared with Akaashi, he was well aware you were at work. You put your phone down and sunk into your flimsy work chair. 

Akaashi had always been there for you, you two had been friends since high school. You always thought he was cute and sweet but never thought about making a move on him. You wanted to focus on work and didn’t want to ruin the strong friendship you two had. Of course, your mind would occasionally wander and you’d daydream of the moment that Akaashi would finally just push you against your bed and do whatever he wanted to get himself off with your body. But you had a feeling that day wasn’t gonna be coming any time soon —you naively thought.

You packed up some your things and sent a quick message to your boss, letting her know of the incident and that you’d come in later in the day to finish up your work. After, you tried your best to collect your thoughts and figure out what to you say when Akaashi arrived. You calmly made your way out the building and waited out in front, where you had assumed Akaashi would be waiting— you were right.

You tried not to make any sort of eye contact with him but you still peeked in the mirror of his car to make sure it was him. Oddly enough, you noticed his cheeks were flushed and his eyes laid low. Your eyes glanced down to notice a tent in his pants. You immediately looked away and felt your face getting hot as you awkwardly made your way to the back seat. As soon as you got in you could feel the thick tension in the air. 

You cleared your throat in attempt to break the silence,

“Do you mind if i um…” you stuttered before starting over again, “do you have an extra shirt that i can put on until we get to my house,” you asked, while feeling another wave of embarrassment hit you. The coffee was seeping onto your chest through your shirt and the you hated the feeling of it sticking onto your bare skin.

“Yeah, i- uh,” akaashi quickly grabbed the shirt in the seat beside him and handed it to you, “here. I’ll pull up into a parking lot so no one sees you get changed”. 

You couldn’t see but Akaashi’s bulge was only growing with every second that passed by. He was a bit grateful you didn’t sit next to him or else you would’ve really noticed how hard he was for you. Maybe it was a bit vulgar for him to think this but he was secretly celebrating your little mistake. He’d never admit this but Akaashi had a huge crush on you. He always looked up to how hardworking you were, you were his motivation to keep going. 

Not to mention you were one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen. He always had to stop himself from blatantly checking you out when you’d go on friendly dates together. He always wanted to be respectful, but deep down he wanted nothing more than to rip all your clothes off and fuck you until you couldn’t remember anything but his name.

Akaashi pulled up into a nearby parking lot as promised. He tried to find a spot that was the least crowded, luckily today wasn’t a busy day for most people so the lot was pretty much empty. 

You couldn’t shake off what you saw earlier, was Akaashi really acting like this because of picture you sent him? Maybe this was the time to test how he really felt about you. You cleared your throat to try and grab his attention. You looked up at the rear view mirror only for your eyes to meet Akaashi’s. You unbuttoned your shirt tauntingly slow while maintaining eye contact. Akaashi couldn’t help but let out a low “fuck”. It was still loud enough that you could hear the desperation in his voice.

 “yknow kaashi, i had a super stressful day at work today,” your words came out smooth and sultry, it was just enough to drive him crazy.

Akaashi immediately unbuckled his seatbelt before opening his mouth to respond, “how about you let me take care of you and relieve some of that stress”. Before you could react Akaashi climbed to the backseat to join you.

He pulled you in for a kiss and without breaking it, grabed your waist to lead you onto his lap. Desperate for some sort of relief, Akaashi moved your hips down onto his clothed-throbbing dick. You let out a light moan in between the kiss and continued to grind onto him. Akaashi slowly moved one hand up your skirt while the other moved to your chest to lightly squeeze one of your beautiful tits. He traced his fingers against your— already wet pussy. You whine and roll your hips into his hands. Akaashi pulls away from the kiss to watch your face contort from this new found pleasure. 

You try to close your eyes to avoid the intense eye contact but every time you do he completely takes his hands off you.

“Eyes on me baby,” he coos. 

You begrudgingly obey his demands. You truly wanted nothing more than to take advantage of this moment, have him make you finish. He gives a faint smirk at your obedience and slides his fingers into your underwear. You let out a wince as he slowly pushes his fingers right into your aching pussy. He switches between fingering you and sliding his cold fingers against your clit, listening closely as to what evokes the most noise out of you. Your moans were so lewd and whiney, he couldn’t help but lightly palm himself through his pants. 

He moves his hands out of your underwear just for a moment and you pout while staring at him. 

“Take these off for me-?” He gives a slight tug on your panties before pulling away. You waste no time in peeling your soaking underwear off alongside your skirt. 

“Thank you my pretty girl”. 

You only have time to let out a soft “mhm” before Akaashi pulls you back into a kiss. He leads your hands to his pants, allowing you to get an idea of how big he is. He pants against your soft lips, the kiss was filled with nothing but passion, need and lust.

Akaashi lifts your hips up for a moment so he can move his jeans and boxers down just enough that his dick slips out. He positions himself right at your entrance, you slowly move down onto his thick cock. You gasp at how he's stretching you out, it’s simply too much. Despite that you love the feeling too much to ask him to stop.

Akaashi gives you a second to adjust before fully pulling you down onto his cock. You whine at the sensation and grab onto his strong shoulders for support. He starts off at a slow pace, he doesn’t wanna hurt you after all. 

“Akaashi please,” you beg. 

Thats all he needed to hear. 

Akaashi gets a better grip at your hips before drilling right into you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to fuck you again. The way your soft walls are squeezing his dick has him in pure bliss. He lets out soft moans under his breath and continues to slam you repeatedly up and down against his needy cock. 

“fuck- it feels so good Y/N,” he groans into your neck. 

You just whimper and moan in response, the way he’s fucking you has you unable to form sentences.

“Youre doing so good at taking it princess,” he continues to praise in between moans.

“I needa cum soon kaashi” you breathlessly mumble. Your legs were shaking as you got closer and closer to your release. You were trying to hold back but he just kept fucking you right in your sweet spot, you couldn’t handle it. 

“Yeah? You wanna cum right on my dick?” He asks while pushing himself even deeper inside your cunt.

“Yes please, I need to kaashi,” you blabber out. 

Akaashi speeds up as he gets closer to his release. He leaves a trail of kissing on your neck and collar bone as he viciously pounds into you.

“ahhh ha shit- akaashi im gonna cum!” You cry out as your legs shake.

“Come’on cum for me my pretty girl”.

Almost immediately after, you cum all over Akaashi’s dick. He tries to hold back but feeling you throb against his dick makes him cum right inside your pussy.

You’re both a mess; sticky, sweaty and breathless. The car windows are completely fogged up now. 

“Theres no way we just did that,” you mutter. 

Akaashi flashes a smiles before going to pepper a few kisses on your neck and face.

“Round two?” He asked in between kisses.

[nolita-fairytale]

pov: carmy makes people magazine's sexiest chef alive list

a/n: this is a little blurb inspired by ayo's incredible reaction to every interviewer ever asking her about jaw's calvin klein campaign.... if you haven't seen it, she just hides the photo or makes the funniest 'please don't bring this up' face while exclaiming: that's my boy! this is a work function! you can see it here (watch till the end you will not regret it ayo'sgettingpeoplefit@hotmail.com.co.uk -- it costs A LOT of money lmao). anyways, congrats to my golden globe winners eeeeeek!

riding the high of the bear's newest award: best restaurant great lakes, and buzzed on the best that veuve cliquot has to offer, as many staff members of the bear as possible have to come to celebrate at the james beard awards once again.

of course, you're hoping this year's afterparty will be a little less eventful -- not that you're mad at how last year's ended.

you, carmy, syd, richie, natalie, marcus, tina, and ebra are all gathered for an interview, answering questions about taking home the big win for the restaurant.

