#they are platonic besties

[calmingthoughtsinyourhead]

Do you ever think about how the RTD companion kisses perfectly sum up their relationships with the Doctor?

The doctor kissed (and kinda died for) Rose to save her

The doctor kissed Martha because he was using her

And Donna kissed the Doctor to save him

[toomanyhyperfixations]

Listening to the bridge of Last Kiss by Taylor Swift and thinking about Molly and Scratch 🥲

[ocelot-t]

[buckleysevan]

SUPERNATURAL (2005-2020) | S05E18 ‘Point of No Return’

[stevebabey]

personally love the interaction in the start of s4 where steve goes “ugh, you know i don’t do double vhs.” when robin suggests doctor zhivago. like ugh robin!!!! we’ve talked about this before!!! steve has a limited attention span and if robin puts on something too long, he will start shooting her with rubber bands

[pigdemonart]

Theres just some stuff you’re more comfortable telling your friends about than your own family ya know 👀 some stuff is-a private!

Anyways, finally drew my sweet Daisy. Also finally colored a comic. And i can’t wait to never do that again fjfnfnf

Like my art? Please consider tipping!

[lilpomelito]

Steve and Robin go out to a gay club in Indy one night and Robin ends up pissed off because even if she did make a couple of friends and connections with the local scene she didn't have as much luck as Steve who made out with like 5 dudes in a row. How come they're going to the gay places and her straight friend still has more game than her?! Turns out maybe not so much, since Steve spends the monday shift at family video talking how much he enjoyed kissing guys and how hot it got him and how it didn't feel like a performance—which Robin can relate to that part—so maybe it's time to keep experimenting? Robin thinks he might be going a little fast but Steve is determined so he asks if he should ask Eddie if he's down to hooking up so he can try having sex with a guy which sends Robin into another spiral because whoa, since when are you aware that Eddie's gay? (And shit, if she said it out loud to Steve does that count as outing Eddie?!) Steve says he just knows, the same way he knows that Vicky is into boobies (ugh, not this again!) and anyway there's no harm in asking. Robin's mind is blown when Steve literally picks up the phone and calls Eddie if he's down to fuck that night at his place. She's not surprised Eddie agrees. He might be even more of a masochist than Robin herself, really. Which leads to a very interesting night where Robin spends hours trying to concentrate on her stupid homework and not think about how her best friend, her soulmate, the light of her life, is right now having gay sex literally days after finding out "kissing guys is cool actually," when it took her years to admit to herself that she was into girls. And it's even more mortifying when a little after midnight Steve calls her—of course he does—and informs her that sex with men is actually so much better than sex with girls, for him at least, he just had the best orgasm of his life (good for him) and inform her that he now has a boyfriend. Honestly, what did Robin expect. Good for Steve and his simple, honest heart.

[yadakiti]

thank you ringo for taking care of this angry gremlin 🌊🔥 | TikTok | OG Audio

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

you are somebody that i want to keep ; satoru gojo

synopsis; you aren't sure what you have with satoru gojo, but you know that it’s good.

word count; 6.7k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, colleagues to friends to something unlabelled, you love each other though!!, fluff, hurt/comfort, very very soft, reader falls first but gojo falls harder, both of u are afraid of intimacy lol, a lil angsty if u squint, satoru gojo cherishing u for ~7k words straight <33

a/n; basically just a collection of moments between you and gojo throughout the years <33 (a significant amount of time has passed between each part!!) hes an emotionally repressed loser but i love him and he is smitten w u.

in the soft luminescence of daybreak, your kitchen looks something like a dream.

tainted with a hazy sunshine, simmering with warm colours and pleasant scents, it almost seems to sparkle in the peripheral of your vision. brimming with that feeling of home, a home you’ve broken your bones building, desperate to shape it into something safe — and you think you’ve done a pretty good job.

it’s soothing, comforting, all of these sensations. bleeding into each other like smudges of paint on a canvas; hyacinths blooming by the windowsill, espresso-flavored steam wafting up to the roof, soft meows stemming from the cats by your feet. absolute bliss.

indulging in a peace yet to be shattered by the strain of the working world, you rub the sleep from beneath your weary eyes. blinking and yawning like a drowsy child.

beyond the translucent glass of your windows, glimmering with the light of a sun soon to rise, the world is painted pink and indigo — save for that one hint of gold, a streak of honey slathered across the surface of the sky. fluffy clouds drift through the chilly air, melting in the wake of a new day, and you think they look a little like tufts of cotton candy. soft enough to sink your teeth into, if only the glass wasn’t in the way. keeping the cold out.

it’s a new day. a pleasant morning, sitting comfortably on the brink of dawn, before the city has a chance to rouse from its slumber.

a kind of solitude you so rarely get to bask in. 

a false solitude, really. because, for once, there’s another human being in your home — one you don’t know nearly as well as you’d like, for him to be fast asleep on your couch, cheek smushed against the leather. snoring softly. 

satoru gojo.

like this, he looks very… human. vulnerable. hair just slightly tousled, from tossing and turning on your not-so-comfortable couch, blindfold only covering one of his eyes and close to slipping off entirely. his expression has melted into one of something vaguely resembling relaxation, as close to unguarded as you assume he can physically get.

even in his sleep, he looks a little stiff. not entirely at peace; like a stray cat sleeping under the hood of a car. 

(you’re curious. fascinated, maybe, by the loneliness that clings to the strongest person in the universe. by the paradoxical innocence of his grin.)

honestly, everything from last night is kind of a blur. you remember accompanying the strongest sorcerer on a mission, one long enough to leave you completely and utterly spent, fatigue nestled deep into your bones. remember gojo getting a sudden migraine, so earth-shattering that you thought he was going to keel over and throw up in the middle of the street.

then you remember bringing him back home with you. very hesitantly, only after he begrudgingly accepted the fact that he didn’t have much of a choice. because you were fucking exhausted, and so was he, and your apartment happened to be conveniently close. you remember him practically passing out on your couch, still somehow managing to crack a bad joke you can’t recall, while you went to collapse into the comfort of your bed.

and now you’re here. dyed in half-transparent sunbeams, caffeine bubbling in your veins, gazing at your sleeping coworker from your spot by the kitchen table. waiting for the world to open its weary eyes.

it’s still early. some part of you expects him to sleep a while longer, but you can’t say you’re particularly surprised when gojo begins to stir.

a splotch of sunshine splatters across your living room window, staining the floorboards, falling over the contours of his pretty face. in the light, he looks positively holy; white lashes, pale skin, plump lips. like a goddess.

when he opens his eyes, it’s even worse. a single iris cracked open, pooling with unbridled brilliance. eyes so blue they seem to cut through the stillness of the air.

(— and the world wakes up.)

a little groan slips from his lips, barely audible. with groggy movements, he brings a hand up to his face, obscuring the grating light of the sun flitting in. you think you can almost see the gears of his mind turn, as he takes notice of his surroundings, remembering what transpired just hours before.

faster than you thought, he regains some semblance of composure. huffing under his breath, as he forces himself into a sitting position. 

it feels a little wrong, to see the closest thing this world has to a god act so human. be so human. morning-fatigued, just like you, wearing droopy eyelids and a soft, sleepy pout. a little disheveled. groggy with lost dreams.

when his gaze meets yours, you can’t control the breath that hitches pitifully in the back of your throat. a meek skip of your heartbeat, like you just saw something you shouldn’t have. oops.

gojo cracks a grin.

“.. watchin’ me sleep?” he calls out, cheeky. paired with a drowsy yawn. composed, unbothered, but there’s something almost performative about it, something you’re sure you’d miss if he wasn’t still in the process of collecting himself. 

“good morning,” is all you offer him. ignoring his teasing remark. he doesn’t push it, to your surprise. “sleep well?”

a hum. absentminded, jovial. one of his large hands goes to adjust his blindfold, the other to fluff up his hair. kicking off the blanket you just barely had the energy to throw over him last night. your fluffiest one, warm enough to protect him from the chill gnawing at the windows. hopefully.

“like a log,” he quips, stretching idly, muscles straining under his baggy uniform. they must be sore, after that mission. or maybe he’s above such things.

choosing not to comment on his obvious lie, you put your lips against the ceramic of your cup. sipping from the bitter brew, a tinge of hazelnut on your tongue. letting him gather his bearings without you scrutinizing him. a little favor, one liar to another.

“thanks for letting me crash,” he grins, lazy. toothy. stumbling to his feet with a low groan, gaze flitting around the room — looking for the exit. “i’ll get outta your hair,” he mutters, and you raise a brow.

