#and well. i got the anxiety disorder from her

[mars-ipan]

was super overwhelmed earlier trying to schedule out my meds bc i have 6 new prescriptions plus my standard home meds i’m trying to keep track of. took a nap which helped and i’m less freaked out now but i am for sure still waugh frazzled

[lilworms]

so

[light-koe-pinsky]

.

[inkskinned]

they want to talk about mental illness and acceptance and how everyone is a little ocd it's cute and quirky and their "intrusive thoughts" are about cutting their hair off and you say yours are about taking a razorblade to your eye and they say ew can you not and everyone is a little adhd sometimes! except if you're late it's a personality flaw and it's because you are careless and cruel (and someone else with adhd mentions they can be on time, so why can't you?) and it's not an eating disorder if it's girl dinner! it's not mania if it's girl math! what do you mean you blew all of your savings on nonrefundable plane tickets for a plane you didn't even end up taking. what do you mean that you are afraid of eating. get over it. they roll their little lips up into a sneer. can you not, like, trauma dump?

they love it on them they like to wear pieces of your suffering like jewels so that it hangs off their tongue in rapiers. they are allowed to arm-chair diagnose and cherrypick their poisons but you can't ever miss too many showers because that's, like, "fuckken gross?" so anyone mean is a narcissist. so anyone with visual tics is clearly faking it and is so cringe. but they get to scream and hit customer service employees because well, i got overwhelmed.

you keep seeing these posts about how people pleasers are "inherently manipulative" and how it's totally unfair behavior. but you are a people pleaser, you have an ingrained fawn response. in the comments, you have typed and deleted the words just because it is technically true does not make it an empathetic or kind reading of the reaction about one million times. it is technically accurate, after all. you think of catholic guilt, how sometimes you feel bad when doing a good deed because the sense of pride you get from acting kind - that pride is a sin. the word "manipulation" is not without bias or stigma attached to it. many people with the fawn response are direct victims of someone who was malignantly manipulative. calling the victims manipulative too is an unfair and unkind reading of the situation. it would be better and more empathetic to say it is safety-seeking or connection-seeking behavior. yes, it can be toxic. no, in general it is not intended to be toxic. there is no reason to make mentally ill people feel worse for what we undergo.

you type why is everyone so quick to turn on someone showing clear signs of trauma but you already know the fucking answer, so what's the point of bothering. you kind of hate those this is what anxiety looks like! infographics because at this point you're so good at white-knuckling through a severe panic attack that people just think you're stoic. even people who know the situation sometimes comment you just don't seem depressed. and you're not a 9 year old white kid so there's no way you're on the spectrum, you're not obsessed with trains and you were never a good mathematician. okay then.

mental illness is trending. in 2012 tumblr said don't romanticize our symptoms but to be fair tiktok didn't exist yet. there's these series of videos where someone pretends to be "the most boring person on earth" and is just being a normal fucking person, which makes your skin crawl, because that probably means you are boring. your friend reads aloud a profile from tinder - no depressed bitches i fucking hate that mental illness crap. your father says that medication never actually works.

you still haven't told your grandmother that you're in therapy. despite everything (and the fact it's helping): you just don't want her to see you differently.

[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 gets 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 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 with 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!

[thepersonnamedsam]

hello! i was hoping I could request something between gen z reader x the grid where she gets an anxiety attack or gets really anxious during press and how they would react or try to help her, could be due to something about the race or personal, love uuu<3

you’re gonna go far

pairing: the genz!driver x '23!grid

summary: social anxiety and social stuff don’t mix very well

word count: 2.3k

warnings: anxiety attack, angst, sexist comments

note: hiya!! yk i love your requests!! thank u <3

i have social anxiety myself, it’s written from my perspective - anxiety is experienced very different, pls remember that! and pls respect anyone who is experiencing anxiety or any mental disorder that is!

masterlist / taglist

We ain’t angry at you, love, you’re the greatest thing we‘ve lost.

The song blasted through her ears, tears started forming in her eyes. She missed home, so, so much. She felt guilty to leave all her friends and family at home to pursue her dreams. And this song, written by the brilliant Noah Kahan, just always made her cry and think about her hometown.

Well, maybe not always, mostly the days her anxiety sparks up - and today was one of those days. Usually media didn’t stress her out, but today was different. Her mood shifted and hyper sensitive, overstimulated and overwhelmed. And she usually had someone she trusted by her side at media, but not today. Today was just shit.