"last year chef sydney took home the rising star award, and this year it's best restaurant great lakes. how does it feel?" the interviewer, a well known and james beard-award winner herself, sophia roe asks as her cameraman follows closely behind.

"yeah, it's uh, wow. it's a huge accomplishment and we cannot be more honored to be taking this win home," sydney answers with a grin stretched far across her face.

it's surreal, for all of you, really.

"and chef carmy, i hear there's another congratulations in order," sophia continues. "you made people magazine's sexiest chef list this year and then shortly after, had a profile done in GQ."

nat groans in response while richie snickers, only too quick to whip out the screenshot he has on his phone of the article as carmy turns beet red.

"i uh... yeah. that was um... a surprise," he stammers his eyes shifting from the interviewer to you, and then to richie for a death glare.

"oh don't worry. i got it riiiiiiight here," richie says, eager to rush over to the interviewer and revel in carmy's embarrassment.

"oh put that away!!" sydney snaps, pushing richie's phone down.

"mixed reviews from the restaurant staff?" sophia asks curiously.

"looks like i'm the only proud of our guy," richie gloats, shooting you a look that causes your eyes to roll.

"no of course not!" sydney exclaims.

"it's just-, that's my brother!" natalie is quick to chime in, defending sydney.

"exactly. that's my boy! that's-, he's our-, this is our family," sydney explains passionately. "that's her brother." and then a quick gesture to you. "and that's her husband!"

"my what?!" you exclaim, caught off guard.

carmy snorts out a laugh in response to you while the interviewer and cameraman chuckle.

"sorry! that's her mans. that's her boyfriend, yknow?" sydney corrects herself with a laugh, before continuing to answer the interviewers question, this time with both marcus and richie to support.

"can't start any rumors, now can we?" you mutter under your breath, for only carmy to hear.

carmy only snakes his arm around your waist, hugging you closer to him this time.

"and if you ask me," you add, mischievously. "i'd be more than happy to tell everyone about your new accolade of 'sexiest chef alive' if i knew it wouldn't totally humiliate you."

carmy laughs dryly this time, "good thing syd jumped to my defense then first, babe."

"good thing."

[rhey-007]

Anger Harms Beauty

Lance Stroll x Alonso!reader

• | social media au / enemies to lovers

Summary: Your father setting you up for a horrible date with Lance, changed your both's indifference to a mutual hate. But when your inappropriate photos get leaked out the Canadian is first to defend and help you.

Warnings/Tags: female reader, fluff, mentions of revealing photos, toxic reader and Lance, mutual hate, enemies to lovers

A/N: I'm recently head over heels with Lance so you can expect more fics with him 🧍‍♀️ I also have a personal beef with his Vegas beard it's too much, the Brazil one was just perfect TwT

INSTAGRAM

lance_stroll just followed y/n._.alonso

y/n._.alonso just followed lance_stroll

INSTAGRAM

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, y/n._.alonso and 50,678 others

tagged: astonmartinf1, fernandoalo_oficial

•lance_stroll: Great weekend in Montreal! Thank you all! 💞

•fernandoalo_oficial: P3 and P7! We're rocking it!

•user1: can't believe Lance was P7...

•astonmartinf1: great performance from both drivers! Congrats! 👏🥳🎉

•y/n._.alonso: SHAVE OFF THAT GROSS DILL 🤢 you look older than my father and he's almost 50!

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: I'm not that old... :(

→ •y/n._.alonso: Lo siento papa 💞 (I'm sorry dad)

→ •lance_stroll: shave your armpits and then we can talk

→ •user2: Lance is savage 😮

→ •user3: that's more mean than savage

INSTAGRAM

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, lance_stroll and 45,923 others

•y/n._.alonso: 🥰🤤🍴

•fernandoalo_oficial: my baby should open a restaurant!!! 💞🤤

•user4: ah to be y/n and eat such delicious food whenever I want and still have a body of a goddess... TwT

•lance_stroll: you're gonna be fat if you eat all that

→ •y/n._.alonso: says a guy who eats the trashiest food ever

→ •lance_stroll: at least I work out and don't slump in bed 24/7

•bluebellhorner: best food I ate in like forever! 😍

→ •y/n._.alonso: thank you honey! 💞💞💞

•user5: I want to try it so bad 😭

INSTAGRAM

liked by y/n._.alonso, estebanocon and 763,213 others

•lance_stroll: just bought this beauty and I can't get over how amazing it is! 😍

•estebanocon: good for you buddy! The best car you own for sure! 💪

•logansargeant: what a pretty beast! when's my turn for a ride?

→ •lance_stroll: whenever you'd like :)

•y/n._.alonso: you should buy yourself a new face not a car

→ •lance_stroll: some's jealous daddy won't buy them one 🤭

→ •y/n._.alonso: I can buy it myself I don't need daddy's money... Not like someone 🤭👉👈

→ •user6: •lance_stroll you got shot with your own weapon! XD

•user7: I want this car so much 😩

→ •user8: maybe one day... 🥲

INSTAGRAM

liked by bluebellhorner, fernandoalo_oficial and 567,365 others

tagged: •yourbestie

•y/n._.alonso: gym day with my girlie •yourbestie 💪🥊

•user9: I want that body yadi 😭

→ •user10: we all want that body yadi 🥲

•lance_stroll: oh look who started to go to the gym, wonder why... 🤔

→ •y/n._.alonso: shut up, you wouldn't even take my dad in a fight

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: don't even bring me into that...

→ •user11: the father has had enough 😂

→ •user12: he's done with both of them

→ •user13: why do they keep fighting under every post???

•yourbestie: I'm not going to the gym with you anymore... I can't walk now... 🥲

→ •y/n._.alonso: love you too hihi 🤭💞

INSTAGRAM

liked by bluebellhorner, fernandoalo_oficial and 687,345 others

tagged: yourbestie

•y/n._.alonso: looking for a new boo 🤭💍

•yourbestie: great weekend so far! Can't wait for the rest! 😘

•user13: petition for y/n and bestie to adopt me as their new friend 🧍‍♀️🙋‍♀️

→ •user14: me too!

→ •logansargeant: I want too!

