#I have to be vague with what I’m talking about to get past the feds hopefully people pick up the context clues

[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!

[casterhex]

might be pedantic and i might be wrong about this but i keep seeing people joking/being confused about the references to “self awareness” in the journal entries that get posted, the discrepancy being if there was an ounce of self awareness on display we wouldn’t be reading them. we can all agree that “self awareness” here doesn’t mean “self reflection” right? i get the sense it’s referring to a particular form of alienation where it feels like you’re aware of something everyone else isn’t because you don’t view them as being able to understand the pain you’re experiencing. or even just the fallacy that suffering means you're more enlightened than everybody else because you feel hyper-aware of your thoughts and the world all the time. see also references to zombies.

[badkitty3000]

there wouldnt be any way u wld write a slightly sub five fic like you did with him and vivi? .... :)))

Ask and you shall receive! In this one, you and Five are working as trained assassins and you're not exactly happy with him. Enjoy! 😽

Coercion

Five x Reader One-shot, 5,202 words

Warnings: Smut, light bondage (very light), light dom/sub, oral sex

If Five noticed your silent treatment on the drive over to the crappy motel, he hadn’t let on. You waited with increasing irritation as he took his sweet time getting the room key out and opening the door. If you weren’t set on not talking to him, you would have not-so-gently reminded him that he didn’t need a damn key in the first place, but you let him struggle instead. Once he opened the door for you, you pushed past him and threw your bag and rifle case on the one sad and saggy double bed in the room. You crossed your arms over your chest, looking around with a scowl.

“This place is a dump.”

Five shrugged, setting his own bags down on the floor and shrugging his suit jacket off before placing it on the back of the one chair provided.

“It’s not great, I’ll admit, but could be worse.”

His casual tone told you he had not, indeed, picked up on your anger. As you stood there, glaring daggers in his direction, he finally looked up and had the nerve to act surprised.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

You put your hands on your hips. “You want to tell me what the hell that was back there?”

Five balked, the innocent look on his face aggravating you even more. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

With a loud huff, you turned to start unpacking your bag. “Of course you don’t.”

There was a pause and then Five sighed. “Well, are you going to tell me what you’re mad about, or do I have to start guessing?”

“You seriously don’t know?” you asked, spinning to face him.

He shook his head, putting his hands in his pockets in that way that told you he was starting to get fed up with your passive-aggressiveness. “No, I seriously don’t know.”

You gestured in the vague direction of the door, indicating the outside world you’d just come in from. “Out there. When you literally pushed me out of the way and took my shot.”

Five rolled his eyes and sighed. “That? You’re mad about that?”

“You knocked me on the ground!”

“I helped you back up,” he said with a smirk.

You made a frustrated growling noise and clenched your fists together. “That’s not the point! You’re supposed to be my partner! You’re supposed to support me! I had the fucking shot!”

Five hung his head and then looked back up with a grin that you immediately wanted to smack off his face. He walked over to you and placed his hands on your shoulders, cocking his head to the side in a condescending way.

“As your long-suffering partner, of course I support you 100%. But I’m not going to sit there and watch you make an error that could get you or both of us killed.”

You scowled up at him and shook yourself free from his grasp. “That’s a bunch of horse shit and you know it! I had that shot set up perfectly. Just because you can’t handle a little competition does not mean you get to just shove me out of the way like that.”

He sighed heavily and rolled his eyes again. “You did not have it set up perfectly. You would have missed.”

“I would not have,” you spat back between clenched teeth.

“With the way you were aiming and the fact that you hadn’t accounted for wind trajectory and velocity, you absolutely would have missed.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Of course, I factored in the wind trajectory! What do you think I am, a moron?”

“Of course I don’t. Stop being so dramatic.”

“That’s it,” you snapped, turning back to your bag on the bed. “I’ve had enough. I’m asking for a new partner when we get back.”

“Oh, is that right? You’re just going to waltz in there and ask for a new partner?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Because whoever else they can pair me up with has to be better than someone that can’t possibly admit when they’re wrong.”

“Uh-huh,” Five nodded. “You going to ask for a new husband, too, while you’re at it?”

“Maybe I will!”

“I don’t think that’s how that works, darling.”

A few seconds passed and you felt his arms wrap around your middle from behind. He rubbed his face into your hair and kissed your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said, not in the least bit convincingly, and you could feel the smile on his face.

“I don’t think you are.”

He moved your hair away from your neck and kissed the side. “I’m so very, very sorry. And if you come join me in the shower, I can show you how sorry I am.”

You closed your eyes and held your breath for a few seconds before letting it out in a loud exhale. He always knew how to get to you. And how to make you weak for him. But this time you were not going to give in. You were still too pissed.

“No, thank you,” you responded brusquely.

You felt that smirk against your neck again, before he moved down to your collarbone, using his teeth to very gently scrape across it over your shirt. Your mouth pressed together in a straight line as you tried not to give in.

“Please, sweetheart. You know you can’t stay mad at me,” Five mumbled against your neck. “Especially when I saved your life.”

“RAHHH!” You yelled, turning around so quickly that Five stumbled backward in surprise. “You did not save my life or anyone else’s! I had the shot!”

Five ran a hand down his face. “Ok, honey, you had the shot. I clearly don’t know what I’m talking about. Can we move on?”

As you stared at him with rage, you had to remind yourself that you really did love him. He was your husband after all, and it’s not like this is the first time his arrogance had created a rift between you two. And he was right when he said you couldn’t stay mad at him. You knew damn well it was just a matter of hours (probably less) before you’d give in and he’d have you on your back, moaning and crying for him, after accepting his half-ass apology and letting him make it up to you. Because, fuck, he really did know how to make you forget why you were mad at him in the first place.

Even though you were not ready to forgive him quite yet, you couldn’t help looking over his body, and the way that tailored suit fit him just right. Other married couples you knew had lost that lust for each other over the years. But not you two. It was usually part of your work routine to come back to your shithole motel after a day of hard-earned assassinations, and not be able to get one another’s clothes off fast enough. There was something about a loud and rough post-kill fuck that neither of you could get enough of.

You saw that flicker of amusement behind his eyes and a tiny bit of a smirk at the corner of his mouth, and you decided you really were still mad at him. But that anger was turning into something else. Something you could possibly use to your advantage.

Taking a few steps forward, you grabbed his tie in your fist and pulled him roughly into you. “We can absolutely move on. But here’s the thing. I’m still not buying your apology, so you can drop that little act. I do, however, have a way you can make it up to me.”

Five smiled. “And what’s that, love?”

“Get on the bed and I’ll show you.” You tugged harder on his tie. “Now.”

Five raised an eyebrow. He was not used to being ordered around in the bedroom, or anywhere else, for that matter. He did the ordering. You waited to see his reaction.

You could see the wheels turning in his head, trying to figure out if he wanted to play along or counter with his own demands. And truth be told, you’d probably give in immediately if he took charge like usual.

He gave a small nod of assent and you let go of the tie. He sat on the side of the bed and waited for you to direct him.

“Lie down,” you instructed.

Five did as he was told, lying down on the bed, stretched out on his back. That small, smart-ass smile was creeping back again and it was only fueling your desire to dominate him.

You shoved the bag and your gear off the bed and climbed on. You were still dressed in your own matching suit, although yours was fitted and tailored for a woman. Your shoes were kicked off and you threw your blazer to the side and ripped off your tie. Then you straddled Five’s thighs and looked down on him with an overly sweet smile.

“You are all mine, now. Isn’t that right, darling?” you said, using his usual pet name for you.

Five paused but nodded slowly again. “Yes.”

“And you’re going to let me use you however I want to, right?”

His eyebrows creased together and his mouth opened partially. You figured this would be where he would protest. To your surprise, he didn’t. “Yes,” he agreed.

“Such a good boy,” you praised, cocking your head to the side. “But, you know…I just don’t trust you. I think I need a little more assurance that you’re going to stay put.” You dropped the fake smile. “Hands over your head.”

Five hesitated only for a second before he stretched his arms over his head so that his hands were close to the headboard. You scooted your body up a little and grabbed his tie, unknotting it and pulling it out from the collar of his shirt. Wrapping the tie around his wrists and securing it to the headboard, you made sure to make the knot extra tight. You knew, of course, that Five had the same training you did and could easily get out of his restraint. Not to mention his handy superpowers that meant he was nearly impossible to imprison.

He pulled against the tie, but it was secure. He shook his head. “You do have amazing knot-tying skills, my love, but you do know I can just blink out of this, right?”

Of course you knew that, but you just looked down on him with an amused smile. “I don’t think you’ll be doing that.”

“And why not?”

“Because if you do, then you’re not going to be getting anywhere near this pussy tonight. And I know that’s what you’re dying for.”

You gave a little push against his groin while you were straddling him and he groaned quietly.

“So, here’s how this is going to go. You’re going to do everything I say. I get to decide when you’re going to eat me and if or when I’m going to use that big cock of yours. And I don’t really care how you get off, but you better make sure I come first. Understand?”

“Yes,” Five said softly, licking his lips.

With your thighs still hugging either side of his waist, you started to unbutton your shirt, exposing your tits that were spilling over the white lace bra you were wearing. You knew Five loved this bra. He had picked it out for you. And he liked you in white because he liked knowing his assassin wife was dressed like an angel underneath her blood-stained clothes. You were a ruthless killer, just like him, but he knew the real you. Inside you were pure and you loved him unconditionally.

You were still going to torture the hell out of him, though.

Throwing your shirt off to the side, you let him have a good look at you while you ran your hands up your sides and onto your breasts. You squeezed them together and rubbed the tips of your fingers over your hardened nipples. You looked him directly in the eyes and traced your bottom lip with your tongue. Five groaned and you felt his dick come to life under you. When you ground down onto him, he let out another gravelly noise and pushed his hips up; his cock becoming fully hard.

You leaned down and kissed his mouth, pausing to bite at his bottom lip with your teeth before pulling away. His breath began to quicken as you unbuttoned his white dress shirt, tugging the bottom out of his pants and opening it to reveal his chiseled torso. You made a soft whimpering sound and slid the palms of your hands down his chest, over his stomach, and down to his waist. Your hair brushed over his skin as you leaned down to place a line of teasing kisses down his body, starting at his neck and traveling down to his navel. You could taste the salt from his skin and smell his familiar scent that you couldn’t get enough of.

“Oh, Five…do you know how hot you are? The things I want to do to you?”

“Do anything you want. I’m all yours, sweetheart,” he breathed out.

You gave a small shake of your head, like you couldn’t believe he was already acting up for you, and then placed a light slap onto his cheek. “No talking unless I say so. Just lay there and look pretty for me, ok honey?”

Five gave a short laugh, but he shut up and didn’t say anything else. He shifted his body under you and you gave him a squeeze with your thighs. He was all laid out there for you, shirt open and his hands tied behind his head. Usually, you would be the one pinned underneath him, writhing in anticipation. Now things were totally in your control.

After one more aggressive roll of your hips into his, you climbed off the bed to undress yourself the rest of the way. Five watched each movement you made and when you were down to just your white, sheer panties that matched your bra, you smiled when he pulled at the tie again in frustration.

You liked to tease him, but you also had a few other plans in mind, and for that, you needed to be fully nude. Making sure he was watching closely, you shimmied out of your panties and stripped your bra off. Once you were naked, with Five practically salivating at the sight of you, you climbed back on top of him.

You rubbed yourself against his hard cock, trapped beneath the fine material of his dress pants. The firm bulge slid between your legs, adding a delicious amount of friction as you rocked your hips against him a few times. Five closed his eyes and let out a low groan.

“So hard for me already.” You pushed yourself down and he grunted. “I like that.” You tilted your head to the side as you continued to work him over, letting him watch as you humped his clothed cock; grinding down until you were sure it was a mixture of pleasure and pain for him. He hissed through gritted teeth and closed his eyes.

Taking a little bit of pity on the poor old man, and also not wanting to risk the chance that he may just come in his pants, you stopped gyrating on top of him. You moved down a little so that you could have access to the fly of his pants. You slowly unzipped his fly before shoving your hand in, cupping his balls through his boxers, and rubbing your palm over his erection. He was clearly trying to restrain himself, but you could see the way he desperately wanted more. His hips pushed up into your hand as he swallowed hard and sucked in a loud breath.

Five’s head fell back as you pulled his pants and underwear off, leaving them in a pile on the floor with the rest of your clothes. He was left in just his open dress shirt and nothing else, his arms stretched over his head and his hands bound to the headboard. It was the sexiest fucking sight you’d ever seen.

You were on top of him again, this time avoiding the urge to rub yourself on his dick, even though it was tempting as hell. But you wanted him to squirm a little bit more. Instead, you leaned down and kissed him roughly on the mouth, tangling your hand in his hair and pulling hard. Your tongue slipped inside and you sucked at his lips, devouring him. When you gave a severe bite to his lower lip, he winced and jerked against his restraints. You dragged your tongue across, licking up the few drops of blood that had seeped out. Your breath was ragged and loud as you sat back again.

“Sorry, baby,” you breathed out. “I got a little carried away because you’re just so fucking gorgeous. You ok?”

Five looked up at you, breathing hard as one side of his mouth turned up, accentuating the dimple on the side of his cheek. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, licking at the blood, and nodded.  

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Good. Because I have plans for that beautiful mouth of yours.”

With that as your warning, you crept up his body until his face was between your legs. On your knees, you grabbed onto the top of the headboard. He couldn’t hold onto you, or adjust his body too much underneath you, but you lowered yourself until you could feel his hot mouth against your wet and aching sex.

Five knew what you liked and how you liked it. He knew how to work you over with his lips and tongue. He moaned into you as he dragged his warm tongue up through your slit, tasting all of you. You whined loudly as you tipped your head back, closing your eyes. Everything felt so damn good; his tongue flicking at your clit, the warm wetness of his mouth as it completely engulfed you, and the stubble from his five o’clock shadow scratching your inner thighs. It was hard to hold back. You wanted to push down harder and start riding his face. As you grasped onto the headboard, you let out a high-pitched noise of frustrated restraint, allowing yourself to thrust onto him a few times before letting up again. After all, you didn’t want to suffocate the poor man. But fuck, it was incredible, and he was slowly driving you insane.

Five hummed, the noise muffled by the constant grinding of your dripping cunt against his mouth.

“Five…oh my god…” you groaned out. “You’re doing so good for me, baby…so fucking good.”

If you had a little bit more clarity about you, you may have noticed him laughing briefly before sucking and licking at you again. He wasn’t missing the irony of you using his usual comments of praise on him.

As you were lost in your own little paradise, you could feel him pushing his hips up, desperate for some sort of contact. You had hardly paid much attention to his cock yet, and he was starting to become a little desperate. You smiled down at him, still rolling your hips against his face.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. Keep going just a little longer, ok? Then I’ll give you what you want.”

You almost laughed at yourself. You really could not believe he was letting you get away with this. You expected him to blink out of his restraints at any second, appearing behind you before fucking you ferociously, all while reminding you who was really in charge. Instead, he continued letting you call the shots. And he sure as hell didn’t seem to be minding it.

Reaching behind you, you gave him one slow stroke up his hard shaft, making him momentarily lose concentration.

“Oh, fuuuck…” he groaned out. The words vibrated against you and you followed it with your own moan.

Which gave you an idea. You climbed off of Five’s face, letting him get in a couple of good gulps of air, while you repositioned yourself over him again; this time facing the opposite direction. You leaned forward, taking his cock in your hand and giving it a teasing lick around the head. When he made another desperate noise, you could feel the exhale of his breath against your wet pussy as you hovered over him.

“Do you want me to suck your dick, baby? Would that feel good?” you asked sweetly, giving it another lick up the side.

You felt another hiss of air against your skin. “God, yes,” he breathed out.

“Alright, I can do that for you. But you better keep eating me out, because if you stop, I stop. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, got it,” he whined and you smirked at his obvious need.

When your lips wrapped around his girth and slid down the shaft, slowly and deliberately, his hips thrust up into your face, making you swallow the entire thing, the head driving down your throat. As you began to gag and pull back, he relaxed back onto the bed. You removed your mouth and glanced back over your shoulder.

“If you do that again, you’re not going to get anything at all. So hold. Still,” you warned, squeezing his dick slightly just to remind him who was calling the shots.

There was a quiet huff of frustration, but he didn’t argue. When your mouth was back on him, he kept still, just like you instructed. You felt his tongue flick inside of your dripping hole as he lapped into you and you pushed your backside into him again. As long as he continued to mouth fuck you how you wanted, you continued to suck his dick. It was hard to concentrate and every time he moaned, you did it back in response because it made it that much hotter. The longer you worked his cock over, and the longer he ate you out, the more you wanted to feel him inside you.

Taking your mouth off of him, you moved again, turning around so you were facing him, kneeling between his legs. Five’s mouth was red and swollen, glistening and wet. His chest was heaving with the effort of trying to catch his breath after you were sitting on his face and from the amazing blow job you had just been giving him. You were panting, too, and you ran your hands down his torso as you started to straddle his waist. When you leaned down to kiss him, you grabbed his hair in your fist and pulled his head back.

“God, I love you, Five,” you snarled, before you were back to kissing him roughly again, sliding your tongue inside.

“Fuck, I love you so much,” he groaned against your lips.

“I want to fuck you so badly right now. Do you want that? Want to sink your rock-hard cock into my tight hole that’s only for you?”

Five nodded, looking into your eyes with the desperation of a man who was on the edge. “Shit, yes, baby…I want you to fuck me.”

You pulled your mouth to the side and shook your head. You lined yourself up with his dick, rubbing your wet slit up and down, making him suck in a loud breath and close his eyes.

“Before I let that delicious dick inside, I need one more little thing from you, ok?”

He nodded slowly again, trying to thrust up into you, but you held tight. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Just…god damn it…what is it?”

You leaned in close to his face, your mouth less than an inch from his, and you grinned wickedly. “Admit I had the shot.”

Five was silent as he took that in, but his eyebrows furrowed together. “Excuse me?”

You tugged at his hair again and slid your slick folds over his shaft. Five grunted. “You heard me. All you have to do is admit I had the shot and that you just wanted it for yourself. Then I promise that I’ll ride you like a fucking bronco until you're filling me up with your cum. It’s so easy,” you cooed with fluttering eyelashes and a sweet smile.

The only sounds in the room were those of your collective, ragged breaths as you both waited each other out. It was a standoff. But you were pretty sure you had the upper hand. There’s no way he was going to be able to hold out.

He breathed out a long, loud exhale. “Fine. You had the shot.”

You smiled. “And?”

“And I just wanted it for myself,” he said quietly and clearly unhappily.

“So, you admit that I know what I am doing and you, Five Hargreeves, are not the only one out there that has a brain?”

Five growled, his teeth clenched together and his body jerking beneath you. “Yes! Fuck! I admit it…I told you! You were right, I was wrong. Now please…just fuck me!” His voice cracked with his begging.

You brought your hand down, tracing the lines of his jaw. “Thank you, my love. That’s all I wanted.” You gave him another patronizing smack on the cheek, this one just a little harder than you had before, which you only just realized a second too late. His head turned to the side with the force of it and a light pink mark was left in its wake.

His eyes flashed with that steeliness you had seen from him many times in the past. That darkness that would come over him when he would look at you like the prey he was about to consume. A small smile formed on his face, his dimple peeking through and creating a contrast of severity and innocence as he looked you dead in the eyes. Your pulse quickened at the sight and suddenly you weren’t feeling so in control anymore.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said slowly in that dangerous voice of his. “I think we’re done with this game.”

You swallowed loudly. You didn’t think you could have gotten any wetter than you already were, but you were proven wrong when you felt a rush between your legs as your breath hitched in your throat.

There was one more second of eye contact before you were collapsing onto the bed on all fours, a flash of blue surrounding you, and Five’s body no longer beneath yours. There was no time to register what was happening before you felt strong hands on either side of your hips, pulling your ass back while you cried out in surprise. There was also no time before Five’s hard cock was slamming inside of you in one thrust. His hand gripped your hair as he started fucking you.

“Five!” you exclaimed, inhaling a stuttering breath as he continued to rail into you. “That’s too…oh, fuck…keep going.”