“not staying for breakfast?”

gojo stills. your question rings out, bouncing off the walls of the kitchen, into the living room.

his smile twitches, ever so slightly, in what you think must be surprise. then it’s back to normal; like putting on a mask, not allowing a sliver of weakness to slip through the cracks. he exhales a raspy chuckle, a sound that flows through the air and crawls down your spine.

”generous, aren’t you?” he hums, voice rich with amusement. dappling sunlight licks at the white locks of his hair.

you shrug. “i wouldn’t mind the company.”

the words climb up the walls of your throat, a little reckless, eager to catch a glimpse of the miracle before you. satoru gojo, framed by the simplicity of your home — somewhat hard to let go of. sunkissed skin, restless hands. a little out of tune. shifting from foot to foot, eager to get away.

(a little like a frightened fawn, you amuse yourself by thinking. he’s really more like the fox who scared it.)

you think he must be bit uncomfortable. forced to spend the night in a coworker’s apartment, one he doesn't even know that well, one he probably doesn’t have any intention of getting to know. still trying to politely excuse himself. persistent, stubborn.

maybe he didn’t expect this. maybe he was convinced he could sneak away, before you had a chance to wake up. maybe he thought you’d be all too eager to let him leave, and never speak of this again. maybe he’s not used to being wanted. 

“ha… i’m flattered, believe me, but —“

“what do you usually eat?” you ask. cutting him off, gently, tapping your fingertips against the edge of the table. “for breakfast, i mean. i’ll whip something up.”

a chuckle slips from his lips. you can’t put your finger on it, but something about it bothers you. “really, there’s —“

“if you’re worried about inconveniencing me, don’t be.” you pause, unsure of what to say. but the words end up spilling out of your throat, oddly honest. ”it’s been a while since i had the chance to make breakfast for someone else.” 

it’s strange, really, how intent you are on seeing this through. how much effort you’re putting into making him stay. you barely even know him. actually, you don’t know him at all — all you know is that his smile makes you happy and his strength makes you envious. that you aren’t afraid of him, even though you probably should be.

something about him just feels safe.

“i’m pretty good at making pancakes,” you hum, a small smile playing at your lips. polite, jovial. pale light flits in through the window and slips into its curve. ”do you want some? before we go to work.”

(something in his fingers twitch, when you say that tiny word; pancakes. a little tell. you just barely catch it, before it sputters out. before he reels it back in.)

a moment passes. slow, drawn out, a rubber band bound to snap.

gojo stands there, a very subtle contemplation etched into his features. behind him, your cats begin to scratch at the couch, but you don’t scold them. just waiting for something to happen. beyond the glass of your windows, the sun unfurls in the sky, stretching its arms to envelop the world.

he grins, suddenly. soft light reflecting off the white of his teeth. cocky, composed. not quite performative, a little more natural.

“well, if you insist.”

he strolls over to your side, just a tiny bit sluggish, lazy steps and comically long limbs. he must still be tired. but he takes a seat, right across from you, plopping down on the chair with an effortless air of confidence. lighthearted, leaning his elbows on the table, crossing his legs under it. comfortable. settling into his role.

you’re pleasantly surprised.

“how would you like them?” you ask, and you think some of your excitement may have spilled out with the question. if it did, gojo doesn’t comment on it. ”your pancakes.”

“with chocolate chips, please!” he shoots you a sweet smile. “and whipped cream on top.” 

so demanding. for some reason, it makes the corners of your lips quirk up. kinda like a bratty younger brother.

“got it.”

the smell of dark chocolate hangs heavy in the air as you get to work, shuffling around the open space. all while gojo waits, patiently, tapping his foot under the table and staring out the window. leaning his jaw on the heel of his palm. listening to the humming of nightingales on the branches of the apple tree down on the ground, and the buzz of your old radio.

the kitchen fills with motion, sounds, smells. life. splotches of sunlight, crinkled cartons of orange juice. the clinking of plates. two tired adults, seated at the same table, indulging in a fleeting peace and the promise of something new. something almost concrete.

a small, precious moment. enough to make your fascination shift into something you know must be fondness. or close to it. 

gojo grins at you, mouth full of pancakes, eagerly telling you about something the kids did last week. wolfing them down, chocolate smeared over his bottom lip. you laugh, and suddenly the world feels a little safer than it should. a little more intact.

you wonder what it means. where it’s going to lead. this feeling of something wonderful beginning, something you couldn’t stop if you wanted to.

a budding connection.

the city lays blanketed beneath a layer of thick snow. blurry pale dots dancing in the wind, obscuring the sky, frost engulfing every building in a bone chilling hug.

with a slight shiver, you dig your hands into the comfort of your pockets, seeking the fleeting warmth you find. admiring the frozen landscape before you, the hustle and bustle of people going about their day. the saffron light of the lamp posts, the glittering snow by your feet, the skeletal apricot trees and their bare branches. this monochrome city you find yourself in.

gojo exhales. strolling cheerily down the street, in tandem with you, a frosty breath to your left that scatters and melts into the open air. it smells minty.

today, he’s wearing black shades — like he usually is when you meet outside of work. it’s kind of nice. when you angle your face a certain way, you can almost see the blue pooling in his eyes, the white of his eyelashes. 

he’s beautiful. he always has been. but like this, you think his beauty is simply unfair, highlighted by the winter wonderland you find yourselves in. mesmerizing, the red flush of his cheeks, how he hums along to some jolly tune playing from a little corner store further down the street. all bundled up, in a stylish overcoat and a nice scarf, untouched by the snowflakes fluttering about. 

protected by his infinity, always. the silly god you call a friend.

he looks content, despite the cold that keeps nipping at your bare skin, smiling widely. blabbing on about the movie you’re about to watch, how he saw it back in high school but never thought it’d get a remake. how his friend thought it sucked but that friend always had bad taste so his opinion is irrelevant. how he has faith that you’ll like it.

(cute.)

distracted by the pretty man so close by, close enough to touch, you don’t look ahead. maybe just a little bit entranced. which would be fine, if you didn’t happen to be walking on the right side of the street — 

crashing straight into a lamp post.

”owch!”

it’s sudden. and it’s a harsh collision, enough to leave your nose stinging, an ache that makes you whine. cursing under your breath as you take a couple steps back, hands reaching for the part of your face that took the brunt of the hit. 

and gosh, is this embarrassing. you dance on the edge of death for a living, and here you are — whining over walking into a fucking lamp post. because you were too enamored by the beauty of your own coworker to pay attention to your surroundings. 

a coworker who is currently looking at you, silently. having failed to warn you in time, stuck in his own memories, caught up in his in-depth, spoiler-filled review of a movie he’s been waiting to watch all week. 

for a moment, all he does is blink. long eyelashes fluttering, like a dove flapping its wings. 

then he starts laughing.

scratch that — gojo is downright cackling, thoroughly amused by your clumsy mishap, like he just saw the funniest thing in the world. laughter ringing out into the cold air, white breaths to compliment the red of your burning ears.

asshole.

with a harsh furrow of your brows, you attempt to look angry; but before long, your lips are curling up. infected by his joy. a soft punch to his shoulder is all you manage, biting back a little puff of laughter. you’re embarrassed.

(so embarrassed you don’t even notice how he puts his infinity down.)

”don’t laugh, you piece of shit!” you hiss, grinning even still, flushing and trying to ignore the curious glances you get from passersby. ”it really hurt!”

but gojo doesn’t stop. doesn’t even attempt to. you think he just grew even more amused, if anything, practically bending over from how hard he’s laughing — clutching his stomach.

”sorry, sorry — ’m just…” he tries to speak, taking deep breaths in between bursts of giggles. ”how the hell — how’d you —” 

he stops trying. laughing, again.

and it’s a genuine laugh. a little wolfish, spilling out from his pretty parted lips, showing off his sharp teeth. from the very bottom of his gut, clear and bright, deep and infectious. melodic. shades close to slipping off the bridge of his nose, eyes tearing up behind them. trying to collect himself, muffled giggles turning to soft vapour in the cold air. dimples visible on his rosy cheeks.

and suddenly you can't think, can't speak, can only look at him and wonder how a human can be so very beautiful. how it’s metaphysically possible. like a crushed cluster of stars was given human form, a body of celestial light.

he looks so young, like this. a millenia younger, no weight on those broad shoulders, no immovable wall to separate you both. he looks like one of the guys you used to hang out with in middle school, running through corridors and play fighting and holding back shared laughter in the library. before the bite of the world left a mark in your skin.

he looks like himself. like someone pulled the mask off, and all that’s left is the human. none of the godhood he was saddled with at birth.

while you’re busy staring, gojo finally finds his composure again. wiping at his glassy eyes, a chuckle slipping out here and there. distracted by the breathtaking sight, you begin to forget the sting of your collision — until you feel something warm trickle down your chilled skin. 

searching for it with the pads of your fingers, you feel a trail of wetness beneath your nose. and when you bring them down, to get a look, all you see is red. 