Paired with Lance, Kevin, Sergio and Niko, she just wished the day would be over. She was just glad that Daniel, Max, Oscar and Lewis would be after her, they would maybe wait for them to finish, so she could see them.

She was trying to help her calm down. Thinking about good possibilities and not bad ones. Not about how she would sit stiff and uncomfortable between Lance and Sergio. Or how she and Niko never really got along. Or how she couldn’t seek refuge in a known face. Or how she had to answer all the questions by herself and not have Max there to defend her and be her bodyguard. 

And she was doing it again.

What was she gonna do? Breath, just breath - that’s what she told herself. She was in desperate need for a break. She knew what she was getting herself into, but it was still so very much. She was glad that Hungary was the second last race before the summer pause. She would go home, maybe vacation a bit, but definitely head home and see her friends and family.

Her feet dragged her through the media pit against her will. She didn’t want to go there, she just wanted to curl up in her bed with a good book and some music. Her headphones still present on her head, at least she had her music.

She was so focused on the words of You’re gonna go far that she didn’t see Lance in her peripheral vision. He patted her on her back and she flinched as he passed her. He gave her a funny look as she just gave him a shy smile.

She sighed, she didn’t know how she could face this day. She wished she had Lewis or Max or Danny by her side, someone to lean on, someone who would protect her and help her out. But she was all alone in this world right now. That’s what she thought at least.

Sat next to her was Kevin and Sergio. Her leg was bouncing, her fingers couldn’t stop picking at her nails. Her breathing was fast. She knew that things would turn out bad pretty fast. She just knew it.

„So, the next question is for y/n. Seeing as you’re the only woman on the grid, do you feel intimidated by all of the men or do you actually like the challenge?“

Her mind raced. What? She wished for Max who would give a sassy comeback or for Lewis to out the comment as borderline sexist. Or just anyone to stand up for her at that moment, but no one did.

„Uh, thank you for your question. Uhm, I am not the only woman on the grid. There are lots of women working behind the scenes - mechanics, engineers, catering, strategists, everything. So, to answer your question, no, I don’t feel intimidated, because I know that I come from a powerful gender.“

Her answer was clip and clear, not even her voice was shaking, which she half expected to. But the interviewer grew visibly irritated.

„Can you go into it a bit more? Or could you please comment on the statement Christian Horner did? Here, I’ll refresh your mind: F1 is bringing in a young generation. It’s bringing in a lot of young girls because of all these great-looking young drivers.“

What had that to do with his question beforehand? Horner made that statement a longer time ago?

„Uhm yes, obviously we all know Christian by now, don’t we?“, she nervously laughed. „But uhm, he is obviously still wrong, like I originally commented when he first made that statement“ Her eyes were searching for something or someone familiar, but she couldn’t. Her vision occupied by interviewers and flashing cameras.

Her breath started to get faster, She tried to breath through her nose, not make it too obvious that she was having a moment. This would make headlines. Female driver gets anxiety attack whilst commenting on sexist statements.

Why wasn’t Lewis there? He knew what to do. He had caught her like this before - breathing rapid, fists clenched and fingers white. Eyes not focusing on anything particular and her chest heaving up and down from all her heavy breathing.

It was after she had found out that people were speculating about her - specifically that she had to sleep with her or any team principal to get her seat in F1. Her head was leaned against the wall, her knees pulled to her chest and her body was rocking back and forth.

„y/n, y/n, listen, look at me. Listen to me, can you please look at me, love?“, he pleaded. And when she finally did, Lewis let out a breath of relief. „Okay, look at me, darling, and follow my breathing, yes? It’s easy, you can do it, I believe in you.“

He grabbed her hands and put them to his own chest, so she could feel his breathing. Feel his calm heartbeat, even though he felt anything opposite calm. He looked her deep into her eyes and tried to reassure that everything was going to be alright.

„You’re gonna go far, y/n, listen to me, I know it, you’re gonna make it far.“

Her breathing had normalised and the tears stuck in her eyes, finally flowed down her cheeks. The soon turned into full on sobs and the older driver hugged the younger one. Embracing her and reassuring her, that none of the drivers would have believed the tabloids - they’ve seen her driving and know very well why she got offered her seat in F1.

She had thanked him about a thousand times and made him promise not to ever tell anyone. But if somebody else knew, maybe they could’ve helped her in this situation.