You heard a quiet laugh from behind you, right before your body was tugged upward by your hair, and Five’s mouth was on your neck, his harsh breath warming your already hot skin. His other hand snaked around to finger your throbbing clit and you tipped your head back with a pleading whine.

“Oh god…yes, Five…please…”

“Fuck, I love to hear you beg for me. Keep going...beg me to let you come on my dick. Beg for my cum inside you."

"Ahh...please, Five..." you could hardly think of words or any coherent thoughts as he kept driving himself inside you. "...please...come inside me!"

"That's what I needed...you're always so good for me," he said tenderly next to your ear before pressing harder into you with his fingers and rubbing circles against you.

Damn it, he always knew how to get to you. It had been a fun game while it lasted, but you both knew this was what you really wanted. To be dominated and praised by him. To be owned by him.

You came for him, just like he wanted, crying out his name and trembling against his body as he held you to him with all of his strength. He followed soon after, groaning into your neck and shoulder; his face pressed into you as he emptied himself inside you with long, pumping shudders of his hips against your ass.

When you were both left panting for air, skin damp and bodies weak, he moved from behind you and you laid down on your side. Five fell onto his back, his chest still working for air as he looked over at you with a smile that you returned. He leaned in and gave you a quick kiss.

“I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me,” he smirked.

You scoffed. “I had you begging for me and you confessed to being a big liar!”

Five shrugged. “Confessions given under coercion are considered false and inadmissible in court. I think you know that. Therefore, I admit nothing.”

Your mouth hung open for a second and your eyes narrowed. “I swear to god, Five, I really am going to get a new part—”

He cut you off with a kiss and a gentle hand on the side of your face. When you pulled away his smile had evolved from arrogant to sweet and loving. He stroked your cheek and lips with his thumb.

“You know I love you more than anything in the world and I would never do anything to get in your way or to try and make you look bad. You are my amazing, sexy, smart, bad-ass wife who can do everything I can do and more. So, I swear to you when I say—”

“I know,” you said quietly with a nod. “I was going to miss, wasn’t I?”

He kissed you again. “Maybe. Maybe not. But when it comes to you, I’m not taking any chances.”

You nodded again. “I know that. And I couldn’t ask for a better partner or husband than you.” Then you grinned. “But if you knock me in the dirt again, you’re going to pay with more than just your hands tied over your head and a little slap to the face. Understand?”

Five laughed. “Fair enough. But you never know…I might like it.”

[dark-fics-4-you]

No Way Out ch. 2

Dark!Rafe Cameron x f!Reader

Warnings: noncon, smut, abusive relationship, domestic violence, verbal abuse, drugs, choking

Things escalate in your relationship with Rafe to a boiling point

Blinding rage was the only thing that Rafe could focus on in the small jail cell.

He paced around the cramped space like a caged animal, ready to pounce on anything that walked by the door.

The past day was all too fresh in his mind, replaying like a loop that only fed into his need to get out.

“I’m just worried about how much blow you’ve been doing, Rafe! It’s not good for you.. It just makes you so much more-”

“So much more what?” He snapped back at you and you bit your tongue.

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

“So much more angry,” you timidly replied. “You aren’t yourself when you’re using, baby.”

He rolled his eyes in annoyance, shaking his head with a scoff. “You don’t know what it’s like, Y/N! You don’t get how hard I have to work just for my dad to see what I am capable of. If you had any idea-”

“Oh, if I had any idea how hard it to have a rich dad?” You couldn’t stop the sarcasm from cutting through your voice.

“Watch it,” Rafe growled, a dangerous tone in his voice. You didn’t notice how close he had gotten to you.

“I just don’t think your daddy issues give you an excuse to be doing coke all the fucking ti-” before you could even perceive his movement, you felt a sharp sting blossom across your cheek and you vaguely registered that he had slapped you. Your head whipped to the side, tears springing up immediately.

Completely taken by surprise, you had no time to react before he shoved you to the ground. You fell hard backwards, hitting your elbows and bottom on the floor beneath you. You cried out in pain, cowering away from your boyfriend as he leered above you.

“Talk to me like that one more time and see what fucking happens,” he seethed. He lurched forward and grabbed your wrists with both hands, clenching hard and you let out a sob.

“You should consider yourself lucky!” sneered the blond. “I pay for everything you have! You would be out walking the streets without me.”

His breathing was heavy, but he hadn’t even broken a sweat yet. You shrieked when he yanked you to your feet by your throat, shaking you hard.

Your arms flailed out at his hands, clawing at them and trying to pull him off but it was no use. You gasped for breath, crying out as his fingers dug into your throat.

“P-please-!” Precious air that was running out fueled your pleading. Rafe’s eye twitched, lip curling before he pushed you back to the ground.

Gulping for breath between sobs, you glanced up at the man towering above you in fear. His hand was clenched in a fist, eyebrows furrowed as he shook with rage.

You were terrified by how hard he had choked you, the utter lack of regret in his eyes.

In the early days, fights like these were rare, and on the off occasion that he had laid a hand on you, it was never as intense, and the apology that followed was always 100x longer than the brief fight. Nowadays, you rarely even got an apology.

With a scowl, he examined his arms where you had scratched him and his darkened eyes met yours.

You didn’t fully know why you did what you did next. Or how it unfolded.

Maybe it was instinct. Maybe you were out of options, just so afraid that you did what any trapped animal would do.

You ran.

You pushed yourself off the floor in an instant, rushing out of the living room to the bathroom.

Rafe was bigger than you, stronger than you. Faster.

It was dumb luck that his reaction time was just a moment too slow.

You slammed the bathroom door, locking it behind you as fast as you could. Your heart thundered in your chest, thumping so hard you could hear the blood rushing in your ears.

The door behind you rattled as Rafe punched and kicked at it.

“Open the fucking door, Y/N!!” His fists pounded against the wood and you cowered as far from the door as you could.

Your mind was racing and only then you remembered the cell phone in your back pocket.

With shaky hands, you unlocked it, clicking the phone icon before dialing emergency services.

“Let me in! Open the fucking door bitch!!” He bellowed again. You winced every time the door shook, terrified he was going to knock it off it’s hinges. “I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

Quietly, you begged with the operator to send someone, giving your address to the woman on the phone.

“Please! He- He’s trying to break the door down,” you sobbed. “I’m scared he’s going to hurt me o-or worse!”

“Y/N, I swear to god when I get in there, you’re going to be sorry!” Rafe roared from the other side of the door. He cursed when he hit it too hard, apparently injuring his hand.

You couldn’t do anything but hide in the corner, hoping that he wouldn’t be able to get in before the cops arrived.

Sitting there on the floor felt like hours, but it was probably only a few minutes before you heard a pounding on the front door and you nearly passed out with relief.

The activity outside of the bathroom door stopped suddenly as Rafe realized what was happening. He cursed, loud enough for you to hear, but not nearly at the same volume before.

You knew it was safe to step out of the bathroom when you heard him greet the people at the front door. You brushed the tears from your eyes, trying to compose yourself.

“Good evening officers, what can I do for you tonight?” He was trying to act nonchalant, but there was a tense edge to his voice you couldn’t mistake.

You could hear muffled responses growing louder as you approached the door and you knew the officers must have noticed you, because the speaking stopped and Rafe turned to look at you.

Anger that only you could see flashed across his eyes, but even he knew better than to display it in front of cops. The blond stepped to the side to allow you to stand beside him, and he grabbed your hand lovingly as if to say, ‘look officers, everything is okay here.’

“Are you having any problems tonight ma’am?” One of the officers asked you with a concerned look.

Rafe’s grip on your hand tightened, warning you not to say anything. A lump formed in your throat. Did you even have it in you to say something?

With a sniffle, you plastered on a small smile, “N-no. We haven’t had any issues here.”

The officers looked slightly surprised at that, glancing at each other and exchanging a brief, wordless conversation.

“Well, procedure says that we have to interview you both separately.” One of them explained.

“This is just stupid,” Rafe complained. “I think we’d rather talk to you together, isn’t that right baby?”

Hesitantly, you nodded with lowered eyes, “Yeah.”

“Unfortunately, procedure is procedure, and we have to do it this way.” The woman explained, and her male partner nodded in agreement.

“How about I interview you,” she looked at you. “And my partner will interview you,” she said with a pointed look towards Rafe.

“Fine,” he spat out through gritted teeth, flashing you a warning look before he was led away to talk to the other cop.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you were left alone, and the cop gave you another concerned look.

“What’s your name honey?”

You told her.

“What happened tonight, ma’am?” She asked you gently and you almost broke down right there. Tears sprung to your eyes and you took a deep breath to calm yourself.

“I-I was so scared,” you confessed. Her eyes wandered to your neck, able to make out the old bruises and the redness on your cheek that had only started to fade.

“He just gets so angry at me and-” a sob cut you off, voice breaking as you remembered the fight. “H-he was choking me, and.. I didn’t think he was going to stop.”

The tears were flowing more now as you recounted what had happened, and the cop gave you a sympathetic look. Your hands fell in your lap and her attention was drawn to your bare legs which were littered with tiny cuts from when Rafe had pushed you into glass the previous week.

She paused before speaking, “Listen, I don’t know how it’s going with my partner, Michael and your boyfriend, but I would feel comfortable taking your boyfriend down to the station based on what you’ve told me. How does that sound to you?”

Your eyes widened in surprise. You didn’t really know what you had expected when you called. You were just so scared with what he might do, you did the only thing you could think.

And now you were faced with an impossible decision.

Agree with this and let them take Rafe, and he would be let out who knows when. But say no, and you would have to face the wrath of Rafe tonight, and you knew that he was more pissed off than you had ever seen him.

Without even knowing that you had made up your mind, you found your head nodding, tears coming to your eyes.

You would deal with Rafe later. But tonight, you were just happy with the idea of sleeping alone for the first time in months.

~~~~~~~

“And so you’re saying you two had an argument, but it never got physical?”

“No, I would never lay a hand on her! You heard her yourself, we haven’t had any problems tonight.” Rafe smiled, southern charm laid on thick. He had dealt with police many times before, and when they weren’t sticking their noses into shit that he was involved in, he respected them.

But he also knew how to manipulate them.

The cops eyed Rafe’s hand and the scratches on his arm.

“Get into a bar fight?” He questioned.

“Ah no, got into a little motorcycle accident. Nothing too bad, just fell over, you know how it is,” the blond chuckled.

“And you don’t know who made the call?” The officer raised an eyebrow as he questioned the blond.

“No clue. Maybe some kids in the neighborhood made a prank call or something,” he laughed casually, throwing a polite smile at the man across from him.

The officer chuckled, “yeah we do get a lot of those.” He clicked his pen, flipping his notebook shut. “Well, I think I’ve got all I needed from you. Thank you very much sir. And uh, tell your dad I said hi.”

“Will do,” Rafe grinned, extending a hand to shake the officer’s.

“You just sit tight here, I gotta talk with my partner real quick and then I’ll update you on what’s going on.”

He walked away from the taller man. Rafe leaned against a tree in the park at the middle of the sprawling apartment complexes watching him walk back.

Most of what they discussed, he couldn’t make out and the female cop turned to look at him several times.

The only thing he did hear was “Hey, do you know who this guy is? That’s Rafe Cameron. Yeah, that Cameron.”

Eventually they both walked over and Rafe stood up straight as they approached.

“So, are we all good here?” He asked, charming smile ever present.

“Well,” she said, looking over at her partner. “Not quite.”

~~~~~~

You locked the front door, the only door, dutiful to make sure all of the windows were locked as well.

You knew that Rafe was going to be in jail for a few nights at least, but you wanted to be careful anyways.

Last night had been the best you had slept in months. No fears of wandering hands, or unwanted advances that you had no emotional capacity for.

Slipping into your bed and being able to be safe while you slept was all you had dreamed about for so long.

You curled up in the blanket, unaware of the sound of the front door opening softly as you tried to drift off to sleep.

The click of your bedroom door opening had you jolting awake though. And you were shocked to see a familiar figure leering in the doorway.

“H-h-how the fuck did you get in here?” You whispered in a panic, sitting up and alert in bed.

“Oh sweetheart, you didn’t think I had a spare made?” His tone was ice cold and mocking. You could almost feel the rage radiating off of him.

Rafe took a step into the room, closing and locking the door behind him and your stomach dropped.

“How are you here? You got taken away, I- I saw it,” you didn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Ward pulled a few strings, can’t have a stain on the Cameron name,” he spat out bitterly. Rafe stalked further into the room, nearing your bed, a predatory look in his eyes that almost stopped your heart.

Your eyes whipped to the phone on your bedside table and you lurched toward it at the same time that he did.

“Nuh uh. Not this time, sweetheart.” He wrestled with you, hands grabbing at the phone that he wretched from your grasp.

To your horror, he threw your phone against the wall, and you watched it smash to pieces.

Your only lifeline was gone.

You fought back hard against him, but the victor was inevitable. You both knew it from the minute he stepped into the room.

He threw you onto the bed, roughly grabbing at your thin nightwear. He tore your blouse, hands ripping the material as you hit him, trying desperately to stop his assault.

“Stop- stop fucking fighting!” He roared as he kicked your legs open, fumbling with his shorts and your crying intensified.

His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing hard as he forced himself into you. You let out a strained gasp at the feeling, head falling back against the pillow in shock. Rafe pinned you down against the bed by your throat, cock sliding in and out of you at a torturously fast pace.

“You thought you were gonna get rid of me that easy, Y/N?” Rafe jeered as he snapped his hips against yours. The pressure at your throat increased, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Are you really that stupid?”

You shook your head, tears falling past your lashes. Thoughts jumbled inside your head, the cloud of fear and arousal confused you.

“You got what you wanted. You called the cops, and they aren’t gonna help you,” his lip curled in sadistic pleasure as he belittled you.

His free hand found your wrist, pinning it to the bed as he twisted it painfully. You tried to turn your face away from him when he came close, but he grabbed your chin, holding you in place as his lips smothered yours. His tongue pushed its way into your mouth, lips moving against yours against your will.

A sick feeling was growing in your stomach, the sinful combination of pain and pleasure mixing within you.

Every thrust of his cock had you gasping and moaning against his lips. Your legs shook as he took his anger out on you, plunging deeper and harder than ever before.

The grip at your throat was getting harder, constricting your breathing even more. You gasped when he finally pulled his face away.

“You could have ruined everything,” Rafe seethed. Your teary eyes meant nothing to him. Nauseatingly, you realized that this was a punishment because you had dared to try to leave. Dared to say anything.

“I love you so much, Y/N. You know I do. You know I do. And I’ll be dead in the ground before I let you walk out on me.” He was fucking you frantically now, every thrust a cruel promise of his threats.

When he hit that spot that made you see stars again and again, you came undone. You bit your lip, crying out as your orgasm washed over you. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably, shame burning across your face, conflicted by your body’s reaction.

“Fuuck-” Rafe groaned loudly as you squeezed around his cock, and he came hard, pumping his hot load deep into your sore cunt, before he began to move his hips again.

And when his hungry, piercing eyes met yours again, you knew that the night was far from over.

[takaraphoenix]

I hate how much heteronormative storytelling links romance and sexuality together, because I just know that that’s why it took me so many years to figure out that I’m ace.

And yes, I’m specifying heternormative storytelling, because that’s the thing we get force-fed in media pretty much from the day we first get put in front of a screen.

Once we move past the fluffy Disney movie stage of life and enter the teenage years, where sexuality becomes a part of the storytelling to varying degrees of explicitness, we hit the real problem zone. *

(* For this particular issue. The forced romantic narrative in every single children’s movie is its own problem zone when we’re talking about aromanticism.)

A thing I complain about quite frequently is the lack of m/f friendships, the way whenever A Guy and A Gal are friends, the heteronormativity kicks in. Unless they’re both in explicit other (stable! not ‘this ship is meant to be broken up for The Main Romance’) romantic relationships, it’s virtually impossible for the straights to just... keep them friends. There have to be some kind of romantic feelings involved. No other possible reason why A Guy might like A Gal or vice versa. The notion of pure, actual friendship goes over these writers’ heads.

Anyway. To the point of the post. Once The Gal and The Guy realize that they aren’t ~just friends~ but really have romantic feelings for each other and once the will they/won’t they stops and they actually will... More often than not do the writers forget to actually include any romance at all.

I mean, genuinely. Their relationship continues the exact same way it was before they got together. But now they have sex. The only discernible difference between “friendship” and “romance” in pretty much every TV show or movie I grew up on was that they now fucked and kissed.

Very often highlighted even more by the fact that they’re portrayed as so fucking horny, they barely got the confession out before immediately stumbling into the bedroom to get it on. Not a single date. Not even a full conversation wasted there. Just going at it like Noah just herded them onto a big ship.

And if you grow up watching these things during your formative years of what constitutes a relationship and they influence you during your “what the fuck’s going on with my own identity” phase, they paint an incredibly conflated image of romance and sex.

Namely, that romance not only doesn’t work without sex, but even more so also a notion that the only real difference between friendship and romance is sexual intercourse.

So, even if the term “asexual” somehow crossed your path at any point prior to the “what the fuck’s going on with my own identity” phase, that gets immediately dismissed as even vaguely being a possibility if you do experience romantic attraction. **

(** And also if you experience aesthetic attraction, seeing as absolutely nobody and nothing really prepared 90s kids for the difference between aesthetic and sexual attraction. Kids nowadays have more resources more readily available thanks to the internet and I’m genuinely so glad for them.)

Clearly, I can’t be asexual because I find people pretty and finding people pretty means wanting to have sex with them and having sex is the requirement for romance and I do want romance in my life. So, I guess I’m a “late bloomer”?

So. Yeah. My two cents on how heteronormative storytelling has harmed not just homosexual kids figuring themselves out but also asexual kids, because of the ways in which heterosexual relationships have been and still are being framed in media.

[sanjisboyfie]

pass the test

-> nami x sugar daddy ! male reader

requested (kinda?) the one where sugar daddy![name] meets all of nami's friends 8k+ word count !!! everyone be fed <3333

warnings : id say none bc its jus sweeeeeeet fluff and domesticity and jokes between nami her man and her friends.

when vivi got a text from nami, the message reading “fina-fucking-lly!!!” and attached were four images, the woman easily guessed what the context was. the images showed nami cuddled up with her “mystery man” and a pleased smile on her face. the two seemed to be cuddling shirtless in bed together so vivi was able to piece two and two together.

the man, although his face was hidden, was definitely the sugar daddy that nami had been seeing for the past year or so. he was often the hot topic between the two best friends, mainly nami complaining about him never taking a hint or making a move on her while vivi just nodded along. at first, she thought nami was just in the whole dynamic for the money (which she was), but as more time passed, it became clear that nami had caught genuine feelings for the guy.

vivi chuckled at the happy smile on nami’s face as well as her messy hair, typing back a quick “congratulations, i’m glad it all worked out,” as her response. in a second she got a text back, nami insisting that the two have a girls’ night so that they can catch up. obviously, not going to pass up the chance to hear all the details, vivi agreed and the two set a time and place for their hangout.

a couple of days later, nami was getting ready and rushing around the apartment in search of her favorite necklace. [name] blinked at her, wondering what had her so hurried before clearing his throat. she whipped her head around, looking at him pleadingly, “have you seen my gold necklace? not the one you gave me, but a different one,”

scanning his memories of what she was talking about, he could vaguely recall what she was talking about. so he walked off, going into the bathroom, and emerging with the golden necklace in his fingertips. she jumped on him, hugging him tight and singing his praises.

”thank you so much, [name]!” she turned around, taking her long hair into her hands with one sweep and presenting her neck to him. immediately, he acted in clasping teh necklace around her, “i was driving myself insane trying to find it. you’re the best,” she turned around when he finished, going on her tippy toes to kiss him.

he quickly caught her by her waist and pressed himself deeper into the kiss. she laughed at his eagerness before smacking his chest to get him to let her go, “as much as i’d love to just suck face, i’ve actually got places to be,”

“places to be without me?” [name] pouted, seeing his pretty girlfriend especially dolled up, “how can i appreciate your beauty if i’m not with you?”