”ah.”

gojo moves closer. maybe just a little alarmed, by the blood dripping from your nose, staining the white of the snow beneath your feet. a chilling contrast, one you’re frighteningly used to. it’s almost comforting. blood on your skin, that sting of pain clogging up your nose, enough for you to get lost in. colours melting together, memories rising to the surface —

when suddenly, something touches your cheek. 

one large hand goes to keep your jaw in place, gentle. smooth leather, sneaking under your chin, lifting your face up ever so slightly. warmth trickles from his fingertips through the fabric, and you can smell a hint of his perfume. strawberries and vanilla.

gojo looks at you fondly. wiping the blood from your nose, smudging his expensive gloves. from this angle, you can see his eyes, a blue shimmer in an evening painted white and gray — the sole flicker of colour in this monochrome city. they’re crinkled at the edges.

he looks awfully amused.

(you stay still, not breathing, like any slight motion could have him pulling away.)

”careful,” he croons. so low you barely hear it, almost a purr. the word has a soft underbelly, something you don’t need to dissect to feel.

a sentiment that seems to simmer in the air around you, drifting past the little corner store, a dog tied to a lamp post, your reddened cheeks. past the blue of his eyes, a peripheral that stretches to cover the city before you. words too heavy to speak aloud.

stay safe for me, silly.

then he’s letting go. sudden, the bite of the air replacing his hand. it lingers on your skin, like a memory, like the ghost of a memory. but it’s there. strawberries and vanilla, leather and warmth. something kind. warm.

and it stays there, even as gojo takes a step forward, no longer facing you. walking confidently, the wind bending around his tall stature. long legs and large steps, leaving an imprint in the snow for you to follow. a northern star.

he turns his head, and grins. hair tousled by the breeze, white locks glittering with snowflakes. ”you coming? it’s starting soon.”

a moment passes. 

”or do you need me to call shoko?” 

you puff out a breathy laugh, at that, stumbling forward. reaching up to wipe more of the blood sticking to your skin. sniffling, but smiling, teeth peeking out between your lips.

”yeah, yeah,” a roll of your eyes. ”’m right behind you.”

gojo’s eyes crinkle, disappearing behind his shades when he straightens his back and raises his head. moving forward, while you follow; his back turned to you, snowy hair melting into the white all around you. like something out of a painting. 

with a pep in step, you catch up to him. eager to hear more of his voice, his memories. still basking in the warmth of his hand on your jaw.

a touch from the untouchable.

gojo’s lying on your couch.

he usually is, to be fair, so it shouldn’t be surprising. kicking his legs up, watching tv — or sleeping, snoring loudly, like the couch belongs to him. like your home belongs to him. like he pays rent, and doesn’t just laze around and devour all the sweets in your kitchen cabinets.

(he’s there so often that you’re starting to wonder if you should give him a copy of your keys, or something. but you have a feeling that’d be just a smidge too intimate for him to ever accept.)

this time, however, gojo is doing neither of those things. 

he’s on your couch, but he isn’t manspreading, or draping himself over the leather with a lazy grin. he doesn’t have that air of effortless confidence. and it’s palpable, in the air, the open space, enough that you can feel it. an itch on your skin, a lump in your throat. you could practically feel it as soon as you walked through the door.

he isn’t wearing his blindfold, or his shades. he isn’t even smiling. and gojo is always, always smiling.

you think he might be having a rough day.

even the cats are noticing that something’s off. jumping up in his lap, trying to comfort him, brushing against his legs. purring, when he cradles them close — always so gentle with them. hands petting down their backs, softly, the same hands he uses to rip out the throats of curses and curse users alike.

then they mewl and run away. and for once you wish they wouldn’t, wish they could keep clinging to him like they always do. just to make him feel better. right now, in the state he’s in, you wouldn’t even mind gojo’s usual smug declarations of how does it feel to know they like their papa best? 

you can’t help but feel unsure of yourself. gojo isn’t doing anything, and he isn’t saying anything. he’s just lying there, on his back, eyes closed. letting the darkness of the room engulf him. drowning in his own thoughts.

he must know that you’re there. he must have heard you come in. but he isn’t saying anything, and you wonder if that means he wants you to leave him alone.

you’re reminded of that one morning. when he woke up on your couch, and looked more human than you’d ever seen him. how you wanted to avert your eyes, how wrong it felt to see a god rouse from its slumber. 

(but you know better now.)

hesitantly, you begin to inch closer, step by step. quiet, floorboards barely creaking beneath your weight. tentative, as you settle down on the couch. brushing against the infinity between you.

gojo’s eyes flicker open. like an old tape beginning to play. they still shine with that same brilliance, they always do, but now you think they look just a little dull. a little red.

a moment passes. agonizingly slow.

before you can properly think it through, you’ve done it. almost on instinct, jumping the gun before he has the chance to cover everything up with jokes and laughter. opening your arms; a silent invitation.

gojo only stares. 

his gaze moves down to your outstretched arms, and then up to your face. your pursed lips, nervous eyes, worried crease between your brows. one second passes. two, five. you stop counting.

for a moment, you’re almost certain that he’s about to get up and leave. that he’ll flash you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, walk out the door and then never return. like you flew too close to the sun, just another icarus too mesmerized by the glow of his grin to notice your melting wings. like you stepped over the fragile line that separates his bones from yours, his heartbeat from your greedy hands.

— but then he sluggishly gets into a sitting position, and doesn't look at you.

when gojo collapses into your embrace, you’re so surprised that you almost forget how to breathe. almost forget your own name, forget whose home you’re in, why your arms are wrapped around a pale man. all you can think of is how warm he feels, how he’s like a weighted blanket against you. how he trusts you enough to come so very close. 

cheek pressed against your chest, arms loose around your waist. no infinity, no barriers. just a single touch shared between two damaged human beings. 

a brief inhale gives you the composure that you need. air flowing into your lungs, your brain, as you settle into a comfortable position. no words leave your lips; you just continue to hold him, one hand on his back, testing the waters. letting him hear the echo of your heartbeat. unsure, the both of you, but something about this feels right. close to right. almost there.

gojo is stiff. when you strain your ears, you hear a sharp intake of breath, and a full body shiver courses through him. a tremble of his spine. like he’s itching to run, like he doesn’t quite know where to put his hands. so painfully unused to a proper embrace. 

(a little like a frightened fawn.)

a tender something unfurls within your chest, and you feel almost devoured by the fondness rooting itself into your beating heart. delicate, as you begin to brush away his tousled bangs, leaning close. pressing a kiss to his forehead, glistening with sweat. letting your lips linger on his skin. 

he’s pale, shining in the bleak moonlight cast from the translucent curtains of your living room windows. pale like a ghost. and there are dark crescents beneath his dull eyes.

nightmares, you surmise. they haunt him too, don’t they? of course they do. 

eyes brimming with emotion, you gaze at him; quiet as a mouse, closing his eyes. leaning into your touch, ever so slightly, breathing out a sigh tinged with pure exhaustion. and a certain realization washes over you, akin to a tidal wave, sudden and inevitable. so obvious it’s funny.

you’re not a god at all, are you? 

a coo slips from your lips. barely a sound, more like a soothing breath. warm against his cold skin.

you’re just like everyone else. just as fragile.

one of your thumbs goes to smooth over the puffy skin beneath his eyes. so, so gentle. like one wrong touch could have him crumbling into little grains of stardust, spilling out over the worn leather of your couch.

there are so many things you wish you could say to him. so many things you’ll never be able to say, because you’re afraid that if you give him too much it’ll scare him off. like love could burn him if it were to leak out too fervently. like it’s burned him before. 

so you don’t say anything. but you think it, you repeat it inside your mind like a prayer, and some part of you thinks that’s enough. i’ve got you — a whisper that you don't dare to voice. 

one gojo still manages to hear, somehow, if the way he tugs you closer and snuggles into your neck is anything to go by. a shaky exhale brushing against your collarbone.