But luckily for y/n, this was all broadcast live, well, maybe not for her per se, because she knew about too many people were watching her lose herself on live television and her PR manager couldn’t just pull some magic strings to not have this air, but what she didn’t know was, that Seb was watching - her specifically.

And he did the only reasonable thing he could do, he called Lewis.

„Hey dude, what’s up? Haven’t heard from you in a long time. How’s retirement treating you?“ Lewis had a lot of questions for the German. The later laughed a bit, but turned serious pretty quickly. „Listen, I’m watching the pre-race interviews right now-“ Lewis interrupted him: „Yeah? I’m on next, you should definitely wait and see me on TV then.“

„Yeah that’s great Lew, but y/n is on right now. I think- no I’m pretty sure she’s having an anxiety attack on live television.“

Lewis was silent for a moment. „She is having what?“ - „An anxiety attack, you know what that is? It’s, uhm, when you get too overwhelmed and your psyche tells you that you’re experiencing immense fear at the moment and“, Lewis was tuning him out.

She was having an anxiety attack? Right now? During the pre-race interview? He had to help her.

„I’m on my way, thanks Seb“, and he hung up. He had to get there as fast as he could. Sprinting through the entire paddock to the media pin. On the way he almost crashed into Max, who was also making his way to the pin, Daniel by his side. The only looked at Lewis weird but soon we’re running with him, as he shouted: „It’s y/n!“

They arrived but no one wanted to let them in: „It’s not your turn yet, they’re still going. You have to wait until it’s your turn, you’ll be on in 10.“

„Listen, y/n, if you’re reacting this way to my question, you’re clearly not made for this sport, maybe you should go into something more ladylike, like horseback riding or tennis, at least you’d look pretty there.“

„And you’re clearly not made to interviews, asshole!“

All of them heard, the viewers heard, the drivers heard, the interviewers heard, but y/n was the only one who didn’t hear it.

Maybe you should go into something more ladylike, like horseback riding or tennis, at least you’d look pretty there. That was all she could hear. At least you’d look pretty there.

The other drives next to y/n didn’t know what to do. Their colleague was definitely having a though time, but they didn’t know how to help, they opted to just tilt their heads towards the floor and look just as uncomfortable as everyone in the room did - but no one stood up for her, expect Max.

„Maybe you should just fucking leave this pit before I will bash your disgusting face. Maybe you should scramble and flee. Maybe you should eat your on dick as you seem to like to put tiny and degrading things in your mouth. Maybe-“, Daniel stopped him, Max has said enough and made his point.

Lewis was already making his way up to her. Scooping her up and carrying her out of the pit.

At least you’d look pretty.

The sentence was going through her head like a loop, like a vinyl that’s broken and repeats all the worst parts. She felt like a broken record - cracked and well, broken.

„She‘s hyperventilating“, Danial pointed out. „Yeah no shit, sherlock.“ - „Max, let’s just focus on her right now, okay?“, the seven time world champion told the two time world champion. „Who’s garage is the nearest?“, Lewis asked into the round. „The Ferrari one is the first one on the grid“, Daniel said. „Let’s go then.“

Daniel led the way, fetching Lando on the way, she’d appreciate the support from the youngster. Even though he complained a lot to Danny.

„Don’t look, don’t look, we’re just passing through“, Daniel said as he tried to shield her and Lewis from all the cameras in the Ferrari garage. „What are you guys doing here?“, Carlos questioned, but as soon as he saw the crying mess in Lewis‘ arms he helped Daniel shield y/n. Carlos led them to Charles‘ side of the garage, as he had his closed off for anyone from the outside.

„What’s going on?“, a confused Charles asked the group now standing in his garage. „Charles, we need to go somewhere quiet, is that possible?“, Lewis asked the Ferrari driver. He nodded and led them to his drivers room, even though it was pretty tiny and probably wouldn’t fit all of them in it.

They set y/n on his sofa and Lewis was hovering in front of her. Lando sat on her right side, while Max was on her left. He took her hand in his, squeezing it, so she knew that he was there. „Hey y/n look at me. We’re in Charles‘ drivers room, in the Ferrari garage. Away from the media pit, okay? You’re safe with us now“, Lewis told her. „Breath with us.“

„In and out, just like that, darling, follow Lewis‘ breathing“, Daniel complimented y/n. „You’re doing great, shatje. So, so great. We’re all so proud of you.“

„You can let it all out, we won’t judge you“, Charles told her and just as he did, the dam broke. Her tears fell down onto her knees, she sobbed uncontrollably. She leaned her head on Landos shoulder and he pulled her close into his side. „You’re doing so well, love.“ - „Just keep breathing, don’t forget to breath“, Carlos told her. He was standing in the doorway with Charles, acting as bodyguards.