→ •user13: nu-uh, you would spy for Lance >:(

→ •logansargeant: 😔

•lance_stroll: You're not gonna find anyone there, too high level for you

→ •y/n._.alonso: you're ona a waaaay lower level than me 🙃

→ •lance_stroll: you wish

→ •y/n._.alonso: no. I know it 💅

TWITTER

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

INSTAGRAM

liked by lance_stroll, fernandoalo_oficial and 789,324 others

tagged: lance_stroll

•y/n._.alonso: this guy... I can't 😭💞

Never thought he'll become the closest person for me in those hard times. He appeared in my apartment the same day those photos leaked out, arms stuffed with food, flower bouquets and a huuuge teddy bear plushie (I still have no idea how he managed to bring all those things upstairs in one go), ready to comfort me as long as I'd need it. •lance_stroll I'm sorry I was such a bitch, I love you 💞

And I withdraw my words that •fernandoalo_oficial has the worst taste in men. He knew way better than me from the start and I regret not giving Lance a second chance at the very beginning just as he suggested me to. I'm sorry dad, love you too 💞

•lance_stroll: I forgive you fatty ❤

→ •y/n._.alonso: don't even start or it'll end too soon -_-

→ •lance_stroll: sorry mami ❤

→ •user15: that is so cute I can't 😭💞

→ •user16: THEY ARE TOO CUTE KSXNDNBDJEJ

•fernandoalo_oficial: of course I was right 🧍‍♀️💅

→ •y/n._.alonso: Eres el mejor papa 💞 (you're the best dad)

→ •lance_stroll: •fernandoalo_oficial can I call you papa too now? :3

→ •fernandoalo_oficial: nope 🤨🧐

→ •lance_stroll: :(

•estebanocon: fucking finally! 🎉

→ •logansargeant: YEEES 💥💪 YOU GUYS SLAY

→ •yourbestie: stop...

•yourbestie: •lance_stroll our beef ain't ending here >:(

→ •lance_stroll: •y/n._.alonso❗ she's is threatening me again❗❗❗

→ •y/n._.alonso: don't even start... 🫥

→ •user17: AGAIN??? •yourbestie GURL WHAT DID YOU DO???

→ •yourbestie: 🤭💞

→ •user18: I bet she tried killing him more than once 😂

INSTAGRAM

[nikibogwater]

Everybody sit down and strap in, 'cause I have a doozy of a tale to share.

I've had anxiety for literally as long as I can remember. I've had periods of my life where it was so intense it became legitimately life-threatening (don't worry I promise this is going somewhere funny). And this was really bizarre because I have zero childhood trauma. Like, my family life is so idyllic it's almost comical. Therapists would do abuse screenings on me and look utterly baffled when I told them everything was fine at home. They'd interrogate my parents just to make sure I wasn't lying. I have one friend who I'm fairly sure believed I was just severely gaslighting myself when I said my family was great, school wasn't too stressful, and I've never lived in a dangerous neighborhood or experienced poverty.

Anyways, despite no one being able to figure out where my disorder was coming from, my doctors were able to help me manage the symptoms so that I would like, not die, and actually be able to finish high school. Which was awesome. Now fast forward to late 2021. My big sister (who has also had intense anxiety her whole life which no one could figure out why) is finishing up her doctorate and getting her physical therapist's license. Somehow, during all her studying and schooling, she finds out about this thing called Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, which explains literally everything that was going on with us. EDS is a connective tissue disorder that kinda fudges up your body in a whole bunch of little ways, including dysautonomia (episodes of very fast heart-rate that kick your body into fight-or-flight mode), and hypermobility (unusual flexibility). It's a spectrum disorder, so the severity of symptoms vary from person to person, but we definitely checked almost every box on the diagnostic list. My sister went to see a specialist, and yep, she was diagnosed EDS positive. She immediately calls my mom and goes "I know what's wrong with Niki" (thanks, sis, that's real encouraging lol). Initially we're like "okay Katie, that's nice" because honestly this kind of sounds like jumping at shadows, but I go in to see the specialist anyways just to make sure.

One consultation and diagnosis later, and suddenly my entire life makes perfect sense.

Now we get to the funny part. See, the diagnosis stuff happened in early 2022. So by the time late 2023 comes around and we're looking for a new dog (I promise this is relevant), we've been riding that chronic illness diagnosis for a while. Once again, my sister, ever the proactive one, decides she's going to help us get a new dog. She scours the adoption website, sends us photos of the cutest dogs available, and helps us make a decision. This is how we got Beverly, who has been an unstoppable force of chaos in our lives ever since we signed the papers (but she's also really cute so she can get away with it). Now on top of being a very excitable and anxious pupper, Beverly's got a weird little gimp in her hindquarters, which makes her sit all splayed-out and funny-looking, and while it doesn't seem to be causing her pain, we take her to a vet to get it checked out. Vet finds absolutely nothing. X-rays are taken and examined. Still nothing. At this point, they go "well, we could try a CT scan of her brain, which would run about $5,000, and maybe we could find something--" but my parents are already packing this dog into the car like "well that is a HARD nope." So we decide, look, Beverly seems happy and healthy, and those gimpy legs don't seem to bother her, so we'll just leave it be until it becomes clearer what's wrong with her because we do NOT have a cool $5,000 to throw around here.

Readers more astute than my family and I will likely have already figured out where this is going.

This morning, my mom is looking at Beverly sitting in her funny sprawled-out way, and something in her brain goes "wait...weird physical symptoms with no tracible cause that vets can see..." She does a bit of googling. Can dogs have EDS/Hypermobility? Yes. Yes they can. And the listed symptoms describe Beverly to a T.

So not only is my sister the one to finally figure out what's wrong with me, she also unknowingly got us a dog who has the exact same chronic condition as us. Meanwhile my poor dad, who is the only Normal Person in our house, is coming to terms with the fact that he is apparently just fated to always love chronically ill people and animals, and there's absolutely nothing he can do about it.

[guitarstringed-scars]

how to lose a guy in 10 days- t. oikawa

masterlist

day six

toru meets you at the train station.

“good morning.” he greets, yawning. it’s early. too early, you are too tired to even act insane.

“good morning toru.” you yawn too. a chain reaction.

toru scans two tickets, one for him, one for you.

the two of you file onto the train.

“how long is the ride?” you ask, passing your bag to toru as he lifts it into the overhead bin.

“about two hours.” he says. “do you want the window?”

you nod, and shuffle into the seat, sitting down. toru sits down next to you.

“are you gonna sleep?” you ask, gazing up at him.

“i’ll try. are you?”

“yeah.” you say, closing your eyes before the train even starts moving. you decide toru probably wont mind if you use his shoulder, so you lean over placing your head on him. you fall asleep quickly. you are only woken up by the train jolting to a stop. as you slowly open your eyes, you feel the weight of torus head on top of yours. gently shaking him, toru opens up his eyes and stretches.

“hm. looks like we’re here. did you sleep okay?” he asks, standing up.

“yeah, feeling less tired now.”

“good. i thought we’d stop at my parents house first today, and then maybe meet up with my friends tonight or tomorrow. if that’s okay with you?” toru says, thinking through his plan as he pulls out your bags.

you pull the straps of your bag on.

“sounds great to me. lead the way.”

you follow toru off of the train, and he grabs onto your hand as you push through the crowded station. when you reach outside, you don’t let go of his hand.

“this way!” he cheers, pulling you off. you walk for a bit, passing different shops. each place you go, toru tells you a story, some interesting thing that happened there a few years ago, or his favorite menu item.

you hate it. it makes him seem more human, the exact thing you are trying to avoid. he was in high school, just like you. sure, he was the star volleyball player and probably a school celebrity, but he’s still a real person. you feel a little sick to your stomach. you can’t dwell on the thought for too long, because shortly after you are stood in front of torus family home. your stomach hurts even more.