(if you feel something wet touch the skin of your shoulder, you don’t mention it.)

you simply hold him, and don’t even think the thought of letting go. even though it takes him hours just to fall asleep, hours you spend anxiously wondering if he’ll change his mind and pull away. but he doesn't leave, even though his body may want him to, and that's enough, and you don’t let go. not even once. he stays cradled to your chest the same way you’d hold a tiny puppy, something fragile. something you need to handle with care.

and when his heartbeat finally mellows out, when you hear little barely audible snores flow from his lips, you finally begin to relax. melting into the couch beneath you, watching him get the rest he deserves. praying that any nightmares of his will be given to you instead.

sleep comes, eventually, to the both of you. tangled up on the couch, him on top of you, comforted by the flutter of each other’s heartbeat. by the warmth of another human being. safe in each other’s arms.

(the next morning, through hazy sunshine and the clinking of coffee cups, he teasingly tells you that just satoru is fine.)

it’s barely daybreak when satoru wakes you up.

a rude awakening, to say the least. he pulls out all the stops, intent on not letting you sleep even a second longer; poking at your cheek, pinching them when that doesn’t work. tickling you, blowing cold air into your ear, flopping down on top of you like a big dog. anything to rouse you from your deep slumber.

and he just will not give it up. no matter how hard you try to ignore him, no matter how many times you swat him away with your duvet pillow or turn to bury your face into the sheets. that’s how satoru always is, how he’s always been, how he hopefully always will be — an absolute pain. one you wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world.

so, when he starts whining for you to just wake up already, voice tinged with a sadness that tugs at your heartstrings, you find yourself opening your tired eyes. all while he murmurs on and on about something unintelligible, still trying to bribe you.

”i’ll make you coffee, okay? just get up. c’moooon.”

”… what time is it, satoru?” is all you mutter, voice leaving your lips in a raspy, disgruntled fashion. stirring a little at the promise of coffee. 

he cracks a grin. ”don’t worry about it! just come with me.”

despite your grumpy attitude, and the ungodly hour at which satoru shakes you awake, you find yourself letting him scoop you up and set you down on the kitchen counter. placing a hot cup of coffee in your hands, made just the way you like it, before grinning mischievously in a way that has you feeling ill at ease.

and ten minutes later, you find yourself on top of a hill. overlooking the woods, and a big lake below you, no city lights visible no matter where you turn — god knows where he’s taken you, but it’s pretty.

breathtaking, even. all frost and wildlife and peace, sweet solitude, tiny flowers blooming on the patches of grass around you. a murder of crows takes flight in the distance, scattering into the indigo of the sky.

gojo grins, boyish and bright, excited breaths turning into vapour as he speaks. awfully proud of himself. 

”i can’t take you on vacation, but —”

he drags you with him, arm looped around your own, plopping down on the ground. not before taking off his jacket, to cover the ground beneath you. grass tickles the skin of your palms, as you comfortably spread your legs, making sure to sit as close to him as possible.

and your heart softens a little.

because he’s mentioned it, before; how it’d be nice to go on a road trip, someday, just the two of you. all around the world, wherever the wind takes you. basking in that feeling of freedom. it’s no more than a fever dream, though, with how busy satoru is, the responsibilities you both shoulder.

so this’ll have to do. that’s probably what he’s thinking.

”the sun’ll rise soon. it’ll be pretty, i promise,” he beams, so close that you feel his warm breath on your skin. that you can see the dimples on his cheeks, his barely visible freckles.

”oh, so that’s why you woke me up so early.” 

his smile widens. ”nice, right? i wanted to surprise you. d’you like it?”

a smile blooms on your lips, in tandem with his, honeyed and content. indulgent. gojo looks at it, and immediately knows your answer.

”yeah. it’s really pretty out here,” you face forward, taking a deep breath, fresh morning air entering your lungs. cool and crisp, stirring your sleepy mind. ”kinda nostalgic.”

satoru hums, and follows your lead. looking ahead, admiring the beauty of an empty world.

the big lake looks like a mirror, from here, glittering in the peripheral of your vision. the sun licks at the frozen sky, not quite breaking through, not entirely ready to rise — but it paints everything a rusty gold and you can almost feel spring shining through, taste it on your tongue, that promise of something better, something more concrete. a warmth you don’t have to question. 

a warmth that’ll stay with you for a long time to come.

it takes about ten seconds for the man by your side to start speaking, again, shattering the peaceful silence. but you don’t mind. his voice is nice, a mellow melody to your morning-fatigued brain.

side by side, you wait for the sun to rise. sharing hushed whispers and laughter, like two kids having a sleepover. like nothing exists but the space that cocoons you, wraps you up in a nostalgia so palpable the entire world feels like a fond memory.

(it makes you feel a millenia younger.)

satoru giggles like a child, telling you about something shoko said, or something megumi did, and you don’t miss a single word that spills from his glossy lips. hanging on to every word he’s willing to give to you. 

he looks so unbothered, like this. eyes crinkling, humming some tune you don’t recognize, like a little nightingale ready to take flight into the skies.

you part your lips, admiring his features. every patch of skin you can see. words making themselves manifest, hungry to see inside his brain, to know more about him. a fascination that’s never quite left you — though now you think it may be better described as love. ”hey, satoru?”

at the sound of his name, he turns to you. the weight of his eyes feels so light, like this. those blessed eyes staring into yours. he tilts his head, a smile playing at his lips. ”mm?”

”if you could go anywhere you wanted, where would you be right now?”

satoru blinks.

he looks at you, a mild surprise flitting through the lines of his face, as he takes you in. measures the weight of your words.

then he smiles, again. lopsided, almost a smirk, rich with amusement. a hum buzzes in his throat, like a butterfly itching to break out.

”.. you teasing me?” 

a huff fills the air. ”it’s a genuine question!” you insist, moving your leg to nudge his own. ”c’mon. anywhere in the world. i’m just curious.”

another hum. he narrows his eyes, playfully, biting at the inside of his cheek to hold back a chuckle when that makes you grumble. pouting softly, tilting your head. he’s amused, you can tell. 

but he closes his eyes, lashes fluttering, glimmering with morning dew. and you can tell he’s taking you seriously. tasting the question on his tongue.

something shines in his eyes, when he opens them again; crinkling at the corners, soft lines of crows’ feet. you can almost see that burst of aquamarine, breaking through the black glass of his shades. like the laws of physics can’t contain it. and he smiles, as always, a smile so beautiful you wish you could live on the curve of his lips. flimsy, no teeth peeking out, no dimples to admire. but sweet. slathered with honey, as sincere as can be.

his voice comes out a little raspy, tainted with a tinge of fatigue, a smokey residue that sticks to the walls of his throat. but it's genuine, like he just woke up, like he's too sleepy to be dishonest. like every word he says can be no more or less than the absolute truth.

and when he turns to face you, tilting his head enough for you to see that shade of blue you love so dearly, his eyes shine with an honestly so palpable you feel like you’re being devoured.

satoru parts his lips.

”right next to you.”

a moment passes. silent, endless, no sound to be heard but the beating of your own heart.

at last, the sun breaks through that layer of frost, peeking up from the boundary of the world — and the morning begins to thaw. streaks of sunlight cascade down the contours of his handsome face, painting him a mellow gold, and it’s almost enough to distract you from the warmth of his hand finding yours. 

for a moment, satoru looks unsure. smile shifting in the light, into something slightly stiff, and you know that means he's nervous. silent, as he wets his glossy lips. pink tongue tasting strawberry chapstick. 

then he’s leaning forward. 

it’s chaste, the kiss he plants on your forehead, soft as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. but it lingers, even after he’s pulled back — a warmth on your skin. a silent declaration.

he doesn't have to say anything. when you look up at him you can see the red flush of his ears, and when you strain your ears you can hear all those unspoken whispers. the sentiment neither of you will ever have to say out loud, because you know. it’s there. and it means everything. 

and you know that for as long as you live, you’ll both have this. one single thread of normalcy, in your unorthodox existences, one single glimmer of something almost entirely good. something that heals, something that isn’t a blessing and a curse all in one. something soft to the touch.

there’s no need to find the right words for it. there never was.

”kinda looks like melted ice cream.”

the words pull you out of your stupor. satoru’s looking at the sky, and you follow his gaze, watching the sunrise in tandem with him. 

it’s beautiful. soft clouds melting into pinks and oranges, dappling sunbeams lapping at the trees, a saffron shade washing over the empty world in front of you. a world that may not be so empty, after all, because you hear crows in the distance, and someone’s fishing by the lake, and you think you spot a squirrel in the tree closest to you. 

and you have someone, right next to you, right by your side. someone who won’t ever leave.

sometimes, loving satoru gojo feels a little like strolling on the edge of a cliff. like one wrong step could have you tumbling down, a mess of broken bones and unspoken words. but if you do stumble and fall — you know he’ll be waiting at the bottom of the precipice. arms outstretched, wearing that same innocent grin, ready to hoist you both back up.

so you know it’ll be fine.

swallowing down a bout of fresh laughter, like a flower unfurling in your chest, petals brushing against your ribcage, you give in. opting to bask in the moment, in his presence.