“sucks to suck, babe,” she winked, grabbing her purse and giving herself the once over in the mirror before grabbing the keycard to the apartment, “meeting up with vivi for the whole day, so don’t wait up okay?”

he hummed, not actually that bothered she was having the day to herself. he just planted one more kiss to her neck, reminding her, “stay safe, text me if you two need anything,” and then pulling away from her. he smiled at her and gave a gentle wave as she walked away.

nami grinned at his sweet behavior, blowing him a kiss before stepping into the elevator to get to the lobby. when she exited the building, she saw a chaffeur already waiting for her and rolled her eyes as she knew that [name] was the one who called him for her.

when she met with vivi at the familiar restaurant, she had to contain a scream of joy at seeing her best friend. the blue haired woman shared the same sentiment, biting her lip to silence herself. instead, the two shared a long hug with each other, swaying back and forth in place as they complimented the other for looking so well.

the two took a seat near the window, still giggling to themselves.

“how have you been, nami? it feels like it’s been so long,” vivi said with a pout, her glossy lips jutted outward to emphasize her words, “don’t tell me that man has you locked in some depressing apartment and this whole meeting is actually a cry for help,”

nami laughed at her friend’s attitude, shaking her head, “it definitely isn’t, just a much needed catch up, vivi,”

her friend squinted her eyes as if she didn’t believe her before dropping the act, “alright, i believe you, but let’s just not talk about men for a good twenty minutes. just girl talk, please?”

nami took ahold of her best friend’s hands and nodded, a genuine smile on her face, “duh, of course. neither of our lives revolve around men, vivi!” the blue haired woman cheered in response before picking up the menu and scanning over their options.

as promised, the first portion of their date was just focused on how the other has been, talking about their jobs and school and schedules that have been keeping them busy. nami learned that vivi was going to soon be taking over for her father’s business, as her dad was just becoming older and older. plus, vivi had a natural leadership bone in her body that her own father could recognize and knew that it should not be wasted.

on the other hand, nami filled vivi in on how she was really eager to just get her degree and be done with schooling. all the schools wree on break now, but when things got started up again, nami knew that it would be the death of her.

“well, getting a master’s is challenging, but i know it’ll be worth it when you get that degree!” vivi encouraged her, making nami nod in agreement, “at least you don’t have to worry about financial debt when you graduate too, that’s a big plus,”

nami blushed, a bashful smile coming onto her face. she bit her tongue to prevent herself from going on a tangent, especially considering vivi and her’s previous agreement to not talk about men, but it seemed vivi could read right through her.

“alright, lay it out all to me, nami. you’ve been practically shaking in your seat since you’ve sat down,”

“i have not!” nami denied, an offensive look on her face which vivi only rolled her eyes at.

”just tell me everything, girl, i’m actually really curious,” nami waited a couple of seconds, waiting for vivi to take it back, but when he saw the girl motion for her to continue, she finally let loose.

“well, me and [name] are finally dating!” she said, trying to contain her voice of excitement to not bother the other patrons of the restaurant, “made it official about a week or so ago, and vivi!!! it’s been so good, i didn’t think that he could get any sweeter but he has and continues to! he’s such a gentleman, seriously! i’m telling you right now — older men are where it’s at, vivi! if you’re ever gonna date someone, date someone at least 5 years older!”

“yeah, more like 9 years older and in a different tax bracket, right?” vivi teased, poking fun at the two’s age gap which only made nami wave her hand dismissively.

“blah, blah, blah! but, seriously, he’s sooo sweet to me,”

“you’re sure it’s not just the bare minimum?” nami deadpanned at vivi’s question.

“do you really think i’d settle for someone that doesn’t meet my expectations?”

“you’re right, my bad for assuming otherwise,” vivi grinned, enjoying nami’s snarky attitude that she had missed so much, “and, nami, if you’re happy, then i’m happy. i’m glad you two finally got together, i know how hard of a girl crush you had on him,”

“god, don’t make it sound so elementary with that phrase,” nami cringed, hiding her blushing face in her hands.

”hey, as long as he has as much of a boy crush on you as you do on him, that’s fine!” vivi teased once more, making nami only bury her head further into her hands.

nami sighed, slapping her cheeks to rid it of the warm feeling before continuing on, “that’s also another thing, [name] always makes it obvious that he’s into me as much as i’m into him. you know how many guys in college don’t even make an effort. yeah, they don’t compare to him. he’s always just saying the sweetest shit, it’d be so icky if it weren’t him. he’s just so…” nami paused trying to find the right word before settling on, “perfect. he’s really the best, vivi. i like him a lot,”

her best friend across the table softened at her sudden genuine tone, reaching across the table to hold nami’s hand, “i’m so happy for you two,”

“and everything right now is perfect. i’m just scared that i’m gonna mess it up in some way, or that our dynamic before is gonna ruin us in some way,” vivi immedaitely shook her head to show nami that she was being ridiculous. but she continued anyway, “i don’t know, i just feel like it’s all too good to be true…? i’ve always wanted a guy that’d take care of, but wouldn’t baby me, and [name]’s just that! it’s like a dream,”

“nami, you’re not going to ruin anything between you two,” vivi assured her, squeezing her hand tight, “you guys are adults. he seems like a mature guy, if anything happens, you can at least be comfortable enough to talk to each other about it. and if that doesn’t work out, then let fate take the reigns. but the point is! you don’t have to be scared of anything because it sounds to me that he’s a really understanding guy and really knows you for who you are.”

nami sighed, nodding her head as she couldn’t deny that most of what vivi was saying sounded accurate. she was just vocalizing her worries because if she didn’t she might’ve just exploded.

“don’t overthink your relationship so much either, you guys are in it together. he likes you as much as you like him, if not more, so don’t worry about things like that either,” vivi smiled, seeing that her words were slowly uplifting nami’s mood. “but there is one thing that needs to happen before you guys can even think of moving your relationship on,”

nami blinked, tilting her head in confusion.

vivi grinned in a victorious manner, winking at nami, “you gotta let him meet all of us before you guys can keep dating! we gotta see if he passes the test or not!”

“what test?!”

“the “are you worthy enough to be dating nami” test, duh,” vivi said with an eyeroll, finishing off the rest of the water in her cup before nodding, “i reckon if he brings some good food to the house party, he’s already warmed up luffy. everyone else is pretty hard to read,”

“oh, you guys can’t be serious?” nami said in an exasperated tone, letting her head hand in disbelief.

”no, we’re completely serious, like genuinely everyone’s been waiting for your relationship to move on like this so we could all meet and approve him,” vivi said, looking at her phone and then grinning at nami, “they’ve already settled for a casual house party to be held in a week from now, bring your man and we can all meet him,”

nami looked at her as if she were the spawn of satan, but vivi just continued smiling on as if there were nothing wrong. then she just dug through her purse for [name]’s card (he slipped it into her wallet before she left) and glared at her, “if you guys do anything weird to scare him off, i’ll seriously kill all of you guys,”

“yes, yes, whatever, let’s just charge his card here and move on from his discussion~”

the two parted ways after about a four hour long brunch-turned-dinner date together. nami made sure vivi got home safe with a safe uber ride, stalking her location as she rode in her own ride back home. she smiled to see vivi arrived at her house safely, thanking the chaffeur of her vehicle before going to the elevator back up to [name]’s apartment.

the first thing she smelt when the elevator door opened was the smell of freshly baked cookies.

”nami’s home, finally,” [name] cried out, emerging from the corner with an apron on and his sleeves rolled up, “was wondering when you’d come home, but i guessed that around the two or three hour mark you’d be on your way back. and i planned my baking endeavors perfectly with your arrival because,” he leaned down to kiss her midsentence, helping her out of her coat as he smoothly wrapped his arm around her waist, “tada! cookies, made them myself — out of scratch and everything,”

nami grinned, squeezing his torso in a tight hug before bounding over to the baking sheet that had chocolate chip cookies laid out on them. just as she was about to grab one, though, [name] caught her hand in his, “but! they have to sit out for maybe a couple more minutes, so no touching until then,”

she shot him a look, quirking her eyebrow, “didn’t you say you had perfect timing,”

“oh, i do, because i know exactly how to fill those minutes up,” he smirked, leaning closer and closer down to her height.

“how do you plan on doing that?” she asked, breathing in his cologne that was mixed with the scent of baked goods, a hazy look in her eyes. instead of properly answering her question, he just pressed his lips to her glossy ones.

then his hands gripped the undersides of her thighs, carrying her up to sit on the top of the kitchen island. she yelped in surprise, but was soon focused back in on the passionate kiss they hadn’t been seperated from.

his hands went to rest on the base of her neck, squeezing softly to illicite a moan from her. soon, his tongue was running over hers and she softly smiled. pushing away from him, breathlessly, she looked at him through her eyelashes, “tastes sweet,”

“got hungry halfway through,” he confessed, eyes still half-lidded and focused solely on her bruised lips. she was going to tease him further, but his lips against her own cut her off. her fingers played with his short strands of hair and allowing him full access to her mouth. she got a preview of what the cookies would end up tasting like with how he adamant he was in keeping their tongues in contact with one another.

their passionate make out session was interuppted, though, when nami’s number buzzed on the table. she cursed whatever notification set it off, knowing that [name] always backed off when her phone got any sort of message.

and just as she predicted, he pecked her lips one last time before pulling away, “anything important?” he asked, eyes trained on her face as she read the notification.

”don’t forget to tell mr. [name] we require his presence at the house party of monkey d. luffy and co!!!” vivi texted, followed my several cute emoticons to get her point across. nami’s eyebrow ticked up in annoyance at the fact that this was the message that had cut off her hot and steamy make out session short. she quickly sent a middle finger emoji back before dropping the phone back onto the counter.

“nothing important, babe,” she answered, crossing her ankles over each other as she watched him work around the kitchen. he was plating the cookies and carefully lifting the now empty baking pan from the counter and into the sink.

he washed his hands quickly before holding on up to her face with a smile, “try it?”

she obviously did as told, eager to taste the sweet treat and almost moaning in pleasure at the taste, “[name]! they’re so good!” she took another bite before throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him close, “my man is sexy and can bake — what more could i ask for?”

“anything and i’d give it to you,” [name] laughed, taking a bite of his own baking to ensure that nami wasn’t lying to spare his feelings. she finished it off, letting him wipe the side of her mouth from the spare melted chocolate. he sucked his thumb clean, grinning in glee at how his baking endeavor successfully panned out.

after they finished off a couple of sweet treats, [name] was carrying her back to their room and helping her get unready for bed.

“did you eat?” she asked him as she was taking off her makeup.

“yeah, had some food down in the lobby’s restaurant. sometimes forget how good their pasta is,” [name] noted, stripping out of his outside clothes and into a comfy (expensive) pajama set that matched with hers. she grinned at how he laid out a cute pair for her on the king sized bed. then he was walking over and hugging her from behind, watching her through the mirror.

“hm, can i ask you something?” she said slowly, meeting his eyes in the mirror and waiting for his “okay” before continuing. when he nodded, she took in a deep breath and finally said what was on her mind, “well, there is a house party my friends are throwing and they invited me,”

“oh,” [name] grinned, “and?”

“well, i was thinking of going, anyway,” she said, dancing around the subject before shaking her head and forcing herself to just say it, “but they told me i could bring you if you wanted to come- they invited you too, i mean to say. so do you wanna come with me?”

[name] smiled, kissing the soft skin of her neck, “they wanna meet me?”

“yeah, they do. think i’ve talked their ears enough about you that they wanna meet the man of the hour,” nami joked, but internally she was wrecked with nerves.

“hm, i’ll go on one condition,” he said, standing up and moving to lean against the counter. he crossed his arms over his chest and had a pretty serious look on his face. so nami halted her movements, nodding and showing he had all of her attention.

“anything, what’s up?”

“one condition is,” he paused for dramatic effect before grinning like a fool, “as long as i get to be your date!”

she almost smacked him in the stomach for scaring her so much.

”go to hell, [name],” she cursed, not finding it funny to be scared half to death. but he merely laughed, leaning forward to kiss her forehead before leaning back.

“obviously, i don’t mind meeting your friends, babe,” he assured her, “for a second, i thought you were going to ask if it was alright if you went out — now that would’ve scared me! asking me for permission on going out is just icky. i was about to be really concerned. but since it was a joint invitation, it's not concerning anymore!”

she smiled to herself at his lax attitude, finding it refreshing.

“the only thing is, it’s probably gonna be on friday. i know you have work, are you sure you’ll be alright going right after work?”

“do you really think i’m an old man?” [name] asked in offense, “i can keep up with you guys, i’m not that much older!”

“you’ll be a decade older than some of the people there,” she noted, feeling the urge to humble her boyfriend. and it worked because he obviously deflated at that comment.

“hey, being 34 isn’t that old…right?” he asked before immediately speaking up, “don’t actually answer that! but seriously, i didn’t think i was that old, oh god,”

“you’re not actually that old,” she assured him, kissing his cheek softly before continuing her skin care, “just putting it out there~”

“you just said that to make me feel old, you’re so mean,” he said with a pout, making her laugh at his childish expression.

the rest of the night, [name] was just watching her as she finished her nighttime routine before carrying her over to bed. nami cuddled into his side, smiling softly when she felt him playing with the ends of her long hair. that was the last thing she felt before she was whisked away to sleep.

---

before she knew it, it was already a week later and it was the day her friends would see if her boyfriend passed the test. whatever bullshit test they had in mind. she rolled her eyes at their odd behavior, but didn’t bother wasting her time thinking about it now. vivi was probably just exaggerating anyway…

“just park on the street wherever you see a spot,” nami said, noticing that it was a bit more packed than usual, “we’d be lucky to get anywhere near where his house is. ugh, i know all these cars aren’t here for him, either, so that’s just shit timing,” she sighed, mentally flipping off all the cars that were taking up street parking.

[name] chuckled at her pissed off attitude, rubbing up and down her leg to calm her down. after parking a couple of houses down from where luffy’s was, [name] stepped out of the car and then went over to the passenger side to help nami out.

due to how he was coming in from work, he was wearing a suit while nami had more casual attire on.

“i told you to put some extra clothes in the trunk,” she chided, looking at how sullen he was due to his formal clothes.

“i know, i forgot before leaving earlier. now all your friends are going to think i’m some stuck up richass,” [name] complained, shoulders slouching as he thought about how he was already making a bad first impression.

nami joined their hands together and kissed the back of his, smiling softly, “don’t worry, just buy them off and then you’ll be all set in winning their favor,”

he looked at her with his eyebrows furrowed, a look of genuine confusion on his face. she laughed at his obliviousness to her joke, waving off his worries and clarifying that she was not at all serious.

“well, i hope the cookies i baked count for something at least,” he said, holding the container in his non-occupied hand. the same recipe he used when he baked for nami last week were the ones he used to make this batch. and he was sweating bullets hoping that they were going to be to everyone’s liking.

he didn’t get to try one because he was in a rush in putting them in the container, so it really was wrecking his nerves on if they were even good.

“that bottle of wine should also win over sanji, he really likes stuff like that,”

“and this is the same sanji that wanted you for himself, right?” [name] asked, remembering the name to be familiar from somewhere.

“yep,” nami said proudly, popping the “p,” “but don’t worry, [name], i’m all yours now,”

he chuckled, wrapping his arm around her waist as they approached the door of luffy’s house, “should i go easy on the affections in consideration of him?”

“no, there’s no point in that. he’ll be a sulking mess anyway,” nami said, adding in, “he’s a lost cause that poor guy…”

and just as her newly manicured nail rang the doorbell of luffy’s house, several heads inside all perked up.

“i hope you all have the list memorized!” one voice shouted, a stressed look on her face.

“what’s it matter anyway? they’re already boyfriend-girlfriend, right?” a voice whined, a pout on his face as he felt stressed in remembering the list.

“no! it matters a lot, so you better have it memorized! nami-san can’t be dating some sleazeball, who for all we know — could be apart of some crime syndicate and trafficking her! oh, poor nami-san! don’t worry, your real prince will save you soon, my lady!!”

“this guy just can’t accept the fact nami was never interested in him,” a tired voice sighs, obnoxiously yawning at the end of his sentence.

“but, what if he doesn’t check all the boxes on the list? what do we do then?” a curious voice asked, looking at all of his friends, “nami seems really happy, we can’t break them up over it, right?”

“of course we can, we can also forcefully get him to never speak to her again by threatening his entire family lineage,” a very optimistic voice said, making the previous speaker look at them with fear in his eyes.

“alright! enough of that! we need to pretend as if this conversation never happened!”

“what conversation?”

halfway on their walk to the entrance, nami and [name] let themselves in due to how long it was taking for anyone to answer the door.

“you seriously gotta change your locks, luffy, how many times do i have to tell you?!” nami scolded, putting the bobby pin that she used to unlock the door back into her hair. she smoothed out her clothes, looking at all of her shocked friends. “what?”

beside her was a prim looking man that was awkwardly smiling, the expression on his face looking as if he were contemplating life and death. all of nami’s friends looked at him with blank eyes, except for one that was outright glaring at his figure. and noticing where they were all looking, nami took it upon herself to start the greeting.

“alright! well, introductions are in order!” she said, clapping her hands to knock them out of their daze, “everyone, this is my boyfriend [name]! [name] meet,” nami lifted her finger as she pointed at each respective individual, “luffy, zoro, robin, chopper, sanji, and vivi!! uh, there are usually more of us here, but i guess everyone else was just busy,”

“nice to meet you all,” [name] said, waving his hand awkwardly before placing it back onto nami’s waist. that sudden action, though, caused an angry reaction to spark from a certain blonde.

“no! no! no! get your filthy hands off of nami-san this instant or i swear to god i will chop them off with my best set of knives!! get them off-” a hand was clamped onto his mouth to stop his threats from pouring out even more. [name] sweatdropped at sanji’s antics, feeling even more awkward.

no one said anything until a woman with long, light blue hair stepped forward with her hand outstretched, “lovely to finally meet you, [name], we had heard so much about you,” [name] was quick into gently shaking her own, offering her the most calm smile of his (as calm as one can get after being threatened with dismemberment).

he shook their hands for a second before letting go, “nice to meet you as well, vivi. and, haha, i hope they were all good things?” vivi smiled politely, looking back at her friends to remind them of their task at hand.

internally, a couple of the friends watching from the back ticked off a box on the list (”friendly greeting, but not too friendly. polite gesture with appropiate manners” — minor bonus points for slight humor in reply).

“now, sanji, there’s no need for you to be so rude when [name] went out of his way to gift us all something to get our night started,” nami chimed in, looking at her boyfriend to unveil the wine.

“oh, right!” he looked inside of the paper bag that he was holding, bringing out the expensive bottle of wine, “we can either open it tonight or you guys can keep it for another occasion. either way, it’s yours, so please help yourselves,”

sanji stomped his way over, grumbling under his breath as he glared at [name], “whatever, you fucker, i bet it’s just some cheap ass wine you got at the corner store,” he yanked it out of [name]’s hands, who was placcidly smiling at the chef, “yeah, what is it? i bet it’s just generic-”

the blonde’s jaw dropped as he read off the label. then he looked back up at [name], his eyes blown wide. he caressed the bottle of wine as if it were a baby, looking back and forth between it and the man, “where the hell did you get your hands on this?!”

[name] scratched the back of his head, “well, i’ve had it in my cellar for a long time, so i can’t remember originally where it was from. it was probably a gift from my company…but! it definitely came from france because my boss never cheaps out on gifts,” then he dug back into the paper bag, a smile on his face, “but this one i got myself — if you guys are more so into whiskey!”

zoro’s head perked up and he walked over, now intrigued. he was never really a wine guy, anyway.

“this one i got myself for this occasion, so like i said before if you wanna open it now or save it for later, i don’t mind!” [name] saw how interested zoro was so he handed the drink off to him, “you like whiskey?”

“i prefer sake,” zoro ruggedly answered, looking at the bottle in disinterest. but before he could read the label, it was yanked out of his hands.

sanji, the thief, had his jaw dropped once again, “you’re fucking kidding me…”

in his hands was a bottle of Christian Nourissat Clos de Vougeot Grand Cru, which is usually priced at 1,129,610 yen ($8,010USD), and in the other was a bottle of the Karuizawa ‘Fazzino’ 35 Year Old Single Malt Whiskey, which was even more expensive at 3,438,189 yen ($24,380USD). and the fact that [name] took the money out of his own wallet to buy the latter option really made sanji almost fall to his knees.