Danny walked around the room, trying to find something for y/n to drink out of. „Hey Charles, do you have some water or a bottle?“ The driver clad in red reacted fast and brought the Australian a tall glass of water. He brought y/n the glass and she had to stop crying to drink. Afterwards she got the hiccups. „There, there love, everything’s okay“, Lewis took her glass and patted her knee. „Remember what I told you? You’re gonna go far, okay? Don’t let that prick tell you otherwise.“

„At least you’d look pretty there.“

„Huh?“, the room asked, as she mumbled the sentence.

„At least you’d look pretty there. That’s what he said“, she looked up from her seat, to the room full of supporting people. „At least you’d look pretty.“

Max was so angry again, he could’ve killed that man, if it wasn’t for Daniel holding him back. „I am going to kill that man“, Max growled. y/n giggled: „Maxie, don’t, he doesn’t deserve death. He deserves to live a long, pitiful life.“

„We’re glad you’re laughing again, y/n“, Charles said. „Yes, very much so.“ Everyone agreed with Charles. „I love you guys, but how’d you even know that I was having a tough time?“, y/n asked confused. Lewis had to laugh: „Seb called me. Said he saw you on the TV all riled up and ready to cry and that I should already be on my way to help you, but I talked over him the whole time“ He scratched his neck and y/n laughed a loud belly laugh. „That’s so typical!“

°°°

taglist: @ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @biglittlesecret, @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23 , @copper-boom , @love4lando , @champomiel , @serenityleah , @iloveyou3000morgan , @angelwithoutmywings , @elleeeee21 , @youkissedareaderinthedark , @mikauraur , @thybulleric , @lpab , @fdl305 , @mellowarcadefun , @teti-menchon0604 , @vildetry06 , @bibissparkles , @aurora-maria , @lunnnix , @sya-skies , @Buckywifeyy , @dakotali , @rechtrecht , @noncannonships , @1eclerc16 , @pitlanebabe , @sopheeg , @whatthefuckerr , @avengersheart , @thatsadsmallchild , @peachiicherries , @idkiwantchocolatee

[mypoisonedvine]

PLEASE I HAVE A REQUEST:

Reader is deathly afraid of physical touch and she’s a student of Jonathan Crane’s. She begins to question whether or not exposure therapy is humane and decides to write a research paper against the idea of exposure therapy and Dr Crane plots against her and finds out her fear, inevitably forcing her to confront her fear with non/con(???)

I’m thinking totally brutal / slow burn and Jonathan is just a full psycho in this, not offering her any mercy. He Def does his research and Def traumatized reader

PLEASEEEEEEEEEE

(because this is just drabbles, I'm not going to be able to flesh this out the way you've envisioned, but I love the concept so I will do something based on it!) obviously this is dark, warnings for kidnapping and threats of noncon

haphephobia - the irrational fear or overwhelming aversion to physical touch.

You were far from the only psychopathology student who got into this line of work due to personal experience. Actually, more often than not, this interest begins for people with their own relationship with mental health-- maybe something as simple as a long battle with clinical depression, maybe trauma or abuse, maybe a history of addiction. You would hope that this made most of the students more equipped, more empathetic; that was true, but it also meant that there was a little more... instability among the cohort than you wanted to admit.

And yet, you hadn't even noticed that the worst of them all was right there in the front of the class, teaching.

"I read your paper," he explained, pacing back and forth, sparing long glances at you. "It was quite good. But your conclusions are weak."

Normally, if you'd been receiving this sort of feedback during office hours, you would just tilt your head and ask 'how so, Professor Crane?'

But considering you didn't even know where you were, strapped to an exam table in some dark basement, you weren't as inquisitive as usual. "See," he continued, approaching you, "if you want to disprove exposure therapy, you can't just do a systematic review of previous literature-- you need to get in the field, experiment yourself."

He lowered his voice as he stood closer to you, leaning over you, looking at you with a sort of fascination and pity.

"After all," he continued, "I'm a... fierce advocate of psychiatric experimentation."

"Yeah," you panted, the initial panic of waking up here fading into a general, steady terror, "I'm beginning to realize that."

"And you're always free to have your own opinion-- I think it's important that my students utilize their right to disagree with me-- but in this case, well, you just can't deny the results."