”yeah,” you puff out a chuckle, head slumping against satoru’s shoulder. he makes a little noise of approval, and your grin grows. ”it does.”

he doesn’t say anything. smiling, wordlessly, admiring the way the sun kisses up your collarbone. lighting up your face. and you bask in his warmth, how right it feels to be tucked into his side. how safe he feels, even now. how safe you make him feel.

you look at the man to your left, and he looks back at you, and that wonderful unnamed something unfurls inside your chest again. and, without having to speak it aloud, you know it will continue to do so.

many, many years later, he’ll still be satoru, and you’ll still be you. the distance between you will be what it always was; breachable.

and that will be enough.

[fangirl-dot-com]

🍾Track 5 - Don't Blame Me

*sorry for the delay folks! I made this chapter a little bit longer because you all have been so patient with me! I got my paper done and my teacher looked over it before I turned it in and she liked it! so I hope you all like this chapter! for Logan I am using Kimi during Lotus for his body claim and then for reader I am using Nico during Renault. the cars are going to be switching*

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

“And that is pole mate. Good job!” 

Logan was shaking as he took his cooldown lap around the track to get back to the pits. He was wondering if his radio was working correctly. 

“Did you say pole?” his voice shakily responded. 

“Yep! Great pace and congrats are in order.” 

He didn’t respond to that, still in disbelief. As he pulled the yellow and black car into Parc Ferme at the number 1 spot, his head whipped around. He let out a sigh in relief as his eyes landed on your own yellow car pulling into the number 2 spot. 

The blond went through his routine of turning off the engine and undoing the steering wheel before standing up and putting it back on. As he was bending down, he felt a slap to his back. Once the wheel had finally been placed in correctly, he turned in the direction of the hand. 

He could see your eyes crinkled through the opening of your visor as your hand clasped his. When he felt your glove, he finally recognized that this was not a dream and Logan was on pole for the first time in his career at the Bahrain Grand Prix. 

A flash of red also came up beside him and scrunched green eyes followed. 

“Mate, you were flying! Your time is so close to almost a one second gap!” he heard Charles say as the three of them took their helmets off so that they could be weighed. 

Logan let out a small laugh. “I was just driving.” 

You shook your head. “Just driving my ass. Lo, this is unbelievable.” 

The American turned his head to look at the other cars slowly pulling in. Max’s car was first in the line, signifying his P4 spot for tomorrow’s race. His face did not look happy as he took his own helmet off and glared at the stewards. Logan shrank in a bit at the sight of the angry Dutchman. When blue eyes met gray, Logan quickly turned his face to the side. 

“I think Max might be mad at me,” he muttered to you as you and Charles lined up for pictures. Charles sighed. 

“He’s not mad at you mate. He’s mad because they messed up their quali strategies. He was supposed to do three laps but they only let him do one.” 

Logan nodded his head and smiled for the flashing cameras. Once they were done and Charles went to be interviewed, Logan looked back at where the Dutchman had been. Only this time, Max was smiling wide as he looked at the two Lamborghini drivers. His hand waved them over. Logan nodded before making his way over to be interviewed after you were done.  

You had already found yourself conversing with Charles while Logan went over to Max. Logan was still a bit weary, but his fears melted once he was brought into a giant hug from the Red Bull driver. He sighed a bit and visibly deflated in hug. 

Once he pulled away, his eyes landed on some other familiar drivers that made his blood run cold. Alex and Oscar were looking at him like he just ran over their family dog and Lando had a murderous look in his eyes. 

Max saw the moment that Logan tensed. His gray eyes followed Logan’s line of sight and he sighed once he saw who he was looking at. He looked back to Logan. 

“He, dat is niet nodig. Negeer ze gewoon. Jij staat op pole en zij niet.” (Hey, there’s no need for that. Just ignore them. You’re on pole and they’re not.)

Logan sighed. “Waarschijnlijk eindig ik niet zoals altijd.” (I’ll probably just end up not finishing like always.) 

The Dutchman rolled his eyes. “Zeg dat niet. Je heb teen betere auto dan de meeste mensen op de baan. Laat ze niet bij je komen. Je bent een goede chauffeur.” (Don’t say that. You have a better car than most of the people on track. Don’t let them get to you. You’re a good driver.) 

Logan felt a bit better at the words being spoken to him. He was glad that he had begun to brush up on his Dutch so he wasn’t as rusty as he thought. He snorted as he looked at the other drivers’ wide eyes as they tried to look like they weren’t listening on their conversation. 

He looked over back at you and saw that you were pretending to tap a watch on your wrist. His eyes widened as the noticed the time. He turned to Max. 

“I got to go back to the garage. I think Y/n and I were going out to dinner tonight and you’re welcome to join if you want to. George and Lewis are also joining and she was supposed to ask Charles.”

Logan’s head turned back to you as he mentioned your name. Max smiled fondly at how he observed Logan looking at you. Hopefully, for Logan’s sake and mental health, you weren’t as oblivious as someone that was on the receiving end of his own glances. 

The American turned back to Max as he waited for the answer. The older man nodded. 

“Yeah, just text me the address and I’ll be there.” 

Max wished he would have said yes sooner, because the smile on Logan’s face practically rivaled the sun at the acceptance of a dinner invitation. 

“Great! I will see you there.” 

Logan gave the man a half hug before lightly jogging over to you. You saw the smile on Logan’s face as he got closer.

“Max said he can come to dinner,” Logan mentioned as the two of you began to walk to the garage. 

You smiled up at him. “Great because Charles also said that he can come as well. George and Lewis already have the address, and I made sure that the restaurant had vegan options before I gave them the location just in case we needed to change it or something.” 

Logan watched as you rattled on about the menu before he suddenly stopped as the two of you were in the hallway. Your brows pinched as you turned to your friend. 

“You ok Logs?” 

Logan’s face suddenly brightened as he pulled you into a hug. Although you were confused, your arms wrapped around his waist. He dug his face into the top of your head. 

“We’re P1 and P2 for tomorrow’s race,” he muttered. You let out a sigh of relief, thankful that his sudden stop wasn’t anything too serious. 

You pulled back just a bit to look him in the face. As you studied him a bit, you realized how close the two of you were. 

Had he always had those green flecks in his blue eyes? 

And had you always had that freckle near your top lip? 

Logan’s head was a bit bent as he stared down at you. He glanced around as he lightly licked his lips as they had gotten dry in the desert air. His eyes eventually met yours again. His forehead moved down to rest against yours and you were just enveloped in him. 

Logan. Logan. Logan. 

He took up too much space in your soul, but you didn’t want him to ever leave. 

Y/n. Y/n. Y/n. 

You had moved into Logan’s heart years ago and still didn’t pay rent. Good thing Logan wanted to keep you there as long as possible. 

“We’re late to debrief.” 

A groan escaped his lips as Logan finally let you go. The two of you entered the conference room still wrapped in each other’s arms. Marissa gave Michael a knowing smirk as the two of you sat down next to each other. 

The two of you were listening intently at the chosen strategies for tomorrow’s race. It would be a two-stopper with Logan being pitted first to keep the lead. However, if it seemed as though you were faster, you’d be granted the opportunity to race against him. 

You truly hope that you were slower. You wanted Logan to show everyone what he could truly do. 

Michael knew that the two of you wanted hotel rooms next to each other and that is exactly what he got. However, he warned that Williams was also going to be in the same hotel and to look out for Alex and James. You jokingly said that you probably wouldn’t see them, it was a big hotel. 

But now that you were in an awkward elevator ride with Logan, Alex, and James, you weren’t laughing. 

Alex had sighed as he pressed a button, keeping his eyes low. He didn’t even want to see what floor the two of you were going to. But, his curiosity got the best of him and his eyes widened when he saw the penthouse buttons pressed. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. 

Once Alex and James stepped off the elevator and the doors closed, you and Logan burst into a fit of giggles. You actually had to hold onto Logan to keep standing up straight. 

“Did you see Alex’s eyes when he noticed what floor we were going to?” you could hardly get out with all the giggles. 

“James looked like he wanted to die!” Logan helped you out of the elevator since you were still gasping for breath. 

“I can’t wait for the press conference when James and Michael are in the same one,” you giggled. “It might not be for a few races though. I think the FIA wants little to no drama.” 

Logan sighed as he jumped on the giant bed once he entered the room. It was so nice going from an itchy single bed to a bed that had sheets probably worth more than his first salary. And the smell was so much more fresh. The environment of the room just helped him relax. He’d be lying though if he said he wasn’t nervous about tomorrow. 