“don’t be nervous.” he says. “it’s just gonna be my mom, sister, and nephew. they’re all great.”

you nod.

“they’ll love you y/n.”

and then he’s opening the front door.

“helloooooo!” he sings, pulling off his shoes. you follow suit.

“in here!” a voice calls from farther in the house.

toru smiles at you, and leads you further into the house. as you walk you appreciate all of the childhood photos hanging on the wall. toru playing volleyball, a family photo, toru with a terrible haircut. you take note of the last one and remind yourself to get a photo of it before you leave.

when you enter the kitchen, you see an older woman, who looks just like toru, standing at the counter. shes drying off her hands on a dish towel, and quickly cheers as she rushes over to the two of you.

“you must be y/n! it’s great to meet you!” she hugs you, and then her son. “i’m torus mom. this is his sister, takami,” she motions to a younger woman, who also looks just like him, “and this is takeru, his nephew.”

“it’s great to meet you all!” you say, smiling.

“why would you ever date him?” chimes in takeru.

you choke, laughing. great question, you think.

“hey!” toru squeals. “not nice!” he smacks his nephew on the back of the head. “i’ll have you know i’m a total catch.”

“fighting already and you just got here!” takami cackles out. her laughter is infectuous and you all find yourself joining in.

“i just finished making lunch, sit down!” torus mom exclaims, gesturing towards the table the rest of the family sits at. toru pulls out a chair for you, and you sit down next to him. the meal is delicious. the home-cooked feeling only adds to it, and the conversation flows easily. you feel like you’ve known torus family for years. they fill you in on jokes, make new ones, and constantly poke fun at toru. once you have all feasted, you all migrate into the living room.

“toru, why don’t you help y/n take her stuff upstairs?” takami asked.

he smiles and stands up, grabbing your hand to help you off of the couch. the two of you walk up the stairs, toru carrying your bag, and into his childhood bedroom.

short bookshelves line one wall, trophies placed on top. medals hand off of the other one, placed above a small desk with a computer on top. a volleyball sits in the corner.

“you have a lot of trophies.” you muse, looking around his bedroom.

you hear him place down your bag before he walks over to where you crouch.

“i guess so.” he says, quietly.

“you don’t sound very proud of them.” you say, looking over at him.

“i am. it’s just i was a lot different of a player in high school than i am now.”

you hum.

“your family is great.” you say.

“yeah, thats for sure. sorry if they were too much.”

“not at all, i think they are a lot like you.”

“is that a compliment?”

“most definitely.”

toru smiles at you.

a beat passes. there is no way you are having a moment with toru oikawa right now. no way. he starts to lean in.

“is it okay if i-” he starts.

you cut him off by closing the distance between the two of you. there is no denying it anymore, your feelings for toru oikawa are real, and there is no way you can lose him.

the kiss is perfect. well almost.

toru oikawa is still betting. he needs to make you fall in love in the next four days. this kiss is just another stepping stone in his plan.

when the two of you pull apart from each other, toru smiles, and checks his watch. ”we should go out, my high school friends are all in town, and i want you to meet them.” toru says, standing up.

“okay.”

the two of you head out, saying goodbye to his family as you leave. the restaurant is nearby, and when you walk in, a table of 3 guys wave you over. you both sit down, greeting the other men. ”hi, i’m y/n.” you say, shaking their hands.

“hanamaki.” says the one with the pinkish hair. “nice to meet you.”

“i’m matsukawa, you are way too pretty to be dating oikawa.” you laugh.

“iwazumi, and i agree.”

“why are you all so mean to me!” toru whines.

the conversation with this group flows just as easily as did the one with his family. you all gang up again on toru, and it’s great.

toru never thought that he would catch feelings for you. sure, when he picked you out of the crowd he thought you we’re beautiful, but he never thought it would be anything real. but as he watched you joke around with his friends, the people he loves most, he feels something. only for this version of you though. the real you, not the one who talks in movie theaters, starts fights, makes jokes about him in front of a therapist, or makes him leave during a basketball game. but the one who falls asleep on his shoulder on train rides, the one who knows how to make his nephew laugh. the one who holds his hand in a crowd. the one who he carries home. that’s the one toru has feelings for.

so, he reaches under the table, and takes your hand in his. maybe he doesn’t have to end it after the bet is up.

taglist: @hotvillianapologist @asapeveryday @zzzlevislothzzz @vivian-555 @theepitomeofswag

@girlkissersco @yuminako @cloooudmilk @r0seandth0rns @ilyless

@sereniteav @iluvmang @wyrcan @azharyy @kunihaver

@cherrypieyourface @walllflowerrrsss @mylahrins @ryuverse @nana7nana777

@cyenac @garfieldissocool @chris-continues @acowboykisser @iheartpinky

@idkanymorebuthere @dailyakira @neru-is-restless @wave2mia @v-e-r-t21

[water-loos]

All American Bitch !

“I’ve got sun in my motherfucking pocket, best believe”

player!steve harrington x fem!reader

series masterlist ; next chapter

cw: college au, alcohol consumption, tipsy sexual acts, smut implied (fade to black), angst, swearing, steve’s a dick

wc: 3.5k

a/n: this is a very shitty first installment but i promise it’ll make sense eventually

You didn’t plan on going to any Halloween parties. You never did. You thought the holiday was stupid, and just an excuse to drop way too much money on multiple costumes that only covered about a third of your body.

But that little lacy white slip dress that you found in the racks of a thrift store last weekend fit you too perfectly.

And the angel wings that you used for a photo shoot in May had been sitting lonely in your closet for far too long.

And you did consider Romeo + Juliet to be your favorite movie of all time.

That’s how you found yourself climbing the steps of a brownstone just north of Chicago, your hair tied back into a pretty half-up-half-down hairdo. Your makeup was flawless, even with your pink cheeks due to the biting wind and the plethora of shots that your friends had fed you before the train ride up from the city. The party itself was pretty packed just inside the door, with a box TV playing Scream as people mingled right in front of the screen. You pushed your way through the mass of people into the dining room, where a pair of plastic tables with holes sawed in them for cups were manned by tens of people in various costumes.

You craned your neck to look for a way to the kitchen, which was down a long hallway that was probably the only open portion of the house. Your friend Alexandra trailed behind you, eyeing the pong table as you attempted to drag her with you.

“Do you just want me to get you a drink?” You sighed as she nearly got caught in the crowd once more. “You don’t have to come with if you don’t want to.”

“Can I stay? That guy in the Risky Business costume seems a little lonely at the table if you know what I mean,” She winked, squeezing your hand. You rolled your eyes and squeezed back, letting her go. She kissed your cheek joyfully before bouncing over to him, her fairy wings sparkling almost as much as the tinsel in her hair.

As soon as she bounded away, you turned on your heel to the hallway, pushing past a few couples that were making out against the wall to get into the tiny kitchen. The keg took up a decent amount of space in the corner, a stack of red solo cups perched on the windowsill next to it. The thought of putting beer anywhere near your body was enough to make you gag, so you pivoted to the corner, where a punch bowl, a bottle of Captain Morgan, and some more solo cups lay, glittery green liquid splashed everywhere.