He was fucking smiling as he discussed it-- he was proud of what he'd done, of what he was going to do to you. "I can," you insisted, "if they're not ethical."

He rolled his eyes. "Always such a good girl," he cooed. "Let me worry about the ethics and you-- you can just worry about what I'm going to do now that I've got you tied up down here, where nobody will ever find you."

Bringing his hand closer to your face, you turned it away with a whimper. "Please," you whispered, "I-- you know I can't--"

"How does it feel?" he asked. "Right now, knowing I might touch you?"

"It's..." you trailed off, struggling to find a train of thought with him so close. "It's anxiety-inducing, obviously. It's dread."

"Filled with dread just because I'm getting close," he smirked. "You're in serious need of intervention, sweet thing. I can't believe you've gone without help for so long."

"This-- this isn't help, Professor--" you began to protest, but you winced as he gently brushed a finger over your cheek.

"You look like you're in pain," he noticed.

"It hurts," you hissed. "It hurts to be touched."

"Hurts how?"

"Like... like I'm raw all over. Like my body is one big burn," you whispered, eyes still shut tight as his hand moved down to gently caress your neck.

"And you've ruled out any medical cause-- an autoimmune disorder, hypersensitivity of the skin?"

You nodded, biting your lip to try to think of something other than the pain he was inflicting-- the pain you were totally helpless to. "There's no... physiological cause..."

"It's all in the mind," he finished for you, "and what a powerful mind you have. You're one of my best students, you know-- it's a shame you're limited by your fear. Fear of the truth, fear of breaking your precious ethics... fear of the future."

Your eyes shot open when his touch trailed down even further, toying with the neckline of your shirt; if any human contact was painful, you hadn't even prepared for the overwhelming anxiety of being touched in a way that had even the slightest sexual undertone. "Y-you don't really think you're that powerful, do you?" you pressed. "That you can take away fear?"

He shook his head. "No, dear, I don't have to," he replied. "I don't take it away-- I use it."

Just as his touch wandered, so did his gaze, and you shuddered under his dark stare as he started to properly grope you; his breathing picked up a bit, his lip twitched-- he even darted his tongue out for a second before smiling again.

"And now," he grinned, "I have you to use, too."

[harryslittledaydreamer]

His Sunflower...

Summary: Everyone knew of superstar Harry Styles. Everyone knows he has people working for him behind the scenes. However, not everyone knows who his secret lyricist is. Her name never in any credits, never mentioned, and never once in the media. But that's how she likes it.

THIS STORY INCLUDES: trauma, SA, muteness, smut, relationships, talks of mental health(anxiety, depression, panic disorder), and death(no main characters)

........................................................

"Hey y/n/n," the familiar deep voice sounded tiredly behind me. I turned my attention from the piano in front of me to the green-eyed brunette in the doorway, making his way into the studio. I looked in his direction, never meeting his eyes, gave a slight small smile and nodded in acknowledgement.

Turning back to the keys, I continued playing a melody I had started early this morning. Grabbing my notebook from beside me, I began writing some lyric ideas down, when suddenly I felt a presence overlooking my shoulder.

"Mitch and Sarah are coming in a few minutes to work on some pieces, do you need anything," Harry asked with a tired but fond smile. I shook my head politely and he nodded, walking away.

—

Let me backtrack a little. I've been Harry's lyricist/songwriter for about a month now, however, I've never spoken a word to anyone since being here. Well, actually, I haven't spoken in about five years, and with me currently being twenty-two, that has been since I was seventeen. I began posting melodies and lyrics on a website, and Harry's producer, Alex, stumbled across me one day, and messaged me on Instagram, asking if I would want to write for Harry. Immediately I turned the offer down due to my muteness and social anxiety, but with a lot of persuasion and going back and forth, I reluctantly agreed. A week after that, he invited me to a cafe to meet up with himself and Harry. Alex, could definitely tell that I wasn't a physical contact person, and opted for a polite head nod as enough of an introduction rather than a hand shake. Harry followed suit with a smile, though not without some curiosity.

Our initial meeting wasn't long seeing as I didn't talk. Alex went over some things, and Harry talked about what he was looking for, to which I nodded and smiled. At the end of the meeting, I typed a quick 'thank you' on my phone and smiled at both of them. The following day, Alex invited me to the studio, and the rest is history.