“hey, what’s the big deal sanji? drinks are drinks! open ‘em up, let’s have some fun!” an energetic voice cried out, carelessly taking the bottles out of sanji’s, practically, shaking hands and running off to the kitchen.

“oi, luffy, don’t you dare think about opening those!! we are saving that for one of our funerals and that’s it! do you hear me?!” sanji said, quick on his feet in running after the idiot ravenette.

“i told you, you didn’t have to bring the whiskey if you already had the wine,” nami scolded her boyfriend, pinching his side.

he winced at the dull pain, looking at her with an unbothered look on his face. the gesture really wasn’t that grand (- to him. to any other sane person, it was), but he still really wanted to make a good first impression, “i didn’t wanna show up with only one type of liquor…what if you guys preferred something else?” it was a weak reason, but it was the genuine one.

the rest of nami’s friends looked at [name] as if he were crazy. admitting to just spending that much money on a good first impression made them almost fearful of the amount of money he had in his bank account.

“well,” vivi cleared her throat awkwardly, “anyone want popcorn? we just popped some before you guys got here,”

mentally, robin ticked off one of the boxes on the list (”makes an effort in impressing us/working for our approval”) and laughed behind her hand. the group gathered in the living room, sanji and luffy still fighting it out in the kitchen and soon everyone was just asking [name] endless amounts of questions.

“so, how did you get a job so fancy!?” chopper was the first to eagerly ask, eyes sparkling at the fancy suit [name] was wearing, “i always thought business jobs were cool, but i’m more motivated to be a doctor! it’s what i’ve wanted to be since i was a kid!”

[name] smiled at the wonderment in chopper’s eyes, “that’s a really respectable choice, chopper. but, i just got it from working my ass off. i started just in a cubicle, but i was always trying to impress my higher ups. i was lucky enough to be in their good favor and now, i’m in this position,”

“how long did it take you?”

“hm, maybe 10 years? it was a long journey, but i’m very fortunate now, so i think it all paid off,” he grinned, “what about everyone else? have any of you already graduated?”

it felt like an odd question, one that [name] hasn’t asked in years since he himself has graduated, but it was just the age gap making itself known.

“i graduated early, but it was because my father wanted me working already,” vivi bashfully said, “i will probably go back to school in a coupe of years, but that’s my situation now.”

“i graduated a couple of years ago,” robin spoke next, “we are probably the closest in age, [name].” his eyes lit up at the notion, but she just smiled and politely said, “you’re definitely way older than me, though, but still!”

and he was backed to being in a slouched, sullen figure on the couch. laughter erupted at robin’s teasing remark, nami pushing her shoulder gently at her comment, but there was no actual hatred or protectiveness behind it.

“but after i graduated, i applied to the local museum and i’ve been working there since,” robin finished after calming herself down from her laughing fit, “it’s been really fun, it’s something i’m passionate about so i’m really happy right now,”

“then i’m glad too! that’s great to hear,” [name] said, quickly recovering from his previus sadness. he looked at the silent green haired male, goading him into telling something about himself.

“i’m still in school, but right now i work at the auto shop,” he said gruffly, taking a swig of his beer, “it’s been stressful, man, but there’s nothing i can do about it but keep getting through the days,”

[name] nodded in understanding, “hopefully with time, you’ll reap the rewards you deserve. you got it! even if the days get harder and harder, you seem like you have a strong fighting spirit!”

vivi checked off a box on her list (”doesn’t assume we’re all charity cases — not just throwing his cash at us”). the previous grandiose action with the liquor was different. if, right now, [name] said something along the lines of, “well, if you need any help wink wink, i’ll be sure to help wink wink” alluding to helping financially with their “problems” then that would’ve garnered a warning to nami.

because something like that insinuates: [name] is so full of himself and his wealth that he thinks that throwing money at problems solves them automatically.

besides, if he even tried offering such a thing to zoro — of all people — he would’ve been embarassedly shot down as the man hates it when his close friends even attempt giving him some outside help. he’s stubborn and likes to handle things by himself. so, unknowingly, [name]’s response had made zoro favor him even more (the bottle of whiskey was really cool, to zoro).

as [name] caught up with and learned more about nami’s friends, sanji and luffy finally joined them on the giant sofa with more food. seeing that sanji had finally come back, [name] reached into the paper bag and pulled out the container of baked cookies.

“and to add onto all of our treats,” he said, presenting the goods to everyone with a sheepish smile, “i know i should have asked more about your preferences, but i thought chocolate chip cookies were pretty universal…or i hope they are,”

sensing how stressed and anxious he was, nami ran her hand up and down his back to calm him down. he turned his head towards her with a thankful look in his eyes, squeezing her knee gently before looking back to the rest of the group.

sanji looked unimpressed, but vivi was grinning ear to ear, “don’t worry, [name], we all enjoy chocolate chip cookies!”

“i love them!” chopper cried out, already snatching one off of the platter.

“food is food!!!” luffy cheered, almost crashing into the table with how eager he was to get one in his mouth.

nami already was chewing on one before she looked back at zoro, “hey, where’s usopp, by the way? he told me he’s be coming,”

“he’s only running late because he’s helping kaya out with something at her place. he should come any minute, though, because he said he’d only be like thrity minutes late.”

she hummed in thought before shrugging and turning back to the rest of the group. what she saw was chopper and luffy completely suffocating her boyfriend as crocodile tears ran down their faces. in the corner, sanji was sulking and crying to his heart’s content as he too was nibbling on his own cookie.

“[name], they’re so good!!! how’d you do it!?!” luffy and chopper cried in unison, shaking him back and forth with their mouths full of chocolate chip cookies.

“they’re so yummy!” chopper added in.

“how the fuck is this bastard so perfect,” sanji scowled in his corner, finishing the last bits of his cookie.

meanwhile nami was angrily smacking luffy and chopper off of [name] with a pillow, “you’re suffocating him! hello?!”

“but he hasn’t answered our question yet!”

“he can’t answer if you’re suffocating him, luffy! be serious!”

“wait?! suffocating? someone get the doctor!! oh…wait!!!” chopper panicked, pushing luffy off of [name] and repeatedly smacking the man’s chest to get a reaction out of him, “oh no! is he dead?! i’ve failed!”

“i’m not dead, just really out of breath,” [name] replied as fast as he could, resting his open hand over his stomach. “thanks, chopper,”

“how about a thanks from me who just saved your life?” nami pointed out, looking at [name] with her arms crossed over her chest.

“thank you, my love, you’re my true lifesaver,” [name] smoothly complimented, getting up and pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. she blushed at the action, smacking him on the chest to quit the pda due to how embarassing it was that all of her friends were watching.

“well, now that we have all the snacks, why don’t we put a movie on or something? i vote a scary one so that usopp can get scared when he comes in,” vivi grinned mischeviously, getting agreement from everyone except for chopper, who just grabbed a pillow to hide behind.

they turned off the lights and got comfortable. [name] took his place at the edge of the couch with nami to his right. he had his arm around her shoulder as she cuddled up into his side. her legs rested on top of his lap, his other arm securely holding them in place so that they wouldn’t fall.

“have you seen this movie already?” he asked her in a whisper, not wanting to ruin the experience for the others that were watching.

”no, is it really scary?” she asked, looking up at him as he smiled down at her.

“no, no, it’s not, you’ll be fine,” he assured her, grin only widening. for nami, she saw that as a sign of comfort, gently pecked him on the lips, and cuddled into him further to get comfortable. but really, he was grinning in mischief because he had already seen the movie and it was pretty terrifying.

but he just held her closer and didn’t bother telling her that. if it meant she would continue pressing herself into his side, he’d take all the skinship he could get.

as the movie continued on playing, [name] laughed to himself at all the familiar jumpscares, letting nami gradually come closer and closer as she was getting more and more scared. by the climax of the movie, she was sitting on his lap and cowering behind the giant blanket.

“[name],” she whined, finding his amusement in the situation annoying in comparison to how afraid she was. [name] pressed a kiss to her forehead as response, the smile on his face not faltering for even a second.

and just when there was about to be a big jumpscare, the front door was slammed open in time with the movie and made everyone in the room shout in surprise and fear. chopper threw the popcorn he was holding into the air, sanji and zoro immediately jumped into action to fight whoever was there, robin and vivi held onto each other, luffy fell onto the ground in shock (and because everyone else jumped up off of the couch), while nami jumped into [name]’s arms whilst he just stared at the front door in shock.

the figure that slammed the door open, in turn, screamed because everyone else screamed and also because of the visuals on the screen.

“what the fuck guys!?” usopp shouted, covering his eyes as he saw the horrific image of the movie staring back at him. “why the fuck are you guys watching this when it’s pitch black outside?!”

“why the fuck are you slamming the door open in the dead of night?! are you an idiot?!” nami shouted, chest heaving due to the adrenaline rush she just got. when she saw that it was just her other best friend, she felt pissed off that her heart was racing this fast just because of him. and not an actual threat.

“don’t shout at me, i’m the victim here!!”

“you’re not the victim, asshole!” sanji and zoro shouted at the same time, huffing as they fell back onto the couch with pissed off looks on their faces.

everyone was just pissed off at usopp.

[name] awkwardly cleared his throat, tapping nami’s thigh to signal her to get up, “since that was the end of the movie anyway, i’m gonna use the bathroom,” nami nodded in understanding, giving him quick directions on how to get there.

“ah, let me go with you,” usopp said, hopping back and forth between his feet (it was his pee dance).

“didn’t you just come from kaya’s? why didn’t you piss there?” zoro asked, looking at usopp with an unimpressed look on his face.

“you can’t pee at your girlfriend’s house, that’s weird…” usopp said, shooting zoro an incredulous look, “hey, man, you really can’t do that. so when you get yourself a girl, please remember that,”

the group broke out into laughter at usopp’s joke, slapping zoro on the back as he only glared back.

so usopp and [name] went upstairs, introducing themselves, “nice to meet you, usopp. that was a really funny entrance you had back there,” [name] laughed, making usopp bashfully scratch the back of his head.

“yeah, that’s me. the jokester of the group,” usopp said sticking his hand out. [name] shook his hand without wasting a second, introducing himself by name as well.

“so you and nami are serious, huh?” usopp teased, nudging [name] with his elbow, “you finally asked her to be your girlfriend, woohoo!”

“well, it was kinda more like her asking me, to be honest. but i’m really glad that we did make it official, yeah,” [name] said, an embarassed look on his face, “she’s really great, i’m glad that we’re dating now,”

usopp smiled at the genuine look on [name]’s face, slapping him on the back, “are you sure you’ll be able to keep up with her though, old man?” he teased, enjoying the way the comment obviously got to him. “i’m just teasing~”

“well, i will be trying my best to keep up with her and i’m very confident in us,” [name] said, trying to ignore the stab to his heart.

“hm, well in the meantime, take a piss, man,” usopp said, pointing to the bathroom, “and do me a favor, please make sure there’s no demon behind the shower curtain…”

[name] gave him a thumbs up before walking in and locking the door. after finishing his business and washing his hands, he did actually check behind the shower curtain and purposefully left it open so that usopp could see there were no monsters. he smiled softly as he dried his hands on a nearby hand towel, walking out to see usopp eagerly waiting.

“no monsters,” he confirmed before stepping aside.

“thanks, man,” usopp said, “oh! and you can go ahead downstairs and tell them to put on something that’s not scary!”

[name] chuckled at the way usopp slammed the door shut, making his way back downstairs.

“usopp said to put something not scary on,” he announced to the group as he settled back onto the couch.

nami took her place beside him, hugging his arm as she scowled, “that asshole, we might as well put on the scariest thing, turn off the lights, hide somewhere he won’t see us, and then scare him when he comes downstairs.”

“i was just about to say that,” robin said, taking another cookie to eat.

“well, i think we should not do that for the sake of usopp’s heart,” vivi said with a deadpan look on her face. just as she finished speaking, her phone pinged and she checked the notification quickly. she read it quickly, spared [name] one look, and then went back to directing how the rest of the night would go.

“that was weird,” nami said under her breath, catching the small action and looking in between her best friend and [name]. the man, however, was oblivious to anything and was too immersed in the conversation of what movie they would watch next.

soon, usopp joined them downstairs and jumped right in between chopper and luffy.

“hold on, before you guys start, me and vivi are gonna pop some more popcorn,” nami said, getting out from her comfortable spot next to [name] and grabbed her friend.

the moment they were in the kitchen, nami had dug the phone out of vivi’s pocket and was snooping through her recent texts. vivi, who was very blindsided to nami’s swift movement, could only blink and stare at nothingness.

“are you two serious?!” nami whisper shouted, looking at the texts vivi and usopp shared. this made the other woman snap out of it, looking at the referenced texts. “you guys actually made a list?”

“whattt? no, we did nottt!” vivi lied, very terribly so. seeing the unimpressed and genuinely pissed off look on nami’s face, she straightened up and held onto her hands to calm her anger, “i know it sounds really bad, nami, but we’re just joking around…for the most part,”

“then why did usopp have to text you, “he washes his hands after using the bathroom — check” vivi, this is not normal behavior,”

vivi sighed, knowing that it looked very weird and creepy, but she was determined to make nami see it from their point of view, “we’re just concerned, i guess?” nami rolled her eyes and groaned, but vivi squeezed her shoulders to get her to listen, “he’s so much older, plus the way you guys met, we just wanted to make sure it was all…real,”

“you guys are unbeleviable, what do you mean “real”?”

“no, that wasn’t the right word, i’m sorry. not real — just that he was serious about you two. he’s so much older and stuff and you really like him, we all know how much you do,” cue nami rolling her eyes again, “and not to say that he doesn’t like you back jsut as much because he definitely does, it was really obvious tonight, we are just really rooting for you two to work and we wanted to kinda reassure ourselves that it would…we really care about you, nami. and i’m serious when i say it was like 90% just for fun.”

nami sighed, handing vivi her phone back, “what you’re saying really doesn’t make any sense, i hope you know that. you’re excited for our relationship, so you made a checklist of everything he does?” the two were silent as nami tried collecting her thoughts. with a finger pinching the bridge of her nose, she spoke through clenched teeth, “but! i’ll just sweep it aside because i know for a fact that you really are supportive of us. you’ve proved that before this whole silly joke of yours, but still! quit it now! don’t worry about silly shit like that.”

“it wasn’t silly, we were looking out for real, genuine red flags, too, y’know?” a single glare from nami made vivi shut up with a slight pout.

“like what?”

”…if he washed his hands after he peed…?”

“why on earth would i date a guy that didn’t wash his hands after peeing?”

“…you’re right.”

the two did end up popping more popcorn, not wanting to turn back up empty handed, but nami hogged it all for herself and [name]. the feeling of luffy staring dead into [name]’s soul began making the targetted man feel pressured to share, but nami cut him off before he could even try.

”ignore the rabid animal, [name],” nami fed him another piece, unbothered by luffy’s eyes watching them.

“but-”

“don’t worry about him, he’ll find something else to eat,”

“are you sur-”

“positive~” nami said in a sing song tone, eyes completely focused on the movie that was beginning to play.

by the end of the night, they were able to get through 3 movies before everyone felt too tired to watch any more.

“do any of you need a ride home?” [name] offered, holding a sleeping nami in his arms. he carried her with his hands looped underneath her thighs as she hugged both his neck and waist with her arms and legs, respectively. her head was buried into his neck, the suit jacket [name] was wearing earlier was now draped over her shoulders to keep her warm.

everyone but luffy, usopp, and chopper (the two other boys were sleeping over) needed a ride home. they all rejected his offer, wishing him a good night (sanji’s sounded more heartbroken than the others, though).

he carefully put nami in the passenger side, putting her seatbelt on and then gentle closing the door. he got into his driver’s side, using the same gentleness in closing his own and then checking to make sure that she was still sleeping.

he breathed a sigh of relief and grinned when he saw that she was, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“ya missed,” she spoke suddenly, almost making [name] jump in his seat at the surprise of her voice. plus the fact they just watched a couple of horror movies made him more on edge, a teensy bit. but he regained his composure and went back to properly kiss her on the lips. it was a gentle, soft kiss, but it left them both with smiles on their faces.

“sleep, princess, we got a pretty long drive home,” he spoke quietly, not wanting to make her wake up from her sleepy daze. he gently patted her knee, rubbing his thumb back and forth on her skin, trying to goad her into sleeping.

and she was just about to, but she said one last thing before letting the rest of the car ride continue in silence.

”you’re the best boyfriend, [name],”

his heartbeat picked up at the simple comment, gently bringing them to a stop at the red light, “you’re the best girlfriend, nami.”

“no, you’re really thee best,” she yawned, turning around in the comfortable seat so that was facing the window instead of him.

just when he thought she was really asleep, she said one more thing before knocking out, “even if you didn’t check all the boxes on the list…”

“…”

waiting for her to continue and give him more context, he, unfortuantely, was left with nothing else to work with.

“haha, what do you mean by that, baby?” … “babe?” … “nami, what did you mean by that?”

[pedrostylez]

The First Week

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader

summary: reader and Javier are coworkers that typically hate each other, but find each other helpful in relieving that stress

rating: 18+ (no minors please)

word count:4.4k

warnings etc: smut, dirty talk, light choking, unprotected p in v sex, pet names, oral male and female recieving. NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: I debated back and forth about how I wanted to write these characters and I think this one and possibly the next 2 (?) will be all before “Mi Luz” to show the development of their relationship. Thank you for the kindness on “Before Mi Luz”, I enjoy everyone’s reactions and encouragement :) 

Peña waited all week to see what you would do. He hoped you would beg, but something deep down told him that you wouldn’t do that. That not even if you had been a serious couple that you would be all over him like he was used to his previous girlfriends doing. You were too independent, too caught up in what you were doing to ever lean on someone else for help. 

On Saturday and Sunday he dreamed of your mouth. Of your promises for next week, hoping that no one had in fact stepped out of the embassy while he was fucking you in the back of his Jeep. He dreamed of the noises you made and how you were a totally different person from what he saw from his desk. 

On Monday he was antsy. He came into work surprisingly early-the security guards, the other workers were all surprised to see him. He just said he “needed to get a head start on paperwork.’ But when you came in you didn’t even make eye contact with him–not even a glance in his direction. You walked right past his desk, speaking lightly to Murphy (who had his head on his desk) a good morning and then down the hallway and stairs to the archives. 

On Tuesday he was determined to get you to speak to him.  He went all of Monday listening to what everyone did on the weekend, how the drinks were on Friday and “wish he could of made it”’s and not a peep about you and him staying late. He was confident no one knew and that left the window open to see if you would want him again. He was desperate for anything from you. 

He went down to the archives twice that day, asking you for help on a couple different bits of information. He fished for any sign of nervousness or attraction and got nothing in return. He left the door open to the archives on both occasions. 

On Wednesday he did not come in early, but immediately went to the archives to find Murphy there already asking for your help. “I’m hoping you can find something on him?” Murphy’s hair was a mess and you looked flustered. It wasn’t typical for you to be flustered at Murphy, but if both of you were out of sorts…

“Steve, I’m telling you, I’ve never heard that name before. I need a connection to it that I do have to see if the name pops up. Then I can create a file on them specifically.” You sounded exasperated, looking over to Pena as if to say ‘what is Murphy’s deal today?’

“What’s the name?” Peña could help without just pushing your buttons, right?

Murphy’s head whipped around, surprised to see Javier in the same room as you without poking fun at you. Murphy fed Peña the same information he said to you, you glanced down to your notes and adding a few more details as more information poured from Murphy’s brain. You tracked it, noticing the differences in what he told you versus Peña, noting in your brain where you might be able to find information. 

Javier listened intently, watching you take additional notes and realizing that Murphy had been too vague originally. “You have to always give her the whole run down even if she knows who she is looking for. Being vague makes her files inaccurate Murphy.”