But that’s why they were going out to dinner tonight, just to get the edge of just a bit before going to bed. It always hurt Logan when he had to go to sleep after a full night of isolation and his own thoughts. 

His breath hitched in his throat when you showed him the dress you were wearing for the night. It was tight in all the right places, showing off your strong body. He was glad that you were so comfortable in your own skin, seeing as you were a bit more muscular and wider. But you had to be to do your job. And Logan would pick you any day over anyone. 

He let out a low whistle which made you blush under his gaze. You took one of the pillows and threw it at his head. 

“We’re going to be late if you don’t get ready now.” 

You only got an eye roll in response, but Logan rolled over and got off the bed. You knew he didn’t need a lot of time to get ready, but you wanted to get there early. It was your turn to whistle when Logan walked out in a button up and some slacks. 

Logan may have turned a shade of pink as he rolled his sleeves up and sprayed some cologne. He somewhat knew that he was attractive. But, he still couldn’t help but compare himself to people like Lando or Charles. 

You grabbed your purse as Logan put his phone and wallet into his pockets. You turned to pout at him. 

“Can you drive?” 

And how could Logan ever say no to your puppy eyes. He even opened the door for you at the hotel and at the restaurant. You rolled your eyes as you took his hand, slinging your legs over the door frame of the Urus. 

“And they say chivalry is dead.” 

Logan snorted as he led you to the front of the restaurant. It wasn’t anything fancy, but real wealth was silent, or whatever the filthy rich people said. 

The man shot a smile at the hostess, and you could see her visibly swoon. You may have felt some jealousy bubble inside your chest, but it went away when Logan’s hand slithered across your lower waist, pulling you into his side. 

If it were just the two of you, you would have molded yourself against him. But this was a public place and the main floor was filled. Logan knew this was a possibility and booked a private room, out of sight from any unwanted eyes. (Mainly, he heard that McLaren might host a dinner here and he did not want Oscar or Lando to ruin anything.) 

Funnily enough, the two of you were the first ones there. You took a look at your phone and read the messages from the four different guys that they were almost there.

Logan and you took the liberty to get some wine for the table. He almost wanted to be petty and order the most expensive wine possible, just to flaunt a bit, since now he had a salary that rivaled Charles’s or even George’s. Eight figures would do that to a person. But he knew that you liked a more simpler wine when eating food. You claimed it helped the dishes taste better, since your tongue wouldn’t be doused with thick wine. 

The waiter had just come back with the bottle, when the same hostess opened the sliding doors, revealing Max, Charles, Lewis, and George. You smiled at them. 

“Did you four all drive together?” 

Max looked a bit sheepish. “Apparently we’re staying at the same hotel, so we just carpooled.” 

“Ah.” 

Since you and Logan were already sitting next to each other (definitely for moral support), the rest filled in the round five seater. Charles took a place by you, followed by George and Lewis. Max sat on the other side of Logan. 

Charles immediately looked at the menu. “I’ve never been here, but the dishes look fantastic.” 

It also helped that there was a plethora of Italian dishes. 

“I’ve been here once, like two years ago,” you said before taking a sip of wine. “We, uh Arrow, came to watch the opener since Pato was wanting to start training to be a reserve. I was told that there was a price limit. The limit they gave me didn’t even cover one dish. To my surprise, everyone was able to get what they wanted.” 

Lewis looked at you with a pity smile. You waved your hand. 

“It was fine in the end. I eventually left, took one of their new Mercedes, and drove to I think Burger King.” 

George almost spit his drink out at the story. Lewis smirked. 

“Sounds like something my teammate would do. And it would probably be my car he would steal.” 

“Hey!” 

It wasn’t long before the same waiter came to take the numerous orders. Knowing that everyone had a race the next morning, the dishes were light and protein packed. Lewis was delighted to see that there were many options for vegan dishes. 

Towards the end of the meal, the guys asked for the check, not seeing that Logan had already asked for it ahead. He smirked as he quietly slipped his card into the booklet and handed it back. The hostess was nice as she explained that it had already been paid for. 

“Mate,” Charles started before Logan held his hand up. 

“It’s fine. Not like it’ll do anything to the checking account you know?” 

You smirked behind your cup. 

Max also had a grin. “You have big boy money now? How much were they paying you at Williams compared to Lamborghini?” 

Logan’s eyes looked up slightly as he mentally did the math. 

“So Williams ended my salary at 1 million, so,” he winced a bit, “Andretti upped it to 30 million, give or take.” 

You huffed. “At least you made it into the millions with Williams. Arrow was paying me around nine-hundred-thousand dollars.” 

George asked, “How much were the other drivers making?” 

“O’Ward was paid around 4 million.” 

Logan’s head whipped to you. “They were paying you that little?” 

You only shrugged, really not wanting to talk about your time with Arrow. “It’s fine. I’m getting paid the same amount at Logan so I’m good.” 

Around 9 p.m., Max mentioned that they should head back to the hotel. You and Logan agreed. However, as you walked out, your eyes caught familiar people. You scoffed and kept walking. Everyone looked in the direction that your head had been and also saw the big table full of the McLaren team, including Pato and David. 

Seeing your reaction, they just kept on walking. 

You’d show them tomorrow at the race how much they fumbled. 

Arrow and Williams needed to realize that they lost the best things that they. 

The next morning, you and Logan were there bright and early to go over last minute things. Logan also definitely found out that he has a staring problem, because his eyes could not leave you as you talked to one of your mechanics. 

It was nice to see you in your environment. Logan was also very happy with mechanics and a team that actually listened to what he said and suggested. Williams never did that. 

Logan felt peace as he sat in the car, waiting to get on the track. He had never felt like this at Williams. He always felt on edge, like one mess up and he’d be replaced midseason. Maybe if they didn’t put so much pressure on him, he wouldn’t have messed up so many times. 

He knew that he could drive well. 

“Just remember Logan, Y/n is going to help create a gap. No pressure, just smooth and clear driving,” his engineer Elio said over the radio. He had been thankful for the older man. He kind of reminded him of kind uncle. Not too old to be a grandpa, but older than Logan by almost 20 years. 

“Copy. Are we ready to go?” 

“Lights out in 5.” 

Logan inhaled deeply as he flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. 

“And it’s lights out and away we go for the 2024 Bahrain Grand Prix! Logan Sargeant maintains the lead at turn 1, his teammate right behind him. Max Verstappen gets ahead of Charles Leclerc but Leclerc is not going to give up. Oh! What is going on in the back! 

It looks like both McLarens have taken each other out at turn 2! Alex Albon has dropped two places and now resides in P17 with teammate Theo in P18. 

Sargeant is going into turn 3 and is still ahead with his teammate out of the DRS zone.”

“Ok Logan, it’s a virtual safety car. Keep pace nice and steady.” 

“Who was it?” 

Elio sighed before responding. “Both McLarens are out, debris is being cleared. Safety car ending in 1 lap.” 

Logan wanted to laugh so much on the radio. What were the odds of both McLarens getting out before the first lap of the race. 

Karma was Logan’s bitch. 

The race remained pretty uneventful after the virtual safety car was lifted. You did an amazing job maintaining pace with Charles gaining and then falling back. It seemed like he was toying with you, but your car was slower on the corners and his car was slower on the straights. It balanced out perfectly. 

It was nerve wracking when your engineers decided to call both you and Logan into the pits at the same time for a double stack.

However, people should have never doubted at you and Logan both had pit stops under 2.5 seconds each, letting the two of you keep the lead that you built. You had come out behind some drivers, but they hadn’t pitted at all. 

The Lamborghini garage erupted with cheers as you and Logan got closer to the end, still in a respectable 1-2. 

“LOGAN SARGEANT WINS THE BAHRAIN GRAND PRIX, FIRST OF HIS CAREER! AND Y/N L/N BRINGS IT HOME WITH A 1-2 FOR THE LAMBORGHINI-ANDRETTI RACING TEAM! 

“I know that Michael and Tonino are very happy with this driver set up. 

“Charles Leclerc crosses the line with the checker flag in P3 after an intense battle of his own with Verstappen who finishes in P4.”  

Logan stood on the nose of his car and just screamed as he hunched over. Every emotion was piling on him and this was the only way of escape. When he was finished, he was pulled down into your waiting arms. The two of you couldn’t help but jump up and down and just congratulate each other. 

Charles and Max watched with fond eyes (and maybe cringed when the two of you wouldn’t break eye contact – because they were thinking Is that how we look?). 