—

"Hey y/n/n, hey Harry," Sarah greeted with a wide grin in both of our directions. I gave a little wave, and Harry went in for a friendly hug while patting Mitch on the shoulder. After the greeting encounter, everyone got in their space and began messing around with their instrument.

After about an hour or so of writing and switching to play different melody ideas, I stood from the piano bench, and made my way over to Harry. His green orbs looked down at me, and I handed out my notebook with some lyrics I had written.

Licking his lips and picking his lip, he began reading the script. After what felt like an eternity, he looked up.

"Y/n, this is absolutely bloody brilliant," his deep British voice sounded. I offered him a small smile in return.

"Guys come over here, look what y/n/n wrote, " he spoke motioning for Mitch and Sarah. They got up and walked over to us, and began reading my notebook. Waving my hand a little to get their attention, I motioned them over to follow me to the piano. I sat down with their eyes on the back of my head, and began playing the melody for the song. On the last note, I paused and looked behind me. Each of them had tears threatening to spill down their faces. I'm guessing my look of alarm made Harry snap out of it, and he gradually started to clap.

"y/n, that was beautiful, bloody perfect," he said fondly grinning. Mitch and Sarah nodded agreeing with Harry. Mitch slipped from the group walking over to his guitar. He began to play some chords syncing to what chords I played on the piano. For some time, he messed around, came up with a cool picking pattern, and that is how From the Dining Table, my first song written for Harry styles, was born.

……

2 weeks later…

Myself, along with Harry's other band members, were called in for a meeting this morning. No one was told what this meeting consisted of, or the importance of it.

Gathering my tote bag, with some essentials stuffed in it, I slipped my converse on, took a deep breath, and made my way out of my apartment. I don’t drive, so I walk everywhere, including the studio. Upon approaching the building, I spotted Mitch and Sarah laughing about something walking through the front doors. Watching my footsteps until I reached the double doors, I felt my heart begin to race. I was nervous that maybe they were letting some of us go, or the team wasn’t doing well enough. Overwhelmed with my thoughts, with my eyes on the floor, I ran into a figure.

“Whoa, hey y/n/n, careful love, you okay?” a concerned Harry chuckled a little while placing his hands on my shoulders to steady me. Eyes wide with fear of retaliation on his part, I immediately stumbled back away from him with a curt nod, and continued making my way to the conference room.

Eventually, we all settled in and sat around a large table, everyone seemingly a little confused on why we were all there.

“Hello everyone, today, we are announcing to you all that we will be going on tour in six months from now. You all have been working tirelessly, and we thank you for that. With that said, we all need to be cracking down on this new record,” Jeff, Harry’s manager announced with a big grin plastered on his face.

A round of excited applause went around and everyone congratulated Harry with hugs and words of gratitude. Staying in my seat in the far corner, I looked up and met eyes for the first time with the green eyed Brit. For the split second he caught my eye, I think he saw the fear and anxiety behind them. Touring is a huge thing, for any artist, especially someone the size of Harry. Artists are always creating new music, so having a songwriter along the ride will hopefully aid in the making, at least that’s what Jeff said to me after the meeting. Of course, I responded with my usual nod, and proceeded to leave the room along with everyone else. As I was making my way to the side door, I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay going on tour? I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything. I totally understand and respect if you don’t, I-” I cut his rambling off by softly putting my hand on his and gently nodded.

The look of surprise crossed his features due to the physical contact I initiated. He gave me a warm smile and nodded, while I gently lifted my hand from his. I flashed him a gentle smile goodbye, and continued my way out.

.......

six months later...

"Mitch, Sarah, Charlotte, Pauli are in bus one, Niji, Ny Oh, and Elin are in bus two, and Harry and y/n are in bus three..." Jeff anxiously listed as the rest of the crew and I grabbed our bags. My head immediately looked up, and with wide eyes, I felt my heart drop. Nerves flowed through my veins, and I guess I wasn't hiding it well as I thought I was because Harry looked over and gave me a shy sympathetic smile.

I nervously followed his lead to our respected bus, but not without my hands shaking and lip between my teeth. As my feet made contact with the bus floor, I took in the space. Black slick leather coated the slim couch on the right, facing a small kitchenette and tv. Walking further, I slowly followed Harry back behind a black curtain, that I now know are to the beds. There was one on each side, with storage above for our bags.

Harry reached up to put his duffle bag in the compartment above the left bed, and then made his way over to me with a smile.

"Here," his deep voice gently said while reaching to take the bags from my hands. I quickly but gently let go once his hands met mine on the bag's handles. He lifted them into the similar compartment as he did just moments before, but above my bed.