You looked at him with your eyes the size of dinner plates, mouth slightly open. How did he know that? “It’s okay Steve, I think I may be able to look at a few files and I can bring something up to you within the hour. I know I typically already have a grasp on what you’re talking about, I just had  a rough night last night.” You smiled lightly, trying to break the tension between Peña and Murphy. 

Murphy grunted, apologizing for not being as detailed and said he would go grab coffee--that maybe he was just not awake enough yet. Murphy slid past Peña, eyeing him briefly and asking if he was going to join him. “I’ll be up in a minute, have my own question.”

When the room cleared of Murphy you sighed, glancing at the door and seeing it still open. “Which file do you need, Peña?”

“I thought I was Javier now?” He smirked, leaning against one of the tables that held stacked files not yet put away. You looked directly at him, which was all he wanted for the past couple days.  “Why was last night rough?”

“I went out.” You declared quickly, glancing back down at your notes and putting the pieces together in your brain of what Murphy was requesting. “Susan and Amy wanted help getting a lay and asked for me to show them how.”

He felt the heat in his body rise quickly, almost to anger. “And did you? Show them how?” He had to take a breath–it wasn’t like he asked you not to or that you were exclusive.

You thought you hid your smirk, typing into the computer quickly but he caught it and he knew he had been busted for being jealous. “What does it matter to you, Peña?”

He paused, tapping on the table and picking up a random file. “It has almost been a week and no one has batted an eye at either of us being absent from the party.” He raked his eyes to you, blue blouse with ruffled sleeves, smooth from collarbone to hip with your pencil skirt ending just above your knees. Some stylish sandals on your feet instead of sneakers you sometimes wore–it meant you drove into work instead of walking. “Do I have to wait a full week before I ask if you want to go out?”

You paused your typing, looking up at him. “We aren’t going to go out on a date, Javier.”

He felt himself melt and wince at the same time. “I figured you were the type of girl that wanted some wining and dining before doing–”

“Based on last time, do you actually think that or are you just trying to have an excuse to talk about this at work?” you scoffed, feeling your head start to hurt. The tequila flowed too easily last night, and the guy was not as good as you thought he was going to be. “Don’t come in here to talk to me about whatever it is that you want. You ask about intel, archives, and administrative things. That’s it.”

He clenched his teeth, feeling the heat of embarrassment reach his cheeks but wanted to prove you wrong. “Fine.”

On Thursday he left you alone.

On Friday he came in early and waited until you were in the archives to walk down there. Murphy was out, the office was busy answering the phones, and this was a perfect time. He walked in, seeing you on a step ladder and turned away from him. Your ass was at eye level in the work pants you were in, belt cinched around your waist and a flowing green blouse riding up so he could see your smooth back. He closed the door behind him quietly in the hopes that you didn’t hear him. “It’s Friday, hermosa.”

You jumped, almost losing your footing as you whipped your head to the direction his voice was coming from. “Peña, you can’t corner me at work. This is my job.” You were so flustered with him standing in your space. You were just trying to put files away, and the ladder wasn’t high (only a couple steps) but it wouldn’t have been a fun fall. You turned, acutely aware of his eyes on your lower half and made it so he was level with your stomach. 

“It is my job to ask you questions and for your help, which means I will be in your space hermosa.” He breathed out, glancing down at your shoes and seeing your laces were coming untied. He was trying to not lose his nerve. “It has been a week and I have been dying to be alone with you.”

You closed your eyes and sighed, turning back around so his face was now level with your ass again. If he was going to be a perv then so be it. “Get your eyes off my ass and get it through your skull that we can’t do anything at work. I won’t jeopardize it-I need the money.”

He scoffed. Maybe getting you riled up was the way to get you to fuck him. “The other girls don’t seem to mind.” He was trying to get under your skin, and you weren’t going to let him know that it was working. “Your shoes are coming untied cariño.”

“What does that mean? Cariño? Hermosa?” You felt out of the loop, looking at your own shoes and grumbling, stepping down carefully from the steps.

He tilted his head, noting that your Spanish was so poor that you couldn’t even tell a pet name from a swear word. “You really are just going to ignore how I said the other girls in the office beg me to fuck them here?” He felt like he was losing a battle that didn’t really matter in the scheme of it all, but he wanted to see some sort of emotion on your face. Anything. He couldn’t stop getting you out of his mind from last week and how you laughed when you were alone with him. You had stopped getting angry with him and maybe that was a good sign, but the monotone felt worse. 

“Well you didn’t say it like that the first time.” You sighed, stepping around him and being careful to not touch him. “If you need information ask it, otherwise, get out of my archives.”

“Let me drive you home later.” It was a demand, not a question. He wanted to reach out and grab your arm to get you to look at him, but instead he got in front of you and on to his knees, reaching for your shoe laces. 

Your breath stuttered, holding on to the file in your hand with fluttering fingers, surprised he was here in front of you like this. “What are you doing?” His fingers reached out to your ankle, pulling your foot up on to his one raised knee and looking up at you. 

“You were going to trip eventually, and I didn’t want to see your knees scraped up from that at least.” He mumbled, finishing your shoe laces and glancing up at you. Your cheeks were flushed and he felt the satisfaction settle in his stomach. “Can I drive you home later? I know you walked today.”

“How do you know that?” You felt breathless, dropping one foot as he went to pick up the other and place it firmly on his leg.

“You’re wearing sneakers instead of those sandals. And I drove by you this morning.” He smirked, seeing your eyes widen. “You were very cute walking up the hill by the corner market-”

You breathed out, rolling your eyes. “I plan on staying late and the girls wanted me to go out.”

“Again? Tell them you can’t and I’ll drive you home.” He was getting desperate. He wanted to be alone with you again. The hurt of you going out more often than not didn’t matter. He dropped  your foot and stood back in front of you. 

The pause was long as you looked through the file, glancing at the information and committing it to memory. You looked up, his hands on his hips staring back at you. He was biting the inside of his cheek, his only sign that he was nervous. 

“Fine. But you’ll have to wait for me.” Maybe that would deter him. 

“I will wait as long as you need.” He nodded, immediately leaving the archives and keeping your door open. 

At five o’clock, Susan and Amy cornered you at the coffee station that was next to where Peña and Murphy still sat. You were making tea in the hopes that it wouldn’t be too hot by the time you got back downstairs. “Babe come with us! What changed from this morning?” Susan was yanking on your arm, purse already in her hand. 

“I know, but I have more to finish and Tuesday night wasn’t really that fun.” You mumbled, hoping it wasn’t too loud. You didn’t need the whole office knowing your business. 

Peña’s ears perked up but he left his face stoic. He was straining to listen, but he made the preemptive decision to unplug the phone at his desk 30 minutes ago so he could concentrate on what he was doing and it just happened to work for listening in to your conversation. 

“What?” Amy laughed, pushing at your shoulder lightly. “You showed us all the moves and then went with what’s his name? Robert? He was so cute and clearly smitten with you!”

Peña ground his teeth. He would find this Robert.

“That’s nice and all but he wasn’t that great. And I don’t want to see him again and have him think I like him. One and done you know?” You stirred your tea bag in the water and squeezed it out, tossing it in the trash. “I’ll see you ladies on Monday. Try out the moves I showed you guys and let me know how it goes!”

Peña watched you wave them off, casually rubbing your sneakers on the back of your pants from where Susan had stepped on them. He had a single chuckle bubble out, making Murphy look up at him with a pointed expression. “Stop listening to them.”

“I just can’t believe that they ask her for moves. Her?” Peña felt like he was trying too hard to get Murphy to not see what was right in front of him. 

Murphy hummed, looking back at his paperwork and stacking it up. “I’m going to drop these off to her for filing away since she is staying and then heading home. Do you want to come over tonight? Wife is making some fancy something and invited over some of her friends.” 

“No, thank you I am going to finish this up and I’ll head home too. Maybe I’ll meet Susan and Amy at the bar?” Peña laughed, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. 

Peña hoped he wouldn’t have to wait too long for you. 

An hour and a half later, you appeared in front of Peña’s desk. “Are you still working?” You questioned, your bag on your shoulder and your fingers playing with the buckle on the end of the strap. 

He looked up at you feeling suddenly breathless. “No, just busy work. Are you ready to go?”

You nodded, giving a stiff closed-mouthed smile, and waited for him to grab his jacket and turn off his lamp. You followed him out to his Jeep, again the only car in the lot, and casually glanced at him once you were in his passenger seat. His eyes were already on you, sticking to you like glue while turning over the engine to bring the car to life. “Stop staring, Peña.”

“Can’t I be Javier now?” He smiled, pulling out of the lot and onto the main street toward his apartment. “Would you want to have takeout with me? There’s a mean Indian place down the street that is actually pretty good given that we aren’t in India.” He laughed, looking over at you again to see your eyes already on him. “Or we could have something else.” He felt himself wanting to ramble.

You smirked, making him feel butterflies in his stomach. “I like Indian if you pick the meals, Javier.”

He really didn’t know how he got here-truly. 

One minute you both were watching some stupid movie while opening up the food that was just delivered, even though you couldn’t understand what was being said in the movie. He was questioning how you had not learned any of the language you were immersed in, especially since you read transcripts from all the intel. You explained how it was all translated to English by the time it was on your desk, and you typically could play the “stupid American” card when you were in the store. 

The next minute you were on your knees in front of him after he made a comment about how you swore much more when you were relaxed and that your mouth would get you into trouble. 

Peña’s chest rose and fell heavily, anticipation making him clench his fists around the fabric of the seat cushion. “How much trouble do you think I could get into?” You asked, smiling as you ran your hands up his legs still covered in his jeans. 

He was impossibly hard. From 0 to 100, ready for you. “I think you could get into lots of trouble, especially looking like that.” The way his voice dropped never really made sense to him, but he couldn’t help it. And he saw the way your eyes lit up when you noticed the tone he took with you, and it made him want to find a way to speak to you like this around others. 

“How do I look?” You asked, cheeks going red as you realized what you asked. You weren’t typically one to fish for compliments, but something in the way he spoke made you want him to keep going. 

His pupils were blown out as he reached for your jaw and skimmed his thumb across your bottom lip. “Like you want to beg for my cock.” 

The whine that left you couldn’t be helped. You didn’t mean to, but Peña didn’t mind. You reached forward to unbutton his pants as his hand traveled down your neck and across your collarbone, pulling at the flimsy buttons that pieced together your blouse. He could see the blush that started just above your breasts, traveling up to your face and lips, making them look plusher. He lifted his hips as you pulled down on his jeans, cock slapping against his stomach as you took him in. 

“Are you going to beg for it?” He ground out in a husky tone, feeling the pearl of precum drop onto his lower stomach. He saw your eyes on him, unable to pull away from his lower half, making him move his hand up to the back of your head and tug at the hair at the nape of your neck. 

You gasped, eyes raking up to his face and seeing a similar flush on him. “Please, Peña.”

He closed his eyes and squeezed his fingers, slightly digging into the back of your head. “Try again bebe, you know how to get what you want.”

You could guess what that word meant and it made your heart flutter. “Please, Javier.”

He groaned, pulling your head closer to him, watching your mouth as it opened, tongue sticking out slightly to greet the head of his cock first. The minute your lips were wrapped around him, he threw his head back and exhaled deeply. “Fuck-that’s it. Show me your moves Susan and Amy won’t shut the fuck up about muñeca. Huh?”

You lifted your hand to the base of him, giving him one short stroke and then holding firm to direct him where you wanted. Your eyes fluttered up to his face as you pulled back, bringing spit to the front of your mouth and letting it drool onto the head mixing with his precum. “I don’t know what you mean, Javier.” You smirked, leaning back down and giving one long lick from your thumb to the underside of the head wrapping your lips back around him and bobbing. 

The minute you started bobbing your head on him after that little show, he knew you had every guy left in your path thinking about you constantly. The way you gripped him, the way your tongue seemed to wrap around him to aid your sucking had him flying to the moon. 

He groaned, looking down at you and seeing your spit gather at the corners of your mouth, how you breathed out of your nose only when he was mostly pulled out, and how your eyes were watching his mouth. “Do you want to kiss me azúcar?” He huffed, pulling you off of him and letting you take a deep breath. 

Without letting you answer he grabbed your upper arm, yanking you to him and enveloping your mouth with his. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, desperate to be closer to you. 

Your hands wrapped around his shoulders, sitting on his upper thighs in a similar way that you did in his car. He detached himself from your lips, kissing down your neck and bringing his fingers to your blouse. He bit at your collarbone, unbuttoning the last few buttons and pushing the sleeves from your shoulders, revealing a green bra that matched your shirt. 

“Will you let me have you again cariño?” He breathed, looking up at you as he pulled down the cups of your bra, squeezing your chest and rubbing his thumb over your nipples. “What do you need?”

You felt like you could cry by how good he was making you feel. It had been a long week of avoiding Peña to not get too worked up. You tried to find someone else-anyone else-but it just wasn’t the same. The thrill, the encouragement-

“Where did you go, baby?” He looked up at you, concern apparent on his face as he slowed his touches,  pulling away from your chest. You yanked his hands back to you, leaning in to kiss him quickly. 

“Just fuck me, Peña.” You whispered, standing up to undo your own belt as he tried to compose himself. He took off his own shirt, watching as you dropped your pants and stood straight again. He stood as well, wrapping his hands around your hips to reach your ass and squeeze. 

“Bend over the couch.” He said lowly, twisting you around and maneuvering you to the arm of the couch, hips resting firmly on the end and your hands outstretched. He groaned, slapping your left cheek lighting and then kneeling down like he did earlier to tie your shoe, but now to taste you. “Just give me a taste hermosa, you look too good to not have a little.”

You moaned into the couch cushion, his nose at your entrance and his tongue snaking out to lick at your clit before wrapping his lips around it and sucking lightly. His hand was wrapped around his own cock, pumping it quickly as he lost himself in the taste of you. 

He stood soon after, continuing to pump himself as he lined himself up and pushed to the hilt, both of you groaning in unison. “Fuck–I can’t get enough of you.”

The snap of his hips made your hips push into the arm of the couch in an almost painful way, the sound of his skin slapping against yours absolutely obscene. “Oh-ahh-Javi fuck yes.”

You used his name again and again, and it made his eyes roll in the back of his head. Did you not understand what you did to him? He reached forward and grabbed your hair, pulling lighting to direct you to stand up. “Do I feel good inside you baby? Huh? Tell me no one fucks you like I do.”

You resisted, hands reaching forward to the arm of the couch but he pulled back harder making you squeal out. He continued to push into you, his other hand reaching around and squeezing at your chest. “Yes, y-you do. Fuck-you make me feel so good.”

“Is anyone else able to make you feel like this?” He persisted, moving his hand down to your core and finding your clit easily, and making lazy circles with his middle finger. “I can’t fuck anyone else but you now, don’t you understand?”

You nodded slowly, sweat building on the back of your neck as your core began to shake. “Only you make me feel like this Javi.”

He smiled, pushing into you quicker and letting go of your hair, moving his arm around to your neck and holding you up from there. “That’s right baby, only me huh? Fuck-I can feel you squeezing me. I want you to cum. Can you do that?” He continued to circle your clit, not changing the pace or pressure. 

You nodded frantically, holding on to his forearms as he wouldn’t let you lean forward moaning as your release began. “I’m-fuck–I can’t stop.”

“Don’t want you to stop hermosa, cum all over me. Make a fucking mess.” He was straining to hold out, wanting to hear you before he lost himself too.

You started your release, bigger than the last time you were with him and he immediately started to release too. Groaning together in unison as you saw white, breath leaving you quickly as he continued to push into you until he stuttered and held your hips to his. 

A few moments passed with him leaning his forehead on your back until he was sure you were ready and he pulled out of you slowly. He silently went to the bathroom, found a towel, and brought it out to you. 

“Thanks.” You laughed awkwardly, cleaning yourself up before finding your underwear and pulling them up your legs. You looked at him, still naked and going soft as he scratched the back of his head. 

“I uh–I want to let you know that if you want to I would be okay doing this more often.” He stumbled out, glancing at your and your perfect recline on his sofa in only underwear, breasts out and legs shaking. 

You laughed lightly, looking at him again. “Yeah, I think I would be okay with that Peña.”

[rosenotactuallyquartz]

What do you feel about the official Rebecca Sugar pearlgreg art going around?

i said: “okay, but where’s pearlrose?”

i’m half-joking. i’ve gotten a few asks about this, and i only vaguely posted about it on sunday. so, i’ll talk more about it since you guys are interested in hearing my opinion! i am also typing this all out while i’m extremely sick, so i apologize if i ramble (even) more than usual.

a lot of my closest mutuals were very happy about this, because they already liked the pearl + greg ship or, more so, the gregrosepearl poly ship. which is something i understand, because a few years ago sugar sketched pearl + rose kissing and it’s really awesome to have a sketch of the ship you love by the creators of the characters.

i’m someone who doesn’t like drama, so i didn’t get involved and i don’t quite understand what people were arguing about because i didn’t look into it at all. some of my closest friends have different opinions about ships, and that’s okay! the only time i get mildly annoyed is when people try to put down my favourite ships to bring up their favourite ships. especially when they really misunderstand the ship they’re putting down. for that reason, i try not to do the same when i write about the ships i like, and i try to be fair & unbiased when i’m writing comparative stuff.

where was i going with this?

right, so i was happy for my mutuals who already liked gregpearl & i didn’t want to (nor did i feel the need to) get involved in The Drama™️

that being said, i mentioned that i only get irritated when things impact how the fandom acts about my favourite ships, and i think that’s why i felt a little bit concerned. pearlrose is misunderstood enough. some fans act like pearl never truly loved rose, or rose never truly loved pearl. even if their love is validated, the ship & the shippers get hate on a lot of other platforms and a lot of the time, fans hate either pearl or rose, anyway. i felt so alone until one of my (now mutuals) gave me the idea to be more active on tumblr than the subreddit.

so, a few sugar sketches that we’ve never seen before have been shown to us this year and my only concern would be that the fandom would become even more… misunderstanding & possibly even more hateful towards pearlrose, as well as the people who ship them and are simply just trying to live their lives. there was a sketch that i don’t like to talk about, but it was one of the early sketches posted in may and it made people hate pearl & pearlrose. recently, i had someone tell me they hated pearl because she “did this *shows me early sketch* to rose” i had to remind them that early sketches (especially ones that aren’t in any books and weren’t released as the show was released) are far from canon. & this sketch in particular contradicted canon (i.e., communication issues resulting in a severe lack of closure that would not have been the case if this happened, or pearl canonically never doing *something* until she opens up about repressed trauma). anyway, it was bad, and it fed into all these misunderstandings that people have about pearl’s character.

so, that’s another opinion i have. i think it’s just important to remember that sketches like these are not canon. especially because they include such important details that would have altered the plot. i haven’t touched the subreddit in days because i’ve been afraid of hearing the, “well, knowing what we know now, pearl was probably afraid of greg being rose’s favourite because she already liked greg, too!” these sketches are likely scrapped ideas or things that sugar is exploring with their characters. unless they tell us this happened & it’s canon. basically, i was a little apprehensive knowing how steven universe fans have acted in the past about sketches like these.

that being said, does it bother me if people are enjoying these sketches & choosing to use them to support their personal headcanons, without using the sketches as reasons to hate on characters or ships? of course not! these are fictional characters and it’s totally okay.

if you’re wondering what i think of GregPearl the Ship™️, i always preferred pearlrose over gregpearl and gregrose, but as a poly girl myself i do enjoy AUs where greg, pearl, and rose are together and they all really like each other and communicate. it’s comforting for me, personally! the situation in canon ended without closure with a major lack of communication & some mental health issues so i love looking at what-ifs, even though i do really like that pearl ultimately comes to terms with things, talks to greg, and begins to find closure & understand that rose did love her. it’s a really meaningful theme about how important it is to be vulnerable and have difficult conversations, even if you’re insecure & hesitant.

pearl + greg being intimate any time after rose’s death, would absolutely be complicated and… yeah. in my opinion, pearl does seem a little out of character, just like she did in some other early sketches. & something really important is that sugar didn’t mean to share this with anyone but some crewmates / friends (but don’t quote me on this, i literally just read that in a comment and i don’t even remember if it was here. it does make sense though). i have no idea how we’re all seeing it now, and i don’t have twitter where i’ve heard there’s more information.

regardless, i don’t think it’s a reason for drama, you know? whether these arguments are about headcanons, beliefs, shipping, characters, canon, etc. the people who like the sketch… like it, and the people who don’t… don’t, but it doesn’t change anything in canon, really. people can enjoy this sketch if they enjoy the pearl + greg ship, and people who prefer other ships can just… enjoy their other ships and go about their day.