Beer, or mystery punch.

Great.

You opted for a heavy pour of the white rum and two ladles of the green punch before you pushed your way back into the hallway, but took a sharp right toward the staircase and the basement, where the dance floor must have been.

That’s where you saw him.

Steve Harrington, hair perfectly coiffed and cheetah print vest hanging open over his too-tight white tee. You knew who he was— he was notorious across most of the Chicago colleges and universities, known for his looks and his kilowatt smile. You shared a few classes and tended to think he was an egotistical douchebag who didn’t know what he was talking about half the time.

But god did his arms look good enough to bite in that shirt.

One big gulp of the drink in your hand was enough to push you toward him, chin held high in the air as you sauntered in his direction, catching him just as the girl he was talking to walked off in search of another drink.

“Ferris Bueller,” You said, voice dipped in faux sugar. “How fitting, Harrington.”

“Juliet,” He immediately smiled down at you, his shoulder falling to rest on the wall beside the two of you. “To what do I owe the absolute pleasure of seeing you? I thought you weren’t really into Halloween.”

“I’m not normally,” You nodded, maintaining eye contact over your cup as you turned to let your back rest on the wall. “But this costume was just too cute to leave hanging in my closet, don’t you think?”

You watched with a smug smile as his eyes raked down your body, slowly taking you in. You could see his gaze catch on the body glitter you had applied along your chest and shoulders, a warm blush spreading across your cheeks as he hummed his approval. “Definitely. It’s a shame, though.”

You watched as he flicked your left wing, caging you against the wall. Unfazed, you looked up at him with doe eyes, lashes fluttering. “What’s a shame, Stevie?”

You watched his front crumble, a rosy blush spreading over his freckled cheeks. He was put under your spell way too easily, and you could almost feel his ego bruising as he gathered himself from the momentary pause. “It’s a shame that it’d look about ten times better on my bedroom floor.”

You were moving a little fast, but your impulse control was left back in your apartment, miles away. It’s almost like your body was moving quicker than your brain was. Your hand smoothed up the front of his vest, adjusting it against his tee. “D’you think about my clothes on your floor often, Stevie? I’m flattered.”

“More than you know, sweetheart,” He huffed, standing up straight and taking your free hand in his. “Let’s find somewhere more private, yeah?”

“You’re so cute when you’re eager,” You pouted, pounding back the rest of your drink, gracefully putting the cup down on the ground beside you. “You’ve gotta dance with me first, Harrington.”

You kept your fingers intertwined as you pulled him down the stairs and toward the dance floor, which was packed wall to wall with dancing people, with colorful strobe lights flashing across the room. You watched the boy chug the last of his beer and toss the crushed cup behind him, his body not far behind yours as you made your way to the center of the floor. The electric beat of a techno song that you couldn’t name bleated around you as you began to sway back and forth, eyes on the boy who had followed you. He looked downright delectable in this lighting— his skin almost glistened under the lights, his hair slightly tousled, and his chest heaving as he watched you.

You two didn’t last long on the dance floor.

Only two or three songs passed before you were tugged down the back hallway of the basement and pressed against the door of the hidden bathroom in the corner. Steve wasted almost no time in connecting your lips, the lingering taste of beer bitter on his tongue as it danced with your own. Your hands wandered across his shoulders and up to the curled ends at the back of his hair, tugging gently as he moaned softly into this kiss. His hands held one of your legs up around his hip while the other pushed at your lower back, leaving very little space between the two of you. Your head lolled against the wood behind you as his kisses trailed down your exposed neck, nipping soon-to-be lavender bruises down across the glittery skin.

“You know,” He huffed into your neck, gripping the soft skin of your hip. “Been waiting for you since you destroyed me in our debate project.”

“Oh I know, baby,” You breathed out a laugh as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot behind your ear. “D’you get off to that? Being shown up in front of everyone?”

He bit down harder then, enticing a squeal out of you. “Only when it’s you.”

You try not to scoff as he pulls back, watching your face. It’s evident that you don’t believe him, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “Oh really?”

“Really.”

You hum, tilting your head back up for another kiss as your hand trailed across the sliver of skin that peeked out between his white tee and his dark blue jeans. “You promise?”

His throat bobbed and his cheeks grew pink as he watched your hand dip lower and lower, fingertips ghosting over the obvious bulge in his pants. “Promise. On my life, sweetheart.”

You’d never seen Steve Harrington a nervous mess before, but you decided right then and there that it was your favorite version of him. It was easy to nudge him a little further into the room so his hips hit the counter of the vanity, and even easier to drop to your knees in front of him. He sighed at the sight of you, with big doe eyes and angel wings, staring up at him with your best innocent look.

“This okay?” You whispered, hands placed on the front of his thighs, waiting for his verbal confirmation. You watched as his chest heaved, and he nodded, but you shook your head. “Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear,” A hand, big against your face, came to cradle your cheek, his eyes dilated as he stared down at you. “Are you sure? You don’t have to…”

“I wouldn’t be on my knees if I didn’t want to, Stevie,” You snorted, one hand reaching up to pop the button of his jeans and slowly pull down the zipper. “Pinky swear.”

———————

You started seeing Steve around a lot more after that weekend. By mid-January, he suddenly had more friends in your apartment complex, he sat right beside you in all three of the classes you shared this semester, and he had taken it upon himself to walk you back to your apartment or the student center after every single one. Alexandra started to call him your shadow, and she had even started keeping a six-pack of Miller High Life’s in the fridge for him, just so he’d have something to drink and every pregame party your friends threw.

He spent most nights in your bedroom, actually.

He snuck in as soon as you heard Alex close her bedroom door and put on her LED lights, and he knew the code to get into your building by heart. He knew that your door squeaked, and he mastered exactly how to open it to make the least amount of noise. Most of the time he found you in bed, glasses and an oversized hoodie on, scrolling on your phone as you waited for him. Some nights, he’d crawl in beside you and ask you about your day, maybe he’d joke with you about how stupid your teacher was, or how he thought you did great on a presentation, and others he’d waste almost no time in pulling your phone from your hand and pinning you to your mattress.

Tonight had been the latter.

Most of the time it made you feel like shit when there was barely any greeting, even if he tried to make it up to you by taking you for a drive in his car. “Taking you for a drive” consisted of buying you a milkshake, asking you all of your deepest secrets, and then eating you out in the backseat of that goddamn maroon BMW. But, after months of the same thing, you felt like a milkshake was better than nothing.

You laid across the backseat, warm and almost cuddling into the hoodie you had stolen from him last week, and nothing covering your legs besides the panties he had so gently put back on your body. God forbid you made a mess of his leather seats. He was sitting on the end, hands tracing your face as you tried to steady your breathing and recover.

“Y’know, we should go to the library to study for that quiz this week,” He said, voice gravelly. “I’m a little worried with how little she’s preparing us.”

“Ooh, a location change,” You hummed, sarcasm whispering in your tone. “I‘ll go. When do you want to?”

His hand stilled. “What do you mean?”

Your chest tightened. “It’s a joke, Stevie. We just haven’t been to the library together before.”

He let his head lean back on his headrest, his face stilling. “You know that I don’t mean anything bad by that, right?”