"I'm gonna shower and head to bed, you are more than welcome to do as you please, and please don't hesitate to get me if you need something y/n/n," Harry tiredly said, seeing as it was now 11pm. I offered a small sincere small nod in appreciation.

He continued to get his bag and head towards what I am assuming is the bathroom, as I got my bag down and placed it on the mattress. I closed the dark colored curtain, took my sleeping shirt out of my duffle, and slipped it on. Realizing I still needed to take my meds, and brush my teeth, I waited for Harry to come out of the bathroom.

A short while later, after taking care of my nighttime routine, I climbed back into the bunk, shut the curtain, and laid on my back staring at the ceiling. Just thinking about the fact that Harry was across from me had my anxiety over the edge. Although I have worked with him over the last half year, and shared occasional friendly encounters, I still didn't trust him, or for lack of a better word, his intentions. Every single man in my life has betrayed me in so many different ways, each resulting in pain and hurt. I couldn't say no to this opportunity though, due to the need for money. Living in an apartment in Los Angeles was not cheap by any means, as well as every other cost that is associated with living. I have no one to fall back on if something were to come up, so being independent has been the only way for me to continue and live.

As my eyes began to drift close, I heard a slight snore a few feet over from Harry. Taking a deep breath, I relaxed my shoulders and drifted to sleep, hoping for no nightmares. Or at least none that would wake up the man across from me.

—-

It’s been about two weeks since the tour started. Saying that everything is hectic is an understatement. Crew members running around, stress etched in everyone’s faces, and the noise of thousands of fans every night has everyone feeling the effects.

Throughout this time, I’ve been writing a lot, as well as trying to find some time for myself. Sharing a space with Harry is difficult. Well, sharing a space with anyone is difficult. I can tell that Harry is increasingly worried about me due to the fact that it’s been almost 8 months and I still haven’t spoken a word out loud. I can tell he’s trying to get closer to me and warm me up. I think that’s why I’ve been slightly distancing myself from him. Getting close to people has only hurt me throughout my life, and I don’t have the capacity to take anymore pain.

During Harry’s show today, I decided to find a quiet space in the arena away from the chaos to write. Deep in my thoughts and hand beginning to cramp, I didn’t realize a figure making their way towards me.

All of a sudden, from my crouched position with my knees bent, a large calloused hand gripped one of my knees. Looking up in surprise and fear, I was met with a scruffy large older looking man, who had a smirk etched on his face.

“C’mon sweetheart, let’s go somewhere else,” the deep voice of the stranger demanded. He grabbed my elbow and tried forcing me up. I tried resisting his grip but I was far too weak to slip out of his hands. He dragged me by my arm, looked both directions in the hallway, and pulled me into a dark room. Suddenly, the light flicked on and he locked the door behind us. I realized we were in some kind of supply room. Eyes widened in fear, I tried to grab the door handle but he was quicker, and grabbed my wrist.

“Don’t even try, bitch,” he laughed mockingly. Tears started welling up in my eyes, and my body shook in fear. The man pulled a roll of duct tape from behind him off a wooden table, unraveled some, and began binding my wrists above my head. His calloused dirty hands grabbed the hem of my pants and roughly pulled them down, along with my panties. Refusing to look at him, I tried focusing on anything else in the room to distract me from the upcoming abuse.

I heard his buckle unlatch and suddenly I felt a deep stinging pressure below. Tears streamed quickly down my scared face. The hands harshly grabbed my bound wrists above me as he started to roughly thrust in me. For what felt like hours, I guess he assumed he was satisfied, so he redressed himself, ripped the duct tape off from my skin, and unlocked the storage room door, leaving me alone with the mess he made.

My body was in shock. The tears stopped minutes ago, but the strong pain and ache remains between my thighs. I slid down the white cinder block wall, curled into a ball, and stared at the wall in front of me. I’m not sure how much time had passed, but I eventually stood, and limped out of the small room. No one was in the hallways as I made my way out. I grabbed my forgotten notebook off the ground, and started making my way back to the dressing room area. Reaching the door handle of my dressing room, I opened it and closed it behind me, and walked to the couch adjacent. I sat there staring at the door in front of me. Any sounds from the outside were drowned out by the shock that took over my body.

“y/n, we are getting ready to leave,” I heard a voice say from behind the door. I couldn’t get myself to move an inch, paralyzed by fear. I’m guessing it had been a few moments since the person who called me, and the handle turned, indicating someone was coming in.