🩷

[psalacanthea]

Fanfic Friday- 7/12

A continuation of this bit of fic! More of Astarion and Zyn post-canon in the Underdark, if they'd met when he was alive.

Herein lies a bit of dealing with the complications of running a city of vampires, and the story of their original meeting, something Astarion has long since forgotten.

here's the first part!

...

Everything was easier with her blood running through his veins.

He could think more clearly, plan more thoroughly, avoid the endless, counterproductive fighting and bickering.  Astarion understood now why Cazador had kept them down for so long eating nothing but rats.  It was just another method of control.  With Zynatheri’s blood flowing through him, he felt above the bickering, able to see past it, to anticipate and subvert it.  He felt…cleverer than his siblings.

And that was dangerous.

The desire to be above, to stay in control– it was cruelly strong.

But, for now, it simply made it easier for him to do what needed doing.  Insufferable moral problems could be shelved until later, when the sole available willing source of blood wasn’t Zynatheri.  He certainly wasn’t going to let anyone else bite her, or even consider asking her to.  Especially not remembering the sweet intimacy of it, the soft sound she’d made in her throat when he’d kissed her afterward…

The voice coming from the scrying orb was heavy with wry amusement.  “Daydreaming, father?”

“Only a little,” he said, snapping back to the moment.  Astarion glanced at the orb in the middle of the table, and then down at the hastily-scribbled sheaves of notes.  Gods, so many notes.  Pages upon pages of urgent needs.  One would think keeping people nominally fed would be appreciated, especially with how long they had suffered, starving, but no~o.

Barely a pat on the back and then the next problem on the ever-growing list.

He might not have taken this responsibility if he’d known it came with so much sheer ingratitude!

  “I realize that extending my personal protection doesn’t…sweeten the pot enough to convince people to work in a ruined Underdark city full of vampires.  But on the other hand, there’s perfectly good money in it.  Even just a few skilled masons would…”  He sighed, spinning a hand in the air as he thought.  Why was this so difficult?  Ugh, why was he doing this the difficult way when they could just kidnap people?  “We just had a refugee crisis, surely there’s people desperate for work.  We’ll just start scooping up the poorest of the poor.  They’ll be grateful!  And, having been starving, they won’t ask for as much food, hopefully.”

“You could make it sound a little less predatory.”

“Darling, my dearest reflection,” Astarion sighed, trying not to snap at her for her obsession with wording, of all things.  Shouldn’t she be grateful he was being honest?  He could certainly offer all sorts of pretty lies if that’s what she preferred.  “I am offering refuge to people in need!  Not out of predatory charity, but in exchange for work.  I’m not even asking them for blood– incidentally, I was talking to your mother about what future commodification of blood might look like.”

“I suppose with your condition it’s inevitable,” she agreed, but he could hear the note of vague unease.  “And I’m not judging you for that.   As long as you’re being fair and reasonable.”

“I’m not saying that selling your blood is preferable to selling your body, I’m simply saying that there may be those who find it a…welcome change in career.”

Lilithera gave a faint, dubious ‘mmh’, but her voice was only musing.  “I’ll talk to my assistant Fredrika.  But daily your recruitment list gets longer, father, and eventually money and privacy are going to start being a problem.  Now that you’ve…somewhat solved the starvation issue, the next step has to be working on how to feed and protect mortals while you’re looking for immigrants.  You don’t have any skilled laborers.  You can’t have them starving or being eaten!”

“We can import,” he reminded her, smiling at her ‘hmm’ of agreement.  “My people have already excavated half of my claimed district, and we’re turning up more and more tradable goods as we clear out the previous tenants.  Precious metals, gems, magical items, cultural artifacts…”

“Don’t you dare sell Drow artifacts to the surface! You need contact with the local Drow.  They know how to sustain a population down there, father!  Learning to run a farm in the Underdark will do you so much more good than importing food.  Convince mother to contact her family– bring whatever important pieces you can find to pave the way.”

“I– what?”  he asked, pushing off the desk and turning back towards the scrying orb.  Not that her idea wasn’t helpful, but…Zynatheri’s family?  “I was under the impression they were all dead.”

“Is that what she told you?”

“Well, she told–” No, she hadn’t.  But she’d implied as much.  “Wonderful.  Slippery little pest.”

“I love mum, I do.  But you have to understand trying to get her to do anything difficult is like trying to give a cat a bath.  She’ll twist herself in any direction she can to avoid it.  And unfortunately she’s spent three hundred years manipulating people.  She’s breathtakingly talented at it.”

“You could sound less admiring, dearest.”

“I wish I’d inherited that talent, I’d get so much more done around here.  But she did only learn it to avoid responsibility, I suppose…it wouldn’t work for me.  Convince mother to parlay with House Tzahane.  If for no other reason than you need someone to educate you on how to set up farms in the Underdark.  Then you can move past starvation, and start hiring skilled workers to help you rebuild.  You can’t afford to import food in the long run.  You need to be self-sufficient.”

“She ah–”  He might as well ask for help.  “She told me to speak to you.  Your mother has asked me to-" Gods, it sounded embarrassing, but he might as well just come out with it. "She wants me to court her.”

“No,” Lilithera laughed, voice bright and delighted.  “What, actually court her?  That’s so out of character.  Not saying I know much about mother’s love life, but I’m fairly certain most times it starts in bed and ends the next morning.  Every single time.  ‘Romance is like fish, little Lily.  It goes bad quickly, better to get rid of it before it turns’.”

While he was grateful that Zynatheri hadn’t said anything about his past in that respect, it did make this seem a bit more…well, serious.  Which it wasn’t.  Was it?

“Both of us are being cautious.  Our lives are rather twisted together.  All your fault, I think you’ll find.”

“I won’t apologize for being born.  At the risk of sounding like mum, you’re the one who didn’t take your cassil.”

“Well, what does she like in these circumstances?”  Ugh.  “Flowers?  Poetry?  She wouldn’t say a damned thing, she just told me to ask you.”

“So you’re interested in courting?”

Why did she have to ask?  He didn’t want to think about it. “I– I don’t know!  I just prefer having her here, and she said that if I wanted her to stay, I had to make it worth her while.  She was the one that called it courtship.  I just would like her to stop flitting around like a pixie in a panic and keep my hair fixed for me, is that really too much to ask?”

Lily’s voice was uncharitably amused.  “Hmmh.  Well, I’ll tell you, she likes things she can look at.”

“What does that mean?”

“Flowers, jewelry, paintings, stained glass, curiosities– she has a fondness for pretty things she can just gaze at.  And she’s a bit of a magpie, but she’s not picky about how expensive something is.  For years her favorite piece of jewelry was a gilt and glass gem bracelet I found in a gutter and gave her to go with her performance costume.  When the cheap clasp broke and she lost it, she was devastated.”

“You know, I have yet to get a present from you.”

“Oh hush, yes you have.  Oh!  She hates diamonds.”

“Hates diamonds?  Really?”

“She says they’re gems without any of the joy.  She prefers prettily colored things.  Especially opals.  Quite honestly, for mother I would look at what she buys for you.  She’s showing you what she values and likes by bringing them to you in the hopes of making your life a little easier and happier.”

Hmh.  That did make sense.  “I suppose we’re both fond of the little luxuries.”

“Yes.  Oh!  She loves animals of any sort, even the creepy-crawly things.  When we were in Neverwinter, there was a Lord who was desperate to be her patron.  She had no interest, but he had the most beautiful aviary.  For a while she strung him along just so she could bring me to the aviary and sit among all the brightly-colored birds.  I have some fond memories of that.”

“She is such a little charlatan,” Astarion chuckled, feeling a surge of fondness.

“Honestly, mum is just a free spirit at heart, father.  Give her a place to rest and things she loves and she’ll always come back to you, just like she always comes back to me.”

Ugh.

Come back.

That was the problem, wasn’t it?  She was always on the verge of leaving, and it felt like there was nothing he could do about it.  “It…that sort of trust goes against my nature, darling.  I hate the way she always disappears.”

“She’s very fond of you.”

“Fonder than she has been of…other people in her life?”

“Papa,” Lilithera chuckled.

“She told me to ask you!  The brat refuses to talk about herself– her favorite tactic is to blurt ‘ask your daughter’ and then flee the room as if her tail is on fire.”

“Mother’s never been in a relationship that I know of.  When I was a child she poured everything into taking care of me.  Eventually as I grew up I realized she did have lovers, but never for long.  She’s always avoided attachment.  Honestly, not to be rude, but if it weren’t for me you’d just be another forgotten bedmate, too.”

“No, I’ve gotten that impression myself.  She hasn’t had anything nice to say about our love affair so long ago. But…she said I was special to her.  I suppose that’s your doing.”

“Just believe her, father.  It’s a risk, but what isn’t?”

Hmh.  He hated that she might be right.  That he might simply have to step forward on faith, without knowing if there was something ahead waiting to catch him.  “That bracelet you gave her…what did it look like?”

“Oh, gods, it was so long ago…it was gold, because the gilding flaked.  Blue gems?  I can’t remember what cut, I’m sorry.  But it was pieces of chain between the gems.”

“From a gutter?  And she really treasured it so much?”

“Mhmm!  I told her it was pretty and blue, like her, and she nearly cried.  It was rather cute, thinking back on it.  We were so close when I was small…”

It wasn’t regret, precisely, that he felt.  Jealousy, maybe, but it was a jealousy that was thick with the rueful acknowledgement that– “I would have been an absolutely awful father.  You would have despised me.”

“Perhaps.  Not everyone’s meant to be, like grandmother.  Horrible woman.  Don’t ever ask mother about her unless you’re prepared to hear some very unpleasant things.  But we get along now, you and I.”

“Well, yes, after she did all the work!”

Lilithera laughed, bright and delighted.  “All the more reason to spoil her, father.  You owe her.”

Gods.

"Don't you dare breathe a word of this to anyone. Before you go, darling, about Gale..."

"Oh dear, is it already so late? I'm sorry, Father! I have a meeting with the head archivist! I love you!"

"Don't you d-"

The orb went dull and silent.

Offended, Astarion stared at it, forehead furrowing. Why, the absolute wretch! How dare she flee from the conversation? Well, now he was going to have to tattle on her to her mother.

Zynatheri wouldn't stand for this, and neither would he.

Well, having been bitten wasn’t the worst experience in the world.

Yes, Zyn’s neck hurt, and yes she felt a bit worn and hazy, but other than that she didn’t feel too exhausted.  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t lost blood before.  Besides, Astarion hadn’t even complained about her stealing his bed for the night and she had books to read, so all in all she was quite fine.  He’d make sure the twins were safe.

Even so, she’d Sent to them a couple times, just to check in.  Apparently they were having the time of their lives down in the depths of the House, mapping things out for Astarion, hunting for treasure.  She would rather not go herself, but she was happy for them that they had.  Astarion said he was off inventorying things to be sold off surface-side, which sounded very dull to her.  All in all, Zyn had the best lot out of anyone today.

And all for the low, low price of a little blood.

She’d had a bath and refilled the tub for when Astarion returned later, which was enough effort.  

Zynatheri was deep into a book of famous Waterdhavian urban myths and murderers when Astarion returned, his footsteps echoing up the barren hall before the door creaked open.  She didn’t mind his faintly condescending chuckle as he caught sight of her, lips twitching into a faint smile behind her book.  Rugs softened his footsteps as he approached.  She ignored him impishly.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of burgundy as he threw his coat over the back of the daybed.

“Have you even moved today?  Please tell me you ate, at least, you have to get your strength back.”

“I ate,” she replied, eyes reflexively slitting as one of his cool hands rested on her head.  Finally she peeked up over the top of her book.  He looked…so much better than he had the night before.  In fine spirits.  “Shall I heat up your bath?”

His eyes were soft, but amused as he gazed down at her.  “Soon.  Thank you.”  

Astarion sat down on the edge of the bed, and she watched as he kicked off his boots, letting out a long, slow sigh.  They were a bit dusty and stained.  It looked as if he’d had a hard day today.  Not that she felt bad for being lazy or anything, of course.

“You must have been running all over the city.”

“I wanted to deal with some issues that have been plaguing me while I had…the energy,” he replied, leaning back on a hand to try and peek at her book.  She turned it towards him, and he gave a faint ‘hmm’.

“You mean the blood,” she teased.

His lips twitched up into an amused smile at her words.  “Well, there’s no need to be gauche.  May I?  What are we reading about?”

Pleased he was still willing to let her enjoy some cuddling despite him being annoyed with their discussion last night, she scooted closer to the edge of the bed.  As he shifted behind her, laying on top of the blanket instead of under it with her, she leafed back to the beginning of the story.  A hand hesitantly touched her hip as he settled, and then wrapped around her stomach at her faint ‘mhm’ of approval.

They adjusted a bit until they got settled, with her tucked up against him, blanket between them, his chin resting on her shoulder.  Comfortable, simple.  They read together, with him occasionally getting impatient when she took a little too long.  Eventually those little annoyances added up, and he tried to forcibly turn the page, which got his hand smacked with the book.  Grumbling, he pulled back and buried his face against the back of her neck.  

“Read to me,” he demanded, muffled.

Zyn rolled her eyes.

But, well, they were only a few pages from the end and he’d likely had a long day…and she did like the sound of her own voice.  Succumbing to the inevitable, she began reading to him in a slow, even voice, picking up from the top of the second page.  Languid as a sleeping cat, he relaxed against her neck, letting out a heavy, cool breath.

His hand remained where it was, neither moving nor retreating, lightly cradling her stomach.  Tucked comfortably against him, she finished the little tale of dismemberment and horror– terribly sensationalized, of course.�� Which was utterly unnecessary.  Reality was strange enough without excessive embellishment.

At the end of the tale, it turned out to have been a servant of Bhaal after all.

What a predictable outcome.

“I would move on to the next one, but you’ll feel better for a bath,” she said, not just because he smelled a bit musty.

There was a wordless complaint, somewhere between a groan and a whine, his arm tightening around her, hand clutching more possessively.  Amused, she let herself be dragged into the cradle of his body, his legs tucking up underneath hers, his other arm sliding under her head to grab her far shoulder.  Pinning her in place.  The blanket was still between them, though, a thin barrier.

“Or we could lay a bit longer,” she said, not bothering to hide her exasperated amusement.

Much to her surprise, she didn’t get something spiteful in response.  Instead, he asked in a quiet, almost embarrassed voice, lips pressed to the back of her neck, “will you be here tomorrow night?”

“Yes,” she said instantly, not needing to think of it.  They’d only been here four days, after all.  The twins would never forgive her if they left so quickly.  “I will be here tomorrow night.”

Only then did he release her, leaving the bed without another word to disappear behind the screen.  She forgot her role until he reminded her, poking his head out.  Leaning over the side of the bed, she sang her lazy little song to warm his bathwater, tucking herself back into the blankets afterwards.  

Only for a few minutes, though.

Once he was relaxed in the water, she left the bed to keep herself from reading ahead without him.  Wandering to the fireplace, she poked more cavewood into it– they seemed to have a lot of the stuff right now, cut down from the overgrown city.  It wasn’t as if they generally needed it to cook.  Or even, technically, to warm up a home.

“Have you thought about exporting cavewood?”

“I don’t know the first thing about how to set up forests,” Astarion replied, in that hazy, languid voice he always seemed to use in the bath.

She finished prodding the fire and stood up, gaze met by the pictures of the children on the mantle that she’d brought.  No pictures of him.  Zynatheri frowned.  She needed Astarion to sit for some portraits.  Hmm.  

“Lack of knowledge seems to be our biggest hurdle here,” she agreed, adjusting the oval-framed painting of Lilithera’s second daughter.  Of the youngest, she was the one who most looked like Zyn– and the one who was least like her.  “How did our family make such a contrary child as Portia?”

“It’s unfathomable.  I’ve never been contrary in my life,”  Astarion lied.

“What color do you want to wear if I commission you a portrait?  Violet, perhaps?  A rich navy?  That would make your eyes look brilliant.  But no.  We should place you against a dark wall– pale gold and blush with touches of sapphire?  Oh.”  She clasped her cheeks, imagining it in her mind.  Yes.  “Magnificent.”

“You know, when you constantly change the subject without warning, people can have difficulty keeping up.”

“Just looking at the portraits.  There isn’t one of you, and you need at least a couple,” she mused, head tilting to the side.

“Why, exactly?”

“Well, they’re not family portraits unless you’re there,” she reasoned.  “You can just get one done and make copies for the children.”

“There are no pictures of you.”

Well, yes, but… “It seemed a little presumptuous to put a portrait of myself up on your mantle.”

“You spent all day lounging in my bed,” he reminded her lazily.  “Could you be a darling and pour me a drink?”

“You have the only proper bed in the city, of course I’m lounging in it,” she said testily, adjusting the portrait one last time before wandering over to his desk.  Rothe blood wasn’t much, but it was something.  At least he had the luxury of enjoying it in a civilized manner.

Picking up the bottle, she was about to pour into a goblet when she realized it was stained with dried blood.  Annoyed, she shifted a glance to the bathing screen.  A withering one.  Hopefully the bastard felt it.

“Your cup is dirty.”

“And it would take you five seconds to fix that, but you’re using that time instead to complain to me.”

“Or I could pour the blood into the dirty cup.”

“Please don’t,” he said, pained.

“Are you going to clean it yourself after you’re done?”

“Don’t talk to me like one of the children,” he grumbled.

“Don’t act like one of them,” she replied with a laugh, and sang her small cleaning cantrip.  With the cup pristine, she poured a healthy measure of blood from the enchanted ewer, not minding the way it steamed.  So did mulled wine.  Ooh.  That sounded nice.  “Do you have any wine?  Spices?”

“What?  Why– yes to the former, I think?  Why would I have spices?”

“Mulled wine sounds nice, that’s all.  Well, I can at least warm it up and add honey, I never leave home without honey for my wine.  Shall I just reach blindly around the screen there, or…”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen.  Don’t–” There was a touch of frustration in his voice.  “Don’t treat me as if I’m fragile.  Please?”

“Silly viper, I’m trying to let you show me what you’re comfortable with,” she teased him, not minding a bit being invited to infringe on his space.  “I know what it feels like to not be allowed to speak up for yourself.  When I first started…regaining control of my life, my comfort would change by the hour.  We’re complicated things, thinking creatures.  You tell me what you’re comfortable with, and I’ll oblige.”

“Sometimes I’m profoundly grateful how careful you are, and sometimes it infuriates me.”

“Yes, I can be irritating.”  She broached his space, knowing if she didn’t he might get more upset.  “That was nice, having a cuddle together.  Could we do it more often?”

All that was visible was his pale, sculpted upper chest and bared shoulders, but even that was distractingly attractive.  Archery really did make for lovely muscles.  There was something charmingly defiant about his curls when they were damp, disordered from their usual careful coiffure.  His eyes had been narrowed, but when she spoke they relaxed, his wet fingers brushing hers, a droplet falling from his fingertips.  The contact lingered as he took the goblet from her, their pinkies twining together.  There was the slightest tug, a hesitantly hopeful beckon, and she followed it willingly.

Zynatheri sank to the new rug next to the tub, resting her temple against the cold stone basin.

The water splashed softly as he shifted, and then his hand settled on her head, long fingers idly massaging her scalp.  Her eyes slitted closed like a contented cat.  It felt heavenly.

“Will you read to me if I allow it?”

“Mhmm,” she agreed drowsily.

“Then yes.  But I don’t know that it’s enough to make you stay.”

She sighed.  It was a bit selfish of him to keep bringing it up like that, but selfishness wasn’t exactly a negative in her books.  It might be crucial to his survival as well down here, and she did want that.  More than she realized, and not just for the childrens’ sakes.  They were both much less…sharp these days, and got along much better than before.