“What, that we don’t really go anywhere together?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Oh, I don’t care,” You shrugged, lying through your teeth. “I like what we do together now. It’s like a nightly routine. Helps me sleep better.”

He chuckled and started to trace around your hairline again. “Really?”

“Yeah. Having my own personal radiator in my freezing apartment is heaven.”

He snorted, softly whacking your shoulder. “I’m not that hot.”

“Half of the student body would disagree with you.”

“Oh, come on. That’s not true.”

“Steve. Lying is not going to get you anywhere,” You sat up, scooting closer to face him. “I think you might want to look in a mirror. Besides, everyone knowing you’re hot doesn’t really bother me.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Why would it?”

You stop, taken aback. “I mean, I’m the one whose bed you’re in almost every night. Everyone else who drools over you doesn’t get that honor.”

Steve goes rigid, and you can tell something’s bothering him. You can tell by the way he refuses to make eye contact with you that whatever he’s thinking is not going to be very nice to you.

It’s silent for a moment.

“Just say it.”

“What?”

You reach onto the floor in front of you and slide on the sweatpants you had been wearing. You set your jaw and dare to look in his direction. “Say the thing you’re thinking about. Even if it’s going to make me upset. I’d rather you be upfront than sit here in silence, Steve.”

“We’re not together.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t talk about us like we are.”

Your chest squeezes.

“I don’t.”

“You literally just did.”

“Saying you’re in my bed every night doesn’t mean shit, Steve,” You scoff, grabbing the Converse you had haphazardly shoved on your feet on the way out and pulling them on. “I was just stating the truth. You’re the one who texts me for our nightly booty call, remember?”

“And you always answer. C’mon, sweetheart,” He almost whines, reaching over to turn you back toward him. “You’re not a booty call. You never have been.”

“Then what am I, Steve? Your friend?” You bite back, pulling your arm from his gentle grasp.

“No. You’re not just a friend, you know that,” He says, watching mournfully as you open the back door and step out of the car. Your cheeks are still warm from the orgasm he’d pulled from you almost twenty minutes ago.

“Yeah, I’m your fuck buddy who’s at your every beck and call. I know what I am, Steve,” You scoff and close the door behind you as he quickly pops out of the opposite side. Your hand pulls on the passenger side, opening it, but still addressing him over the car. “I’m not fucking stupid, in case you’ve already forgotten.”

“When you say it like that it sounds bad.”

“Steve, you literally have done nothing tonight but walk into my room, fuck me, buy me a consolation milkshake, and then fuck me again in your car. You don’t even know anything about me,” You snap, hand white-knuckle gripping the door. “What’s my favorite color? What’s my favorite food? The cat that curls at your feet every night, what’s her name?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked down at his feet.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” You say lowly and duck into the car, almost slamming the door behind you. He follows after a few moments, getting into the car slowly and quietly. “Take me home. Please.”

“Babe—“

“Don’t.”

He doesn’t argue as he starts the car and pulls out of the heavily wooded parking lot that you always went to. The drive was only fifteen minutes, but it was spent in excruciating silence as you quietly picked at the clear compartment of your wallet, attempting to remove your ID in order to get the Polaroid that lived behind it out. It was a sweet picture of you and Steve at your birthday party back in November, where you had been wearing matching sunglasses and had been looking at each other and laughing. It was your favorite picture ever taken, and he had said it was his too.

Once you pulled up to your apartment, you were quick to open the door and stand outside of the doorway. You dropped the Polaroid onto the seat and reached to grab the edge of his hoodie.

You were done.

You pulled off the yellow hoodie, his cologne dripping from the threads as you dropped it on the seat. You were freezing in the flimsy tank you had been wearing underneath, but you tried not to let it bother you as you slammed the door and finally walked away.

You didn’t hear him call after you, even as you slowly punched in the code. He had driven off before you stepped through the threshold.

You were crying by the time you made it into your actual apartment, the door still unlocked from earlier. You locked the door for the first time in months and practically stomped into your room, the door squeaking loudly behind you as you shut it. It was easy to flop into bed, and even easier to sob harder when you smelled him all over your comforter.

You wallowed for all of five minutes before Alex came in, teary-eyed from sleep, but with a knowing look on her face.

“Did you finally end it?”

You sniffled.

“Aw, babe,” She tutted and laid beside you in bed, reaching over to rub your shoulder. “It’ll be okay. He’s just a man.”

“I just don’t get how all of this time means nothing to him. Nothing! He’s here almost every night and he can’t even tell me what I am to him.”

“It’s just what he does. He’s known for being a whore, and that’s exactly what he is— a whore.”

“A whore who’s been leading me on for almost three months,” You replied pathetically, putting your hands over your face as you cried harder. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re literally the smartest, kindest, and most fun person I know. The fact that he can’t see that has nothing to do with you— it has to do with the fact that he’s just not a good person,” Alex defended, climbing off the bed to pull you to your feet. “You’re a great person, and everyone you’ve ever met loves you. You’re gorgeous, fun, and hilarious. He’s going to come crawling back on his hands and fucking knees, babe.”

You sadly smile at her, and wipe the tears from your face. “Thank you, Alex. I don’t think you’re right about the last part, but I’ll try to believe you about the rest.”

“We’ll make him regret he ever treated you like this. I promise.”

You and she linked pinkies, kissing the other end of your hands as you did so.

“I’ll make sure he regrets it. He deserves to feel just as shitty as I do right now.”

“Damn straight!”

[obsidiancreates]

Bad Day

Shawn Spencer, Head Psychic of the SBPD, doesn't have bad days. He had exciting days, setback days, annoying days- but never bad days.

Shawn Spencer, the ADHD and CPTSD riddled human man, does have bad days. He had them Fairly often from ages 0 to 8, Frequently from ages 8 to 18, and Near Daily from ages 18 to 28.

But he'd tucked the Regular Human Man away when the Head Psychic became a real, viable option, so if you asked him "How often do you have bad days?" he would put a finger to his head, smile, and say he never has bad days because he can see them coming to avoid.

At least, he usually would.

Today though. Today started with a groggy morning escape from a Greatest Hits Roll of his most upsetting moments in life posing as "dreams", then an empty fridge, his go-to cafe being closed for a health code violation, the office fridge being empty, and finally a voicemail from his dad scolding him about some thing. A case, maybe, Shawn doesn't know- he's already lived a full day, as far as he's concerned, and now it's time to lay in the empty office and reset.

So he lays down on the couch, closes the blinds, and lays his slightly-pounding head on the armrest.

Running through woods, sweating in a trunk, failing the math test and knowing the bully did too, gun to his face, gun to Gus's face, tape on his Mom's face-

"Shawn!"

Shawn's eyes snap open, taking a breath like a barb that stabs the back of his throat. Great, he slept with his mouth open and now his throat is sore and dry. Just what he needed today.

"The Chief just called me, she's been trying to reach you all morning." Gus picks up the office phone, and tsks. "How many times do I have to tell you which way the phone goes in the charger?"

"You could try telling me when I care." Shawn throws his arm over his eyes.

"Wha- Shawn!"

"Wha, Shawn!"

"You better knock that off before we get to the station."