The smile on Logan’s face could not be wiped off as he stood in the middle of you and Charles for pictures. It never left as he was being interviewed by Nico Rosberg. 

“Logan how are you feeling right now?” 

He was a bit speechless, but he was able to formulate a sentence. 

“Well, it’s just phenomenal, what the team did. I knew I was breaking some hearts of the fans when I couldn’t give them the results that I wanted to give them. Last year, I kind of felt like a play thing for everyone to use, because I just kept being let down.” 

Nico put a hand on his shoulder. “Well, I certainly hope that is not the case for this year?” 

Logan shook his head. “Not at all. Andretti came to me like some paradise in the darkest part of my life. It just took me a minute to realize that I just needed them, a good team. I’d cross the line for them, figuratively and literally. Just hoping that if I do, my lap times won’t be deleted.” 

The German through his head back and laughed at the metaphor. Logan was able to chuckle as well. You quickly switched with Logan after he was done. 

This year, they did interviews a bit different and let the race winner go first, followed by runner up and P3. 

“Y/n, my my my, that was outstanding with how you built the gap. Mind telling us how you did that?” 

You brought the microphone to your lips. 

“Well, Nico, it felt like I was wasting my time a bit, and losing my mind, just because it was just me in my little space. Charles and Max really kept me on my toes for the first half, but after the pit stop the gap just kept increasing.” 

The blond man smiled at your confession. “You definitely look like you had a good race though.”  

You nodded. “Of course. I’ve been told that I get this wild look in my eyes, but racing is just fun for me to do and I love it. I think with some of my initial moves, they were a bit more defensive than what I would like. I know some people are going to be like ‘she’s gone too far this time.’ But in the end, it’s just racing. Charles and I had a great time and Max at the beginning. It was perfect.” 

The podium was also the symbol of perfection. For the first time in decades, you got to hear the Star Spangled Banner play before the Italian anthem followed. You saw as Charles swayed back and forth and sang with it, a big smile on his face. 

Who doesn’t like the Italian national anthem? 

When the champagne came, it was a mess. Charles decided to go after you, and you went after Logan, who tried his best to spray the two of you back. While Charles went to spray his team below, Logan stopped right next to you. 

His blue eyes met yours and quickly darted to your lips that were sticky with the bubbly. 

He leaned down and whispered, “Don’t blame me, I’m about to do something crazy.” 

Logan didn’t wait for your reply and cut the distance between the two of you. You were shocked but quickly registered the feeling of his lips on yours. Your eyes immediately closed as you kissed back. 

Michael, who had gone up to receive the constructor’s trophy, quickly leaned over the rail. 

“Marissa, you owe me!” he shouted, making the Lamborghini team laugh. Many of them knew of the bet between the two siblings. 

Everyone else was shocked as the two of you were lost in your own little world. Well, you were lost until Charles came back over and dumped the rest of his champagne bottle on your heads. You quickly parted to spray him back. This time, the Ferrari driver was soaked as you and Logan attacked him. 

When the three of you stood for the picture, you on Logan’s left, Michael on his right, with Charles the other side of Michael. Your head got closer to Logan’s ear as you all smiled. 

“You’re crazy Logan Sargeant,” you whispered. 

Logan turned to face you, his bright smile back on his lips. 

“I’m not doing love right if it doesn’t make me crazy.” 

At the top, Logan missed the dark and pained looks of three drivers. Two in orange and one in blue. They all looked lonely in the sea of yellow and black. 

At the top, however, it wasn’t lonely. Logan had all that he needed. 

lamborghini_racing has posted

lamborghini_racing happy drivers, happy boss, happy 1-2 🥳

liked by dior, lewishamilton, logangirlie, and 5,204,295 others

lambo_duo AYO THAT'S MY TEAM

papa_tonino grazie a tutti! grande gara! 💛🖤

venus2 grazie mr. tonino! glad we could bring it home first for you!

logangirlie when I say slay, I mean SLAYYYYY 💅

lambo&co GUYS ARE WE JUST GOING TO SKIP THE PODIUM KISS???????

y/n_95 I think I cried a bit when I watched it - they really said childhood friends to lovers

formulala_delulu ngl that 1-2 was sexy. Logan leading by 15+ seconds with y/n in her own untouchable little world

lestappenlove Charles looked like he was going through a crisis when y/n and long wouldn't stop looking at each other in Parc Ferme

verstappenleclerc ikr - he was probably wondering if that's what he and Max look like

bee_lamborghini I just need every race to be like this one

venus2 has posted

venus2 if you aren't crazy then you ain't doin it right 🖤🍾

liked by charles_leclerc, logangirlie, logang2, and 2,048,175 others

American_f1 IT HAD BEEN TOO LONG SINCE THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER WAS PLAYED 🇺🇸

Logan.nation guys, I'm so proud of him. he really defied all the odds and showed them what they gave away! happy driver of the day as well Logan!

lambo_duo the pics go hard 🔥

phoenix95 proud of youuuuuuu 🥳❤️

venus2 i see you've taken Charles's class on instagram comments

charles_leclerc I taught my child well ☺️

lewishamilton your child 🤨

charles_leclerc *our child

loscar_no_more this was amazing (especially after you know who dnf-ed)

my_goat_logan the group picture on the podium was so wholesome

bennys_back DID ANYONE NOTICE BENNY CRYING WHILE HE WATCHED LOGAN?????

phoenix95 has posted

phoenix95 I'll be usin for the rest of my lifeeeee 🐝

liked by armani, georgerussell63, y/n.nation, and 2,105,893 others

y/ns_world the helmet is peak (the inverted) >>>>>

charlie&y/n she really is Charles's daughter

leclerc_line so we have y/n, the oldest, ollie the middle brother, and Leo as the youngest

shark_leclerk except y/n is also Lewis's kid, Ollie and Leo are Max's

venus2 again with the caption?

phoenix95 yes, and?

venus2 ☹️

maxverstappen1 @.charles_leclerc and @.lewishamilton - your kid made mine and George's kid sad

georgerussell63 put her in timeout 🫵

phoenix95 we're good now (I gave him another kiss)

maxverstappen1 DIDN'T NEED TO KNOW

y/n.nation expert masterclass from y/n today!

lambo_duo her driving is a symbol of perfection!

venus&phoenix the duo we didn't know we needed

landonorris has posted

landonorris definitely not what we wanted today, but we'll keep pushing 👊

liked by oscarpiastri, lando4norris, lannoLN4, and 1,204,295 others

lando_no_rizz you'll get back to it in Jeddah

loscar_no_more hmmmm maybe you're just not fit for f1?

logan2sargeant BYE 💀

ln4 next race is where it's at 👊

logangirlie karma at its finest

mclarengoldenboy head up lando, that win is coming!! 🏆

verstappen33 don't worry about lambo, they'll fall apart soon

bee_lamborghini make sure your drivers finish the race before you say something ☺️

norris4ever let's go lando!

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @myxticmoon @cherry-piee @blueberry64857959 @glitterquadricorn @lizzypiastri @disneyprincemuke @sam-is-lost @spilled-coffee-cup @ilove-tswizzle @the-untamed-soul @allenajade-ite @starssfall @torchbearerkyle @judespoision @halfdeadsage @juniper-july19 @severewobblerlightdragon @thatgirlmj @gods-menace @ineedafictionalman @namgification @dark-night-sky-99 @samantha-chicago @2pagenumb @treehouse-mouse @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @kagatinkita @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @awekbachira @vellicora @skepvids @sunrizef1 @stan-josie @fanficweasley @hiireadstuff @barcelonaloverf1life @c-losur3 @graciewrote @bruhhhhhhhhehhhhhhh @tallrock35 @ashy-kit @kat-s2 @minkyungseokie @lozzamez3 @leslieis-crying @adventuresofrose @lighttsoutlewis

[catabasis]

To come home.

[calmingthoughtsinyourhead]

The only unrealistic part about The Poison Sky is that we didn’t see Donna casually telling Ten

“if you flirt with that poor girl one more time, i’m breaking both your legs, bestie”

[hairmetal666]

By the grace of Robin Buckley, Steve gets into college.

She's his first real friend and it's because he knows her, loves her, learned to be a better person from her, that he's able to smile politely and take the hand of his new roommate. His long-haired, tattooed, dressed in all black roommate, who has already put up dark and menacing posters of bands Steve has never heard of and a bedsheet banner with the words "Corroded Coffin" painted on the fabric.

"Eddie Munson," his roommate says.

"Steve Harrington."

"Good to meet you, roomie." Eddie smiles so big it makes dimples pop. It's a good look. "Parents on the way with the rest of your stuff?"

"Oh, er--just me, actually."