“It’s enough for a little while, at least,” she replied, lulled into a stupor by his languid caresses.  “You have time to think of another reason.”

“Or I could just keep doing this.”

“Mmh,” she agreed drowsily.  “That would work.  But people would make some rather interesting assumptions about our relationship if you did it in public.”

“May I ask…”  Much to her surprise he sounded a bit awkward when he trailed off.  At her soft ‘hmm?’ he gave a small sigh.  “I have to say this so rarely, but this actually isn’t meant as an insult.  How can someone have lived for three hundred years and still be so…simple?  Live so carelessly.”

She didn’t find it insulting, because he was right.  “It takes more work than you might think.  I did what I had to.  I raised our daughter as best I could, and I’m done.  That was enough responsibility.”

“It doesn’t bother you, watching your child– our childrens’ accomplishments outstrip your own?”

“They have them because of me,” she said, happily basking in that fact.  All sorts of accolades, but her work had been finished!  Quite honestly she loved Lily and her children, and her children’s children, but she despised babies.  It was so nice there weren’t any in the family right now.  “And now look at you!  I gave you a whole city.  Where’s the appreciation?”

“I appreciate you very much,” he said, annoyance and amusement clear.  “But that doesn’t mean I understand you.  There’s no ambition at all in this pretty head, is there?”

“No, ick.  Not even a little.  No thank you.”

“Strange little baggage.”  His fingers wended through her hair, pulling strands from her braid, idly toying as he relaxed.

Contentedly she drowsed, in that half-meditative state she’d perfected over the years.  Comfortable, soft, and hazy.  Granted, she was leaning against stone and sitting on the floor; that could have been improved upon.  But other than that, it was quite nice.

His long, graceful fingers felt nice running through her hair, with the occasional detour to stroke her cheek.  Having decided to simply take this as it came, Zynatheri was perfectly happy to let him do whatever he liked; after all, if she’d had her way they would have been in bed ages ago.  But that wasn’t what he needed.

She wasn’t sure he knew what he wanted, let alone needed, so she’d let him completely lead the way.

It was a shame that annoyed him, but she found that entertaining as well.

It was probably time, though, to be honest with him about what she wanted.  That knowledge did annoy her, partially because it roused her from her very comfortable state, and she knew it would stop his stroking her hair.  So she held back for now, mulling it over in her mind.

What was the best way to bring it up?

Probably to just be blunt; it would make things quicker.

When he asked her to reheat the water, that felt like a better time, and she prepared herself as she rose to sit on the edge of the basin.  His hand left her head and settled on her thigh as she sang his water back to scalding.  Too hot for her.  But after his first hiss at the change in temperature, he slumped blissfully, eyes slitting closed.

He sprawled back attractively, fingers resting on the base of his cup, arm carelessly flung out of the bath.

It was amusing how his skin barely flushed from the heat, remaining pristine and alabaster as ever.  Well, despite the scars.  Content to lounge on the wide lip of the bath, one leg dangling down, she pulled her hair over her shoulder to re-braid, the plait loose and uneven from her long night of being lazy in bed.

As she braided, she hummed, and eventually he shifted to rest his cheek against the side of her thigh, tugging on her arm until she scooted close enough for him to get comfortable.

"Before this goes much further, I should be honest and admit to you that I'm not interested in loyalty," she said, keeping her voice calm and mild.

"Loyalty?" he asked simply.

Hmmh, that was a bit vague. Zynatheri tried again. "I generally don’t let myself get very attached to people.  Yes, I have had many friends and lovers that were more than a night–”

“Lilithera didn’t seem to think that was the case,” Astarion interrupted her.

Zyn smirked, voice wry.  “So that means I did my job properly.  I am a...whimsical person, and I follow my whims. Does that bother you?"

"Stop prancing around the point, please," he said with a tinge of annoyance. He huffed, shifting his head against her thigh so he could glance up at her, ruby eyes narrowed. "Just come out and say it plainly."

"I bed a lot of people," she said, unable to help a small laugh cascading over her words. "And I don't plan on stopping. But it's only bedding and nothing more."

Astarion gave a faint 'hmm', eyes drifting back to the bath. "As long as you don't sow chaos down here, darling, I don't particularly care. Lily, on the other hand..."

"Our girl doesn’t need to know the sort of things you and I get up to, Astarion.”

“Excuse me?  Why, I’m a very model of virtue,” he scoffed.

What an absolute liar.

Even when he was alive he was an awful person.

“Sounds like someone wants to hear the story of how we actually met,” she said with a quirk of her lips.  

Affront tainted both his voice and expression as he reared back, straightening up in the water.  “Did you lie to me?”

“No,” she laughed, leaning down.  “I simply didn’t tell the whole truth.  Not in front of Lily!  She’d be shocked by what a degenerate you were.”

He pinched the end of her nose, smiling when she reared back in offense.  “Mmh, now I must know.”

She reached out a hand for his cup, admiring the way he picked it up to hand it to her.  The way the stem slid between his fingers that curved up to cradle the bowl actually reminded her of that night they’d met some two centuries before.  That realization made the memory sharper, closer to the surface.  It would be easier to tell.

“I’m going to get some wine.  And maybe a pillow, the edge of the bath is too hard for my poor arse.”  Zyn rose to her feet, slipping around the curtain to leave the bathing alcove.

His voice followed her retreat plaintively. “Refill?”

“Yes, that’s why I took your cup,” she chuckled, amused with him.  “Does it feel better to sip throughout the day, or to just have one big bite?”

“You know, I’ve never thought about it,” he mused.  “I hadn’t really ever had the chance to drink my fill before the nautiloid.  There’s just something to be said for experience of having it in a civilized manner, even if it is better straight from the source.  It makes the animal blood…more palatable.”

She set his glass down and went into the next room in search of the wine she’d been promised earlier.  Dizzying, crowded, stacks of crates, barrels, and sacks were haphazardly left from floor to ceiling with absolutely no rhyme or reason at all.  Zynatheri felt the twinge of a headache.  How did he live like this?!

How did he find anything?

“Where the hells is the wine?”

“Ah…somewhere on the left wall, in a crate with a missing slat.”

She stared over her shoulder at the doorway, expression flattening.  “That’s the best you can do.”

“It is!  You’re so understanding, darling~!”

“Remember, if you murder him, Lilithera will be upset,” she told herself, loudly enough for him to hear.

He laughed, the sound both self-satisfied and innocently delighted, as if he were a child playing some impish prank.

It was frustrating how delightful the bastard was.  Zynatheri forged into the crates with an annoyed, but determined air.  It took her a few minutes to find what she was after, but eventually she located the wine.  The crate was stamped with the Zhentarim sigil.  Tsk.

What a thief.

Amused, she liberated a bottle from it, turning it over.  Not her favorite, but decent enough.  It’d do.  With a shake of her head, she scanned the mess one last time and turned to leave the room.  No door, of course; most of the doors were gone entirely.  One day perhaps they’d replace it, but she really needed at least a curtain.

Now that she knew the mess was there, she’d keep thinking about it unless it was hidden.

“I now know the reason you want me to stay.  So I keep cleaning up after you.”

“Mmh, that is a nice bonus…but only a bonus, my little fox.”

Zynatheri couldn’t even hold it against him, quite honestly, because after escaping from Menzoberranzan her own cleaning habits had been rather atrocious.  Trauma had a way of doing that.  Ugh, no, she couldn’t think about that too much or she’d be even more inclined to stay.

Something about Astarion made her want to coddle him.

In lieu of a second goblet, which did not exist, she just worked the cork out with her knife and resigned herself to drinking from the bottle.  Not the first time, nor the last.  Leaving the corked blade on his desk, she refilled his glass and brought both back to the bath. 

Still impossibly, irritatingly alluring, he was slumped in the bath with his eyes closed, a loose, damp curl clinging charmingly to his forehead.  Amused, she set the bottle down and perched on the edge of the tub reaching out to lightly brush it aside.  One ruby eye cracked open to peek up at her, his mouth still soft and inviting in relaxation.

“Your wine,” she teased, offering him the glass of rothe blood.

With a faint smile he accepted it, their fingers lightly brushing.  As he turned to set it aside, she began to rise, only to stall as he abruptly grabbed her by the waistband of her trousers.  Curiously, she peeked over at him.  He wasn’t even looking at her, but when she tugged at his wrist, he finally glanced her way.

“Where are you going?” he asked arrogantly, as if she didn’t have the right.

“I need a pillow, I told you.”

“Come in the bath.”  He gave her another, more forcible tug, stalling when she slapped his arm.

Zyn glared at him, scooting further away despite his pulling on her.  “I don’t have other clothes, you pain in my arse.  What am I supposed to do when they get drenched?”

“You do have other clothes.  Lily sent them for you,” he reminded her, and laughed at her instant scowl.  He released her trousers with a flick of his hand, voice dismissive.  “Go get your pillow.  I want my story time.”

“People pay good money for what you get for free, you know,” she teased him, careful not to knock over her wine as she slid to her feet.  “But you always did have a good eye.”

There was a hint of a purr to his voice, intrigue and coquettish interest.  “Did I?  I’d love to hear about it.”

Hmm.  Why not make it a bit more entertaining?  Show him why she was worth the bribery it would take to keep her around more often.  

Magic, summoned by her voice and the story she began to weave, sufficed the room with illusion to echo her tale.  A murmur of vague conversation, the clink of glass, laughter and music filled the air.  The surroundings blurred, overlaid by a scene of gilded pillars and indistinct figures dancing and conversing.  The flowers in the vases, draped over the windows…they’d been blue and yellow, she thought.

They blossomed in bright bursts of color, adding more detail to the illusory environs.

“It was a party, an event for the younger nobility.  Which of course meant it was full of drunken revelry, licentious behavior, and other entertaining things.  I myself…”  She peeked around the curtain with a coy smirk, lowering her lashes to peek at him through them.  “I was there to catch the eye of my target.”

Astarion smiled lazily, finger idly circling the rim of his glass as he watched her through the steam.  “The target you were going to kill.  But why were you going to kill him?”

“Oh, darling, it’s always better not to know when you’re doing it for money.”

It was very little surprise that he immediately rested his head on her thigh again with a possessive air.  

“Which I did, of course, having been…informed of his preferences beforehand.”  She took a sip of the wine, wetting her throat.  “He wasn’t very interesting to me on a personal level, quite honestly.  Boring.  But a job is a job, after all.  His friend, however, I found quite to my taste.  Very handsome.  Beautiful hands– actually the first thing I noticed.”

Astarion smirked, lifting a hand out of the bath to stare at it, water dripping from his fingertips, beaded droplets clinging to his skin like polished jewels.  “They are nice, aren’t they?”

“Mmh,” she agreed, voice languid and slow.  “I was aware that there was a small getaway planned to someone’s riverside estate.  Which was, of course, the perfect opportunity to get the job done.  I flirted my way into an invitation.  To be entertainment, of course, not a guest.”

“I’m certain there were all kinds of entertainment you had planned,” he teased her.

Zyn laughed, unabashed.  “I wanted to enjoy myself a little before having to run.”

“Quite understandable, really.”

“Your ‘friend’ was very, very flirty and handsy.  You were not.  You just watched me with a certain air that told me there were wicked things running through your mind.  I have always enjoyed that in a man.”

“You were disguised as usual?”

She wove it out of light for him, a tall, slim figure with vaguely-defined features.

“Mmh.  Elven.  Long black hair, blue eyes– more regal than my natural state.”  It’d been a long time, and she’d had to give up being Zyrenna when Cazador had nearly captured her so many years ago, but she summoned up what she thought was a good approximation.

“By regal you of course mean taller.  Not that that’s difficult,” Astarion remarked, smirking smugly at her dark look.  He reached up and tugged on her hair, head leaving her thigh.  “I prefer you like this.”

“We made a very pretty baby, didn’t we?”

“We did!  Let’s never do it again,” Astarion replied.

Zyn laughed, reaching over and playfully tweaking the tip of his ear.  A rather rudely familiar gesture.  “I agree.  I’d never do it again– hadn’t exactly meant to the first time around.”

“Back to my story,” he ordered, resting his chin on her thigh.

Her fingers toyed with his hair, knowing touching his ears any more might get her snapped at.  Hair was safe for now, he showed no signs any more of being uneasy with or disgusted by her touch.  It might change.  Boundaries would be drawn and moved with time; luckily she was very flexible and good at reading people.  He could snap and grumble as he liked, it didn’t bother her.

Warnings, not attacks.

She would respect them as best she could.

Figures, little more than shaped shadow, gathered and parted in a dance of gossip and intrigue. The only two forms with any real substance were that elven disguise of hers, of course, and a slim figure in white and crimson.

She couldn't quite remember what he'd looked like back then, but that was all right.

“It was an…interesting crowd.  Ambitious, young, pretty.  The type of nobles that think throwing money and power around is a substitute for cunning and experience.  Sharks snapping at the common schools of fish, unaware of how dangerous the ocean could be even for predators like them,”  she smirked, amused by that memory.  Lots of money to be made from people like that.  Lots of enemies to be made, too.  “It was no wonder a single assassin was so successful.  It was no wonder I was so arrogant and sloppy.”

“Something went wrong,” he surmised.

Memories might fade, but grudges were forever.  “The little bastard drugged my wine!”  

Astarion laughed delightedly at her offended tone, the corners of his eyes crinkling in an impossibly charming manner.  Grudgingly she laughed as well.  It was quite funny in hindsight– she’d never had the temperament for being an assassin; it was just easy money and entertaining.  But sooner or later, she would have ended up dead.

Maybe Lilithera had been even more important to her survival than she realized.

“So, instead of making it look like an accident after getting my fun in, I had no choice but to slit his throat and run; trying to find a place to pass out until the potion’s effects faded.”  A bright splash of crimson drew eyes back to the illusion briefly, as the vague semblance of their forms playacted out the murder.  The recollection irritated her.  “What kind of man drugs women who were already planning to sleep with him?  What an absolute cunt.”

Astarion laughed with relish, eyes on the pantomime as wel.  “Well, from everything you’re telling me…”

“I should have seen it coming?  Mmh, I agree,” she said, annoyed.  Bloody entitled bastards.  A door burst open, a staggering figure in black all but falling through it, struggling to stand.  Not injured, but faltering all the same.

“I thought I’d found a safe place.  I had not.”  The figure in black collapsed, and another, paler one came to stand over it, staring curiously.  “It was the bastard’s very pretty friend’s room, it turned out, and apparently highly amused that the entire place was in a panic hunting for me…he kept me safe.”

“You were passed out.”

“Mhmmm.”

“Which meant you were out of disguise.”

“Correct,” she agreed, lips quirking up into a little smile.

“I’d say that sounds ridiculous, but it was me, so…I suppose that makes sense,”  Astarion allowed, shifting back to resting his cheek on her thigh, which she appreciated.  The chin was just a bit too pointy.  “Everyone running around in a panic looking for an assassin all snugly tucked into my bed does sound very entertaining.”

Zyn gave him a very strange look, which he didn’t see.  “I didn’t get to that part of the story yet.”

“Metaphor, darling, but I can’t say I’m surprised it was literal as well.”

“Naturally, when I roused we bickered, threatened each other a bit.  There was a knife involved.  Then, we had sex.  The knife was also involved in that.”

Astarion smirked, eyes fixed on the illusion, watching idly as their figures pantomimed the story of their tumultuous meeting. “What fun.”

“Afterwards, blood apparently running a bit too hot, you tried to convince me to murder other people so you could watch.  While I was being hunted.  Because you’d ‘never seen it before’.”

“Well, you were already there,” he reasoned, as if that was a sane thing to request.

“I declined, but we continued keeping company. Adorable, bloodthirsty, and excellent at taking orders in bed– is it any wonder we got along?  I’m talking about both of us, incidentally.  We weren’t lovers for long.  Perhaps a month?  You stood me up one day, so I shrugged and left town, not realizing you’d been kidnapped.”  Zynatheri didn’t blame herself for that, of course.  What could she have done against a Vampire Lord then?  Hells, they’d only managed to kill Cazador two hundred years later because he’d gotten arrogant and desperate.

“And, let me guess.  You found out you were pregnant.”

“Mmh.  Two years later, I had Lilithera.  Sometimes I think about what a forgotten thing you would have been to me without her,” she admitted, gazing at the illusion of her younger self cradling the baby Lily had been.  Possibly.  It was difficult to say if it was accurate any more; their daughter was two hundred years old, and she didn’t exactly retain her memories as clearly as a high elf might.  “Hmmh.  How funny the whims of Fate are.  Men and gods may try to control it, but it always slips through the cracks in the most unexpected of ways.”

As that seemed a fitting end to the story, she let the spell drift free, edges, forms dissipating into colored light and then nothingness.

They both fell silent for a time, each in their own thoughts.

Eventually she began humming to him again, and Astarion gave a sigh she felt, but didn't hear. His eyes drifted closed, delicate lashes brushing his skin. It made the dark circles all the more apparent, giving his face an arresting fragility at rest.

Astarion could never know how close she was to giving him anything he asked for.

He'd absolutely use it against her.

[bellamyblake]

The world hurts less when I'm by your side

“Want to tell me where you got all this money to pay for this?”

“Got a loan.”

“I assume it was big enough to cover all of those expenses and your medications, right?” Bellamy nods “You got nothing left but your pension, do you? And you don’t get that again till next month.”

“Yes.”

“What will you do now?” Bellamy shrugs “Don’t tell me you plan on going back to that cold house and sleeping in it? How long has it been since you’ve been cut off.”

“Five days or so, but I’ve been sleeping at Clarke's for the past two.” 

“I’m guessing considering she’s not here now, that this won’t be possible at the moment?” he shakes his head and Deucette nods “Okay, then you’ll sleep in our shelter until you can go back home.” Bellamy blushes at that and keeps staring down.

It was exactly what he has been thinking of asking but didn’t really have the guts to. The church had a small shelter with just twenty rooms, providing food and medical help that mostly came from the sisters serving in it and the community.

It wasn’t like the other ones in town probably because it wasn’t as big and it took mostly woman with children or men like Bellamy. He has known of it before because he has ended up there as a kid with his mom before Octavia was born and then a few times after. When he joined the Army, he put aside some money as donation to help the church keep up with it and help others like him and his family. 

“I... “ he swallows hard and is about to say that he can’t do that-the memories of his childhood came flooding right in.

He was just three and a half, crying in his mom’s arms from hunger while she tried to soothe him by rubbing his back. She had been nursing him till he was almost three but then things got worse, his dad died, she lost her job and had no way of taking care of him, so they both ended up in a small room on the second floor huddled in with nothing but a bag of their belongings.

Just like now, the house was cut off from any electricity or water-it was impossible to live in it, so Aurora was forced to come here. It was vague but he remembered the Father stroking his head back then as he cried and whimpered in his mom’s arms. He wouldn’t stop till they gave him some food, warm milk too-he thinks he was sick back then as well, at least he remembers coughing as much and his mom wrapping him in blankets. He recalls that he fell asleep after she fed him and finally felt warm.

Then later when he was older, at about eight or nine with O just a baby, the same thing happened only now he had a much clearer memory of it. He was still as hungry and wanted to cry from it but he forced himself not to-he had his sister to take care of now, his mom to support in this hell. He was quiet, really quiet, in fact he can’t remember the last time he spoke out real words.

He wasn’t sure his mom noticed that he either shook his head or squeezed her hand, she had been too preoccupied worrying about nursing a baby, finding shelter and gettng a new job. It was the same father then who noticed Bellamy wasn’t talking. He had found him reading the children’s version of the Bible in one of the pews, nose buried in the pages when he had sat by his side and rubbed his back soothingly. 

“You okay, son?” he had asked him then and Bellamy nodded but it probably didn’t come out as too convincing. “Did you get the chance to sleep? Eat some?” Bellamy shrugged, again without offering a clear answer. “Must be hard falling with a little baby there, huh?” Bellamy shook his head then. 

The priest had raised an eyebrow then, realizing that something’s not right with the boy but not having a true way of knowing what it was.

“Can you show me what passage you’re reading?” he asked next and Bellamy pointed up at the top of the left page “Ah, Jacob and his brothers, I like this one. Would you read it to me?”