"Sure, Dad."

"I'm serious, Shawn! Get up! She said it's important!"

"She always says it's important."

"And it usually is!"

"And sometimes it's her needing a babysitter!"

"Fine, then I'll go get the case, and keep your part of the check."

"... Fine."

The ride in the Blueberry is quiet. Gus keeps looking over at Shawn, and it makes his skin prickle. It's not the first time- Shawn loves attention, but sometimes someone looks at him in just the wrong way at the wrong time and it feels worse than having a weapon waved at him.

They pull up, and they walk in, and Lassie and Jules are already in the office.

"Gentlemen, nice of you to finally join us," The Chief says, her controlled tone the perfect example of Passive Aggressive.

"Sorry, Chief, it's just that we have lives sometimes."

She pauses her flipping through files, and looks up at Shawn with narrowed eyes and lips pressed thin. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Gus begin his Lamaze breathing, Jules's eyes widen as she dips her head, and Lassie smirk a bit at the oncoming trouble Shawn's surely just invited for himself.

"Well, Mr. Spencer, so do we, but-"

"But you're city employees, aaand we aren't." Gus elbows Shawn, hard, and Shawn just grits his teeth and pushes back.

Lassie looks at him with equal amounts shock and wicked delight, Jules with just plain shock. The Chief blinks, letting out a huff of what could be laughter, but probably isn't.

"I don't know what's got you in a mood, Mr. Spencer, but I suggest you sort yourself out now. This case is looking like a high-profile murder at the moment."

"Looking like?"

"We've got blood, a broken-in door, and a knife missing from the residence. The body is missing, but our victim was one of the top, tobacco production CEOs in the entire west coast, and he had enough enemies to fill the station and more."

Lassie whistles. "Impressive."

"And time-consuming. We need-"

"Me to get a reading on the suspects, right, can I see the crime scene photos?" Shawn grabs them without an answer. Jules gasps like she just witnessed a stabbing- or is about to, which she very well may, given the look The Chief gives him. If Shawn's head didn't hurt, and he didn't feel like every emotion he's ever felt in his entire life were all compacting into one horrible apathetic brick in his chest, maybe he would care enough to scale back a little.

He flips through. Standard crime scene, terrible photos, worse than the time the murderer was the one taking them. "You should fire whoever took these. I mean it."

"Shawn!"

"Shh." He waves his hand in Gus's face. Knife missing from the knife block, no evidence of it anywhere else in the house, blood on the bedroom rug, smearing suggests a body being dragged, but ooooh, what's that?

"Who checked this crime scene?"

"We did." Lassie looks at the photos over Shawn's shoulder- well, head. "Why?"

"We were really thorough."

"Do we both think that word means the same thing?" He doesn't want to say it, but it slips out, and Jules looks hurt instead of shocked this time. But he's not wrong.

"The victim isn't the victim, he's the killer. Oh, I see it." he half-heartedly waves a hand and closes his eyes. "Yeah, the blood spray, the victim was attacked by someone laying in the bed. And this one-" He flips to another photo in the stack, eyes still closed but knowing it's right. "-This one shows the knife block, I can see there are no grooves in that slot of the block, it wasn't regularly removed and returned but all the others were. I think our 'victim' knew someone was after him and probably slept with that knife under his pillow."

"We did find a journal with some paranoid ramblings," Lassie mumbles.

Shawn opens his eyes. "Seriously?"

"Well, they were written like a whackjob. Just pages of the same thing over and over."

"What thing, Lassie?"

"I don't know, some bull about being watched and being ready."

"Like maybe by an enemy? And being ready to kill to defend himself?"

"Geez, Spencer, what is wrong with you today?"

"You're right, I'm sorry. Clearly, we should throw out all the important evidence because it seems just too helpful!"

"Watch it-"

"That is the usual procedure around here, right? Just sort of miss and ignore evidence until I show up? Follow all your worst leads first?"

"That's it!" Lassie grabs Shawn by the collar.

"Detective!"

"Carlton!"

"Shawn, say you're sorry!"

"You've been an ass before Spencer but this is- CHRIST!"

Lassie yanks his hand away, and Shawn makes a face as he wipes at his teeth with his shirt. The fabric comes away slightly red.

Jules pries Lassie's good hand off the hurt one, and then looks at Shawn like she's never even seen him before. "Do you even know what you just did?!"

"Assaulted an officer!" Lassie growls, accepting tissues from The Chief to press to his bleeding knuckles.

"Not my fault you have thin skin. ... Literally."

Lassie reaches for his gun.

"Enough!" The Chief slams both hands on her desk. "Mr. Spencer, out. I am letting you off with a warning this time but if you ever, bite one of my officers again-"

"He won't," Gus says quickly. "Right Shawn?"

"Did everyone miss the part where he tried to choke me?"

"Shawn!"

"Right, sorry, I'm sorry, everyone, I forgot that Lassie gets special privileges when it comes to police brutality."

"That's a serious accusation, Shawn!" Jules is backing away now, standing closer to Lassie's side.

"Wow, I had no idea! It's not like I know everything about police procedure because I was drilled on it my whole life!" Shawn knows he's out of control now- he knows, he hates it, this isn't fun out of control, this is bad out of control, this is that Out Of Control that pushed him to steal a car and run away without goodbyes and try to just burn every bridge. It's building up, brick after brick of compressed bad days and weeks and years, and it's not fair to take it out here and now but he can't help it.

"Mr. Spencer, you are officially withdrawn from this case."

"Got it, uh, good luck, detectives, with actually arresting the right person."

"MCNAB!" The Chief's shout makes Shawn flinch even through the foggy, half-aware state he's slipped into. He's just... mad.

Buzz comes running in, almost slipping, barely avoiding hitting his head on the door. The laugh that sneaks out of Shawn is ugly even to him, and he hates it, hates everything he's said and done this whole day, but it happens away and Jules looks at him with unfiltered contempt and Lassie looks ready to actually kill him and Gus looks like he might help out.

"Escort Mr. Spencer out, of this station."

Buzz points at Shawn, mouth slightly agape as his eyes travel over to Lassie cradling his hand and Jules now refusing to look at Shawn at all and Gus holding Shawn like he's a misbehaving dog.

"Careful, I bite." He's not really in control of his own mouth anymore. He feels more like he's dreaming now that he did earlier. Is this the part that isn't real? Is this the nightmare? God, he hopes so.

"Oh, geez." Buzz hesitates for a second, and then tentatively puts an arm behind Shawn. Shawn smiles at him. The look in Buzz's eyes makes him think there's still some blood on his teeth.

He jerks at Buzz a bit. Buzz only startles, but Lassie, Jules, and The Chief all brace to get in the way. Why did he do that? This is getting dangerous. He should just stop.

"Um, just, this way." Buzz puts only a little pressure on his back, but it sends a shock through Shawn's system like a car battery. He has a full-body convulsion away from the touch, and in the shocked silence that follows it he shoulder-checks Buzz as he storms out the door through the station. Eyes are on him, prickling and stinging at his skin, brick on top of brick and-

... Ow.

He blinks at the blood on the rough wall of the station lobby, and looks at the mottled skin on his knuckles.