Eddie's smile doesn't waiver. "Need some help?"

Normally, Steve would say no, but he just spent the last hour unloading Robin's stuff. "That would be great, thanks."

So, they work together to get Steve moved in, and as they work, he learns more about his roommate. He is a weirdo, an oddball, fundamentally strange, but Steve can't help but be charmed.

Eddie puts on music, something aggressive with loud guitars and drums, and Steve unpacks. He pulls out a picture of himself with the kids during one of their game nights, displaying it carefully on his desk.

"Wait," his new roommate says. "You? And the dnd children?"

Steve laughs. "They're the kids I babysit. You play that nerd game?"

Eddie's nose wrinkles. Something in the back of Steve's mind notes that it's cute. "Nerd game? Dnd is So. Much. More. It's--it's storytelling and strategy and--" Eddie stops, blinking at Steve. "You're fucking with me, aren't you?"

"Little bit," Steve smiles.

"I can't believe you know dnd. That you babysit nerds. You look like such a jock," Eddie shakes his head in disbelief.

"I am a jock," Steve agrees. "And I love those dorky little shitheads. I tolerate the game."

"Steve Harrington. You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Guess so." The smiles they share are wide and sweet, bringing out Eddie's dimples in way that makes Steve long to touch.

After that, they're inseparable. Robin and Eddie and Steve. They study, eat, go to parties, hangout; anything, as long as they're together.

---

Three weeks into the semester, as Steve gets dressed after swim practice, he pulls a shirt out of his bag that doesn't belong to him. It's a black tee, Metallica logo front and center. He chuckles, puts it on. It's soft from wear and smells of laundry detergent and Eddie--cigarettes and leather and some kind of sweet musk. The scent puts him at immediate ease.

He meets Robin and Eddie for lunch. They were early, already have their food and seats, so he walks over to drop off his backpack. Eddie gives him a bright, dimpled smile, but within seconds his mouth is falling open a little, the tips of his ears turning bright red.

"You alright, man?" Steve asks.

Eddie startles, grabs his cup, jamming the straw into his mouth to chew at the plastic."You're--my shirt?" he says.

"Oh, shit. Sorry. Grabbed it by accident. I'll wash it for you."

His roommate flushes pink. "N--no, you don't have to worry about it."

He wants to question Eddie further--he's being so weird--but Robin interrupts. "Dingus! Go get food. Hurry up!"

He does as he's told, but when he comes back, Eddie is even redder than before, and Robin has a wide smirk across her face.

"What is going on with you two?" He asks as he puts his tray down.

Neither of them answer, andEddie launches into a passionate re-telling of some music student drama, so Steve let's himself be distracted.

---

It's mid-October and Steve's coming home from the gym, the one place that Robin and Eddie refuse to accompany him. As he nears his room, he hears music. It's not heavy metal, but something soft and slow and acoustic.

He tries to be quiet as he unlocks the door and enters, doesn't want to disturb Eddie, doesn't want him to stop playing. He never practices when Steve is home, says he doesn't want to be a bother with the noise.

Eddie's sitting on his bed, guitar in hand. There's a battered notebook open next to him, a pencil held between his teeth. He hums a bit, pauses to jot something down, and goes back to playing.

He looks beautiful, Steve thinks, bent over his guitar.

Steve is just about to announce himself when Eddie stops playing again. He writes something in the notebook before resting his head in his head. "Pathetic, Munson. Get it together," he mutters.

"Hi!" Steve says. It startles Eddie, who jumps and almost drops the guitar.

"Stevie!" Eddie stumbles to his feet. "I--uh--you're home!" His face is crimson.

"You're really good, man," Steve says. "I'd love to hear more sometime."

"Uh-huh, uh-huh," Eddie nods his head, grabbing for the notebook and slamming it closed. "Sure thing." He stuffs his feet into his Reeboks. "I gotta--I gotta go. Back soon."

Eddie stumbles out their door, notebook clenched firmly in hand.

He is so weird.

---

In mid-November, Robin gets invited to a party by a cute girl. They all go.

Steve isn't trying to hook up. He hasn't slept with anyone since they started school, too caught up with Robin and Eddie. But there's a girl, wavy brown curls and wide green eyes (he has the fleeting thought that they should be deep brown, that it's wrong that they aren't), and she's smiling at him.

Flirting with her is easy.

He doesn't know what breaks his concentration, but he turns to face the rest of the room, eyes falling on Eddie. Eddie who is watching him, his deep brown eyes swimming with hurt, with anger.

It sends a shock of pure panic up his spine. "Eddie!"

Eddie turns on his heel, disappearing in the crowd. Steve follows, but by the time he navigates through the partygoers, his roommate is nowhere to be found. He hurries back to their dorm, heart pounding in his ears, mouth dry.

It's dark in the room, though, and for a second he thinks Eddie isn't home, after all. But he turns on the light, illuminates the rigid lump under Eddie's quilt.

"Eddie?" Steve says, voice soft.

He doesn't respond, though Steve can tell he's awake. He tries again, but Eddie curls deeper under his covers.

Steve spends the night wondering what he did to hurt Eddie so bad.

---

They're back to normal after Thanksgiving. Steve is so relieved he doesn't even ask.

They stay up all night every night studying for finals. By the time Steve's last test rolls around, he's giddy and frantic. He grabs his textbook, shoves a notebook into his backpack, gets to the English building with just enough time to take a last look at his notes.

Only, he flips the notebook open and it's not his English notes. It's song lyrics.

Steve should close it. Put it back in his backpack. It's private. But he's already reading the lyrics written there. They're sexy. The song's about a guy, one Eddie seems to be totally gone for.

A line catches his eye, "need you on every surface in our room." He reads it again and again until the only thing he can see is the phrase, "our room." His whole body is warm, heat pooling, and he's chubbing up in his jeans in the middle of his English class.

Steve flips the pages, anything to get his mind off of that song, and that's when it hits him like a ton of bricks. All those weird moments--the t-shirt, the song, Steve flirting with a girl-- Eddie likes him.

Steve wants to rush to the dorm, wants to confess everything, even starts to stand, but--he has a final to take.

He makes himself close the notebook, but catches sight of another song as he does. It's a love song. It's plaintive and yearning and wanting. And every lyric is for him, about him, about things they did together. It's also unfinished, breaking off mid-way through the second verse.

He doesn't know how he missed it before, but as the professor hands out the test paper, Eddie is all he can think of.

---

When he finally gets back to the room, he finds Eddie's frantic, hair frizzed around his skull. All his bedding is on the floor, the drawers of his wardrobe pulled open.

"Eddie?" Steve asks.

"Have you seen my notebook?"

"What?" Steve's heart drops.

"The black one? It's kind of beaten up?"

"I--uh, yeah. Sorry, Eds. Accidentally grabbed it on my way to class." He pulls his backpack from his shoulder, unzipping it.

"Did you--did you read it?" Eddie's voice shakes, his face painfully red.

Steve doesn't know what to say, what to do. He wants Eddie. Has for a long time, just hadn't been able to put it together. And he doesn't know how to fix what's spiraling out between them.

"Eddie," he says. Can think of nothing else, hopes his desperation is clear in his voice. "Please." He closes the distance between them, slowly, carefully. Cups Eddie's chin in his hand.

They stare at each other, Eddie's eyes wide with shock. Steve can feel the other man's breath on his face, smell the tobacco and sweet musk scent of him.

"Every surface of our room, huh?" Steve asks.

Eddie's cheeks flush. He turns away, bashful. "Something like that."

"And if I want it too?" Steve whispers.

The words hang between them for several beats, before they both move to close the lingering distance between them. Their mouths slip together, like it's nothing, like they do this all the time. Steve grasps at Eddie's curls, fists a hand into his t-shirt, totally lost to the rhythm of the kiss, the easy slip of Eddie's tongue in his mouth.

Eventually, the come up for air, both pink cheeked and panting.

"You're full of surprises, Steve Harrington." Eddie breathes.

"Just wait," Steve smirks, moves in to nip at Eddie's bottom lip. "We have so many surfaces."

[turtleofthehollow]

You know what? I'm just gonna throw this out there

What if the reason Alastor gets along with Rosie so well is because she reminds him of his mom?

[spliceyblues]

Glorious Masquerade drawings I made part 1

Ft @dibbledoodle 's TWST oc Dibs :3 HI BESTIE I drew the gals 😈

[adharastarlight]

Reg: i refrained from killing multiple people today

Rem: well done. why?

Reg: they were being loud - oh, you mean, why didnt i?

Rem: obviously

Reg: there were too many witnesses

James and Sirius are watching their boyfriends with heart eyes in mild fear