Bellamy shook his head and kept looking down at his Bible. The priest, an elderly but very kind man with ginger hair and beard, reached out and touched his shoulder. Bellamy had jumped at the movement and bit his lip, cradling it away from the man and closer to his stomach.

“Do you hurt, son?” he had asked and Bellamy shook his head but it was clear he was in pain. They all knew the real reason why his mom ended up back here wasn’t only because of the lack of money but because the man she was living with, Octavia’s father, had abused her before he finally took off, so he wouldn’t be caught by the local police.

He had hit Bellamy too. Aurora didn’t always know about it. It was in the rare moments at night when he came into their room and would pester Bellamy and his baby sister, asking him why he can’t keep the baby quiet and tossing him around. His mom was usually at work or passed out in the bedroom. It was up to him to feed O her bottle and keep her safe and quiet.

Sometimes, though, no matter what he did, she still cried. That’s when he appeared. 

Other times Aurora was away again but he was home and he’d ask for a beer. Bellamy would bring it over and try to leave as fast as he could but the guy would start torturing him, kick him around, search his pockets for money all while smoking or sniffling something white from his hand. 

Last time he hurt him was just a few days before he left. Octavia was crying in her crib. She was teething and Bellamy knew she needed medicine to help bring her fever down but they had none, so he wet a cloth and put it in her mouth, trying to soothe her gums or offered his own fingers to chew on. He had come in during one of her raging fits and beat Bellamy up.

He felt worse since then but he had no way of telling his mom. He never would. 

Full chapter can be found HERE!

[cat-in-the-desert]

Okay @imaginethat0327 you asked about my summons au- gonna talk about it a bit in a separate post here

So I actually got the idea sort of from this post about an alien abducting someone for help with a paper for school about humans, I went, yk, I can edit that a bit and do something probably! Also mildly inspired by the other concept/idea/(was it a post?) about a human getting summoned by… *something* that sees humans the same way humans see demons. Anyway, those are the vague concepts that inspired the story! Edited them, ofc, and developed my very own au concept— which, uh, accidentally *also* ended up taking inspiration from The Owl House— but the vague premise should be obvious from all that

(Sorry, uh, as could probably be told by the amount of notes- this is my au that I’m most passionate about that I’m not actively posting. I actually came up with it before VMGGNS AU- and I started posting that one as a lighter, less-stressed-about au that I could get out there while developing this one— but then I developed that au a lot more that I expected XD. Anyway, point is, I’m really passionate about my Summons AU, just waiting to post anything until I’ve got it all ironed out)

(This also is a Scarian au, full disclosure)

So to set the stage: Grian lives in a world where magic and hybrids and such are more than commonplace. There aren’t really “normal humans”- everyone’s got some sort of hybrid ancestry; everyone can do some level of magic. Grian’s got a good amount of magic himself (enough that a cult took interest in him at one point— but that’s in that past….right? He’s no longer associated with them).

He’s actually in, basically magic graduate school; his skills were enough to get him a scholarship, so he decided to give it a shot. It’s not like he has anything to lose; he may be a few years late, but having a master’s degree in general magic (there's multiple fields; he opted for a moderate skillset in each rather than a high skillset in one or two) opens up pretty any job opportunity he could want. The year this fic takes place, he's rooming with Cub (vex hybrid, shooting for a masters in mental and modal magic, which includes things like illusion and levitation).

Scar, meanwhile, is a normal human. Went to college, got his degree in Business, runs his own shop, lives in the same apartment building as his former college roommate Mumbo; overall, not really the life he was hoping for, but it's a life. Could be worse; could be much worse!

But then one day, while tidying his shop after close, he finds himself… not there, anymore. Really, he doesn’t know where he is; there’s a guy he doesn’t know standing in front of him, and he seems to be in… some sort of bedroom, and there’s what looks to be a mess of chalk-drawn symbols on the floor—

See, Grian was getting a bit desperate; he procrastinated too much on his paper about how worlds would function without magic, and he may have picked up some, ah, sketchier spells in his time…. away… not that he’d ever use them for what they used them for….

But, well, he hadn’t accounted for just how much magic this would take out of him, and now it’ll be a bit until he can send Scar home. Cub, thankfully, is willing to help “hide” him in plain sight; it’ll only take a bit of illusion magic to make him look like a hybrid, and Cub is always up for a bit of rule bending and mischief.

Scar himself is A-OK with this, as long as G can send Mumbo a message asking him to feed Jellie— and maybe that pushes G’s magic a bit more, maybe that results in him having to stay a bit longer— but getting to stay longer in a world that has magic in exchange for his cat being fed isn’t much of a hard decision, is it?

I’ve planned out roles and home worlds and abilities etc for every single Hermit and Lifer in this AU. They’ll all make an appearance. There will be a considerable amount of time spent in both worlds; there’s plot lines happening in the background and before the story that affect everything in subtle ways— I have put so much thought into this AU, and I want it to be perfect before I post it!

It’s also all Scar POV.

Summary I gave basically just sums up some basic worldbuilding, and the catalyst of it all in Chapter 1. There’s so much more at play than just that, but I hope it’s a good enough summary both to explain the idea and.. maybe? interest a few people to want to read it when I do post it?

Genuinely didn’t mean for it to get this long. Whoops!

[daddyissuesnatural]

We Become What We Are Fed

When he was a kid, Sam had a good teacher; it's as good a place to start as any, after everything ends.

Cross-posted on AO3. Prompt was "Post-Canon/Sam & Healing." Vaguely canon-compliant, but I'm not watching the finale to check.

“Hey, Trent,” he says. He keeps his voice gentle, because he knows how it feels to be on the other side of this; Trent stands quietly next to his desk, head down and looking like he wants to bolt for the door. Sam tries for an apologetic smile. “So, I noticed you didn’t turn in your essay yesterday.”

Trent mumbles something at his shoes. Sam thinks about it, discards the request for the kid to speak up before it makes it to his tongue.

“Look, you’re not in trouble,” he starts. “It’s not a big deal; there’s still plenty of time in the year to make up the grade. I just want to know why you didn’t turn it in.” The kid shifts his feet a little, looks up maybe a half of an inch. That's fine; Sam can work with half an inch.

He’s been at this job for five years. It’d been weird sitting still for so long, at first; it had just been where he’d ended up. He’d driven until the gas had run out of the car with no real motive other than to get as far away from that barn as possible. When he looked up he was in a small-ish suburb, with a small-ish school; the kind of place he saw plenty of on the road as a kid. He'd needed a job, and the school was hiring, so he took a chance. They must’ve been desperate, because they’d barely checked his fake credentials. It paid enough to rent a place from a sweet old lady, and before he knew it he had deeper roots there then he’d had in… well, ever, really.

He’s a pretty good English teacher, he thinks. Kids groan when he assigns the books, but most of them seem to get engaged in the discussions. A handful of his past students come back to his room to talk to him during their free periods; he gets to see how much what he’s doing helped them. He gets to have talks like this one, where he pries a kid out of their shell and helps them get on track. He’s not really far enough to see the impact this kind of stuff will have on them long-term, but—he remembers how much little things like this meant to him at their age. He figures if the things he does now can have half as much of an impact, he’ll do at least as much good here as he ever did with a gun.

It's the kind of life he could grow into; he thinks he might be starting to, now. For the first time since Amelia he can see himself staying somewhere, meeting someone—living a nice, quiet life.

“’Cause I’m not gonna do anything after high school,” Trent says. Half mumbles, really. Sam can feel his eyebrows crumple into his concerned-and-listening face. He takes the half an inch.

“Nothing?” he asks.

“Everyone else is going to college or something, and I’m… I know I’m not gonna do that, Mr. Campbell. So what’s the point?” The kid looks up a little more, with a look in his eyes Sam recognizes as defiant certainty. It’s the same look he gave to half a dozen teachers in half a dozen schools when he was that age. Now, in a small-ish school in a small-ish town, Sam steels himself and channels the best of them.

[agentmarcuspike]

“i just don’t understand why we’re making that conversation be about which words we use to DESCRIBE what we’ve written here in this little corner of the internet when it’s so much bigger than that”

This is such a cop out. Because this issue is “bigger than our corner of the internet” we shouldn’t do something about it?? This issues extends to all media yes but it’s easier to start here, where we can have these discussions with writers one on one. Im not talking to some large studio executive or writer who is never going to hear or care about our plight. Im talking about the fanfiction community, where the best comparison for fanfic is a home cooked meal, and if you don’t care that your readers or followers may feel disheartened by being excluded, then that’s kind of concerning. We should listen to when POC tell us about their concerns, instead of trying to find gray areas or things in the fine print to disprove their points or invalidate their feelings. If a person of color is telling you that what you’re doing or saying makes them feel excluded, you should listen to them. Point blank.

I’m sorry if that was a lot and a very long and winding response thought process wise but I’m sick and tired of white writers only catering to white readers. And yes I know there are thousands of writers on this website but it’s hard to not feel upset by this when the most popular writers on here are literally writing the most egregious white and skinny coded readers. People have a right to be fed up.

answering your long ask with an even longer answer because i feel like we’re talking past each other

it wasn’t meant as a cop out, of course we should still try to do something about it. i was trying to give some perspective that a bunch of people seem to be missing rn and the way you’re going about this, i’m sorry if it came off as invalidating

i’m obviously not disagreeing with your point, like i said. everyone should feel seen and welcome and understood, and if that’s not the case then we should try our best to change that. but this is a completely different conversation than what i set out to have, because of course i think people have a right to be upset. i’m trying to criticize the way a lot of you guys are going about this over and over, and not your cause.

“(…) where we can have these discussions with writers one on one”

but we’re not doing that, are we? this conversation right now is between you, who has the safety of anonymity, and my blog followers, who are the people that will see this. the conversations people are having are through posts saying they want change, without addressing who needs to make the changes, leading people to send writers anonymous hate, which is absolutely not making any changes, rather the opposite.

it would be much more fruitful if the people who feel hurt would tell the writers directly, so that they could be educated, if they’re not, instead of attacking people with vague posting, rallying people to send them completely unrelated hate, which is what’s happening, and what keeps happening every time we try to have this conversation. if people then choose to keep writing stories about white and skinny people then i’m sorry to say that that’s their choice. yeah it sucks, and you have a right to be upset about it, but what you don’t have is a right to demand they change, because this is people’s hobby, and if they want to write about only what they know then they should get to do that. and if you have suggestions for how they can be more inclusive and diverse, or want them to add certain tags, tell them personally, and don’t make a vague post about it. doing the latter makes it seem like you don’t actually care about change, and only want people to feel bad

if there’s anything you suggest i do to make my writing more inclusive then please tell me off anon so we can have a proper conversation about it, i would love that. if not, please take it up with the people you think about when making vague callout posts instead of my inbox, because this is not gonna lead to any change

[desultory-novice]

<Surprise! I turned it into a post!>

Do I ever cry working on this stuff?

Oh yes. Ohhhhhhhhhh yes.

I'm a very emotionally focused writer who really gets into the heads of the characters I write for, and I often feel the things I have them go through very strongly. (And I've absolutely shed completely real RL tears over the things I write. No shame here.)

Just in that little piece there, I myself can FEEL the tension beating around me as the Master Crown tries to pressure Marx into standing down by using Magolor as a bargaining chip and casting really vile aspersions on Marx's motivations. (Even as the crown itself is only thinking that way because it has fed off the souls of countless villainous kings in the past.) I feel a tingling in my hands when Magolor "wakes up" and starts screaming. And I feel a heaviness in my heart as Marx doesn't know how to tell Magolor the truth and wonders (without saying it aloud) if he was being selfish for bringing Magolor to the surface just so he can have his friend back.

...Sometimes, I do worry my work may come off a little too...strong, for that reason. Should I muffle the emotions a little? Will my writing ever upset people past the point of “feelsy” entertainment to become just plain upsetting?? 

There are many different reasons to write. To inform. To persuade. I'm big on writing as a tool for teaching lessons. Both ones you want to emulate (treat others as you wish to be treated, etc) and ones you very much don't. (Be careful what you wish for, etc.) But I also see stories as having value for their use as a form of emotional expression. (And emotional discovery/instruction.)

We writers don't just want to be running faucets all the time. Pouring out so much emotion it floods the page until everyone is wet and unhappy. But I've heard it said that even when you write solely "for yourself" there will always be SOMEONE out there in this vast world who feels the same way you do. And if you wrote that very personal thing out of some kind of “need” - that other person may very well “need” the thing you wrote too.

I've been saved from some sad places in my life by some incredible stories. And some of those stories took very depressing turns. Sometimes, it was the depressing stuff I resonated with the most. 

Just having a character tell another, "...I get sad sometimes" can make you think, "Oh man! That's me...!" Other times, a character :cough: may have have had an evil god turn their life upside down, body-snatching them only to destroy everything they care about, driving them insane to use as a pawn in a war of angels and demons centuries later :cough: and you go "...Oh man. That's me..."

I've never had the angels and demons thing happen to me. But I did resonate strongly with a character like that. That resonance helped me process some things in my life and grow from them. Some find that what is most real to them is NOT in the 1:1 accurate-down-to-the-pores depiction of reality, but in the abstraction, the simplification, and the fantasy.

There's a section in Scott McCloud's "Understanding Comics" that talks about how we as humans respond to caricatures. Heck with it. I'm just going to paste it here because I don't think I can explain it better...

Replace “cartoon” with “fiction” in general and you have my thoughts.

I've never been possessed by an evil crown, but I've worked really hard to achieve something I thought I wanted only to have it backfire on me and leave me feeling devastated and hurt.

I've never had an alien entity puppet my body against my will, but I've felt like no one could hear the things I was saying and that nothing I did had any affect on the world around me.

I have made vague, weak, passing attempts at things like confessional webcomics about my life experiences. But what I found is that I don't really want to write domestic, true-to-life stories about what it's like growing up autistic in a time when people thought you had to be utterly non-verbal and unable to tie your shoelaces (I loved tying shoelaces) and also really good at the piano (I'm not good at the piano, but I'm learning) to be “autistic.”

And other times I want to write about lives that aren't my own. Lives that I can only dream of. Of exploring galaxies and casting magic. Of running an army or fighting against one till your last dying breath. Of suffering so deep it makes life seem not worth it. Of euphoric joy that reaches back to heal even the wounds of past lives. Of being the one to stand up to save an entire planet, or of just being in the right place at the right time to protect my loved ones.

...Of accidentally building a soul-saving theme park in hell and of helping someone that seemed completely beyond help. ^^;

So, I write these fantastical :cough: fan-fiction :cough: about characters that I think themselves are possibly/probably representative of some broader things, ideas, or situations. (Kumazaki happily admits that Kirby is a vessel for the player to put their own feelings and experiences into) 

Or are just admirable and super cool and I want to dress like them and wear a cool red tophat and cloak and walk around with a cane with my crew of noble thieves and equate my experiences to theirs and vice versa. Because that’s okay too!

...And I occasionally cry doing it.

[alyjojo]

The Person On Your Mind in May 🎢 2023 - Libra

Whole of their energy towards Libra: 9 Swords

Welp. You’ve officially driven this person bananas 🍌. 9 Swords is a can’t think straight, ruminating, mental meltdown of anxiety and sleepless nights, it’s worrying constantly, replaying something over and over in your mind. Due to 5 Swords, cruel & mind gamey bs, harsh words, “winning at all cost” mentality, no matter what is said or who is hurt by these actions. There is some behavior of yours that’s constantly on and off, we’re on and then we’re off. It’s over I hate you, no come back I love you. I’m independent and don’t need you. Wait, I can’t live without you. Your messages…you need a break, but please stay? Bruh. They know this is toxic for them, and they’re fed up. New Perspective on their side is likely what changes things in this connection.

Feelings: The Magician rev

They see you as a manipulator, a used car salesman purposely masking intentions and being vague, purposely making them confused so that you can get what you want from them, do what you want for yourself, feed them a bunch of lies and nonsense like an expert salesperson, but still feel like a strong independent person. We’re united babe…but not really. True or not, this is their perception of the situation, that’s how they feel. They come up as Queen of Pentacles, or this can be saying you desire to be seen as such, but they feel you’re a fraud. Yikes. Clearly some history here.

Intentions: 9 Wands

They intend to break your heart and shock you with how fast this ends & they move on to something or someone else. I don’t see them actually doing that, but the revenge fantasy is real with this person. You hurt them, they want to hurt you back. For some, they just intend to put distance between you, and build up a wall around their broken heart so you can’t get back in. Either way they’re very passionate and happy for this ending, it’s like escaping this 9 Swords, in their mind.

Actions: 8 Cups

Leaving 💯 8 Cups is knowing there is more out there for them, 9 and 10 Cups, and they can’t find them where they are. They’re not being a terrible person about it, like they intend on at least. They’re giving something to you or cooperating with you and paused while that’s happening, whether it’s helping you get another place or helping you do something. Adjust to their changes. Maybe they’re just leaving but allowing you to talk to them and still trying to be nice. Once they see this & you differently, and they do, there is no going back in their mind. That’s probably for the best if they feel that way right?

Messages:

Their side:

- In every lifetime, I always come back to you.

- New Perspective

Your side:

- I need a BREAK from this.

- You belong with me.

Possible signs:

Capricorn, Pisces, Gemini, Scorpio & Virgo

If you’re dealing with:

9 Cups shows up for you again, which is wish fulfillment and happiness, but you also have The Devil here which may shift this towards overindulgence, lust, drugs & alcohol, greed, toxic behaviors or habits that “make you happy”. This off & on battling mindset. That are actually destroying your life, or at least your relationship with this person. Possibly more than this person for it to show up again regarding other people. They do come up as a past life connection, this one is definitely a lesson if nothing else, for you to see yourself clearly and start on some shadow work, so this doesn’t repeat 🙏

Aries - the secret is out about family, a home, a relationship, they feel like they know something that you aren’t open about

Taurus - goes back and depth whether to message you or not, cares about you

Gemini - substances may be involved with them too, has a lot of options for passion, may play the field, daydreams of you

Cancer - non committal but honest about it

Leo - giving you Strength during a Tower in your life, they feel like a really good friend

Virgo - the most likely to be this person, it’s 500 messages at once or dead silence ☠️

Libra - healing, illness, or a lack of any communication & action with you is a burden

Scorpio - a confident leader with good looks and charisma that isn’t afraid to stand their ground and call you on some confusing Moon energy, things you’re trying to keep hidden or mask, they’re onto it

Sagittarius - feels like you’re their soulmate, has a lot of love for you that they don’t share

Capricorn - work keeps them busy & focused

Aquarius - heartbroken, either due to something you’ve said or they’re talking about this with you

Pisces - apologizing for how long something is taking, or planning something takes forever

[badheart]

idachi had to snort after seeing that reaction, which told him that even she wasn’t entirely sure that her dear friend wouldn’t hide something from her. he assumed that included anything between the two of them—his unwanted advances & such. otherwise, would she really be that desperate to brush it off? it fed his ego, even if he was not particularly interested in being with a woman like her. she could be fun to past the time with, but nothing else. sometimes, she ended up getting on his nerves.

“over a month ago, i saw her leaving with some gifts. i didn’t catch sight of who gave them to her, but it’s safe to say, it was a romantic interest.” he eyed her curiously, leaving things vague for now just to see her reaction ; if she was seriously clueless about it. if so, he thought there must be a reason. the fact that Rei kept such a big secret from her…

“ah, but i’m sure if you two are close, she would’ve said something about it.”

She had expected a nice, or at this point decent evening but the current topic, almost ruined her good mood. She had not expected to talk so much about her best friend anyway, but what he told her, sure hurt Futaba, as she really could only wonder, why Rei had not bothered to share it to her yet. She could have told herself, that she waited for the right moment, no idea, but as it looked like, she was already involved with this guy for a far longer time.

"Don't say that," she actually replied. "I'm sure she had her reasons..." But it was clear, that Futaba was more than upset now, even a little bit concerned, while being unsure, if she should ask Rei about it, next time she sees her, or keep acting clueless. "I wonder, who he is..." she admitted at last, still pondering over it after all. "Perhaps, she is worried that I will snatch him away from her, since he's oh so perfect," she chuckled, though not that amused over it.

"She didn't say nice things about you..."