Gus catches up to him and takes in the scene. The whole station is probably staring too. A numb feeling in his hand starts to spread, but it's not numb-numb, it's pain-numb.

"I think I broke it." His voice sounds jarringly solid and steady to him.

"Yeah." Gus approaches carefully. "Are you uh... feeling better?"

"... No." Shawn clenches his fist and watches the skin stretch, fresh blood beading across the wounds. That should be bothering him. It should be snapping him out of it. It's not.

"Are you gonna do something if I try to touch you right now?"

"... I think so."

"So this is bad-bad."

"And I thought I was the observant one."

Gus tsks. "Will you go to the car? Without anyone making you?"

"... Maybe." He wants to say no. He's just barely holding back from saying no, from calling the car stupid and pointless like it's driver and he doesn't want to think that but he's barely here right now and it's just ringing over and over in his head and-

"Can you stop yourself from punch the car?"

"Yes!" It comes out a snap, a shout, and Gus backs up, and Shawn feels sick but he can't seem to do anything about it.

Gus is about to say something more but Shawn is moving and slamming the door behind him and he could get shot he could get shot but he does and he avoid The Blueberry and just walks. Away from the station, his apartment, the office-

His phone chimes and his hand is shaking as he rips it out of his pocket and throws it against a wall, gritting his teeth so hard as he walks away from it shattering that he breaks a tooth as well. He hears it happen. The phone is more of a good solid bam! while the tooth is a smaller crrrk!

The wandering is the most dreamlike he's ever felt. Just passing buildings and people and seething over nothing and going nowhere.

And then all of a sudden he's Back.

He blinks, and stops, and sucks in a breath, and it all crashes down on him.

The bricks blocking up his chest crumble, their dust clogging his lungs, and he can't breath as it all replays with a sharper clarity than he'd had in the actual moments. He sinks against a wall in some... somewhere, and stares at a tree while it all plays over and over and his head screams to go back and face it an apologize while his everything-else screams to just leave, just go and keep going and never look back-

It's nearly dark out when he sees The Blueberry come into view, but he just stays like he is, arms on his knees and head leaned against the dirty concrete wall. Gus slams the door as he gets out. Shawn feels a flinch try to make it's way to the surface, but now he's in a different dream. It's not so mad, but it's still not good. He's still not here. He was, for a few minutes, and then he'd sat down and... when exactly did he go away again?

"Dude, you have problems." Gus is sweating, breathing hard, eyes bloodshot. "You have serious problems!"

Shawn would nod, but his neck is stiff. He hadn't really noticed until now.

"... Get in the car." Gus's voice is a little softer this time. "I'm taking you to see someone tomorrow, I mean it. ... Chief's orders. It's that or we never work for them again."

"That's fine with me." It's not fine. It's not fine! Why'd that come out of him? He didn't say that.

"No, it isn't." Gus moves out of his vision. Shawn hears fabric against wall, so Gus probably sat down next to him. "... What is this, Shawn?"

Shawn swallows. His throat is dry. He hadn't noticed that, either. No, not hadn't noticed- hadn't been capable of feeling it. Like how he can't feel his body, really, and can't seem to control his words, and can't even control where his thoughts are going.

He has to try a few times, to be able to say anything. To even pry his dry, cracked lips open. To even wrestle back control of his vocal cords. To even identify the problem.

He licks his lips, and Shawn Spencer the ADHD and CPTSD riddled human man, speaks.

"... I'm having a bad day."

[sixty-silver-wishes]

Roasting you based on your favorite of these German Expressionist films

(this post is a joke; don't take it too seriously lol)

Metropolis: You've got spicy political opinions and daddy issues. You were doing great in life until you found out how corrupt capitalism is sometime in high school or college, and it's absolutely mind-boggling to you that nobody else is batting an eyelid at all the injustices of the world because they're too busy defending the concept of a 40-hour work week. You're constantly checking your privilege and everyone else's, too. Or you just want to bang a robot. That's probably it.

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari: Okay, I could make a joke about you being emo, or you liking the most basic film on the list, but that's not really the issue here. Your Hot Topic fashion sense and shitty drugstore eyeliner are nowhere near as concerning as the fact that you have no idea who the hell you are without them. You constantly overthink everything and are great at solving everyone's problems but your own, and you're averaging like 4 hours of sleep on a good night. You can't get your intrusive thoughts to leave you alone and if you relate to literally any character in this film, you need to get help. It's okay; I promise your therapist doesn't secretly hate you.

M: You're a surprisingly sweet and empathetic person for someone whose favorite film on this list is about a child murderer. You care deeply about others and are very much in tune with yourself, but unfortunately, everything you say is so off-putting that most people don't get that vibe about you. If they actually gave you a chance, they'd find that you have a great personality, but they don't, so instead you're stuck at home stalking your ex's vacation photos on social media.

Dr. Mabuse the Gambler: You like the finer things in life. You're high-maintenance, your tastes are classy and expensive, and you actually know how wine tasting works. However, you're way too into conspiracy theories and pyramid schemes for your own good, and your cultured proclivities are deeply undercut by the fact that you probably got into Bitcoin when that was a thing. Your two career paths are either "businessperson" or "cult leader," and it's concerningly difficult to discern which one you're on.

Nosferatu: Your sense of humor relies entirely on recycling memes that are at least a decade old, and the fact that you communicate nearly entirely in pop culture references is your attempt at disguising the fact that you're really bad at socializing. You think you have lots of great ideas that make perfect sense, but most people don't know what the hell you're going on about. However, you've got one or two ride or die friends who love you for who you are, cringe and all. Keep being you, Nosferatu fan. Never change.

The Student of Prague: I'm not sure this one is actually anyone's favorite film, but if this was yours, you were into shipping the Onceler with himself when that was a thing. You're super competitive, but you have a tendency to overwork yourself and burn out quickly, so now you're living off of Top Ramen and protein bars. People love to tell you that you "have potential" and "just need to apply yourself," but what they don't get is that you're stressed 24/7 and won't give yourself a break because you're trying so hard to satisfy your own impossible standards. Please take a nap.

Der Golem: You're great with children, small animals, and potted plants, but that's because literally anyone else you have to deal with fucking pisses you off. The absolute audacity of everyone around you means you're never not two seconds away from throwing hands, but honestly? You're always right and you should say it. You're actually a really nice person, but people keep pushing you to your limit and you're sick of it. On an unrelated note, you probably work in customer service.

Different from the Others: If this is your favorite film and you're a member of the LGBT community, that's perfectly understandable. It was a monumental achievement in LGBT cinema in the early 20th century and, despite being somewhat dated by today's standards due to the time period it was created in, largely holds up as an educational, yet tragic, piece of cinema. That being said, if you're a straight/cis/allo person and this is your favorite film, what is going on with you. I want to study you in a lab. How did you find this film. Come to think of it, how did you even get into German Expressionist cinema to begin with. I just want to know

Der Januskopf: [REDACTED]

Genuine: You're a "Caligari" fan who doesn't want to seem basic like the rest of the "Caligari" fans, so somehow you ended up here. You don't actually like this film aside from the visuals. Nobody actually likes this film. You want so, so badly to like this film, so you lie to yourself, just like you do about everything else.