“Hey y/n/n, we are getting ready to-, y/n love, are you ok? What’s wrong?” the worried and confused voice of Harry gently asked. His footsteps grew closer, breaking me from the trance. For the first time in a while, I met his green worried eyes. Standing up, swaying slightly, I stood a few feet from the 6 foot tall Brit. Stepping forward with hesitation, and tears starting down my face again, I walked towards him, and laid the side of my cheek against his chest.

I can tell this startled and surprised him due to his tense body language. I needed comfort. Even though I wasn’t nearly fully comfortable or trusted him, I needed something or someone to ground me. Once his gentle hands met behind my back, softly embracing me, that’s when I broke. Tears rushing down my face, heart racing out of my chest, shaky legs, and I started falling to the ground. Luckily, his hold on me tightened and held me up before I fell further.

“Shh, it’s okay y/n, it’s okay love. You’re safe, you’re okay,” he spoke with sincerity laced in his voice. I couldn’t tell you how long we stayed like that, but he began guiding me out of the dressing room, down the hall to the double doors, leading out to our bus.

I don’t know if it’s the years of neglect, or lack of human contact, but I clung to Harry’s body in the bus. I couldn’t get myself to leave his side. He didn’t seem to want to let go either though. He rubbed my back and spoke comforting words to me as I clung to his torso.

“You don’t need to tell me what happened if you don’t want to, but please promise me y/n, that if you are hurting because someone hurt you, you need to let me know okay?” he said. That’s when I started sobbing again, and that answered his question.

“Shh it’s okay love. I’m right here. Let’s settle down on the couch okay?” he motioned for us to the leather couch. I think he could sense my hesitation because he assured me over and over again that it’s okay. He gently motioned for me to turn on my side. Once on my side, he asked if it was okay if he held me. Although I was petrified and scared, I still apprehensively nodded in agreement. He shifted his body so he was holding me from behind. His arms wrapped around my fragile frame.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I woke up feeling a weight around my torso. Realization settled in that Harry was spooning my fragile frame. I felt his breath tickle my neck, and I shivered slightly. He must’ve felt my movement because I heard a yawn from behind me, signaling his consciousness.

“Good morning y/n,” his deep morning voice rasped out, as he untangled our bodies. As his arm started pulling away, I unconsciously stuck out my hand and grabbed it. I needed his safety from the world. His face contorted into a surprised look, but as quickly as it came, the look of guilt settled in his features.

“I won’t leave, I promise y/n/n. I just need to use the toilet,” his quiet voice said. I hesitantly nodded, letting him go. As soon as he was gone from my sight, I felt the weight of yesterday’s encounter.

Harry’s footsteps grew louder as I heard him walk back in from the bathroom. As I slowly stood from the couch, his green eyes studied me. My body shook and his large hands were on my shoulders in seconds.

“Here, let’s sit back down, yeah?” he said as a response to my body’s motion. I nodded solemnly and sat.

“I’m not sure what happened yesterday, but I need you to know, y/n, that I’m here. I’ll listen. I’ll do whatever you need me to do okay?” his voice sounded as he sat next to me. Taking a deep breath, I nodded, gently looking up into his green eyes.

….

It’s been a few weeks since the incident, and over that time, I’ve gotten much closer to Harry. Although I can definitely tell he is worried about me and what happened that night, he has since left the decision up to me on when I’ll tell him, or someone, what happened.

During down time, I’ve been writing different lyrics and melody ideas down in my journal. I have completed a song called Matilda, and another called Fine Line. Lyrically, I feel very strong about them, though I'm not sure if the tempo will be too sad for Harry’s type of music. I’m planning on bringing my ideas to Mitch sometime, and hoping he can play around with some instrumental ideas for them.

Besides Harry, I’ve been very jumpy when a male comes into the room that I don’t know. To be fair, I already was due to childhood trauma, but now it’s way more apparent. Harry gives me a look each time he sees the way my body involuntarily flinches, but chooses not to say anything about it, to which I’m very thankful for.

Each night since he held me on the bus couch, he’s let me in his bunker to sleep. Having the weight of his arm allows me the safety I need. When I’m about to fall asleep, he softly kisses the back of my head, and secures his tattooed arm around my torso.

Right now, we are on our way to the next tour stop. Harry is sitting with headphones on, watching some movie on his phone, while I’m adjacent on a seat watching out the massive bus windows. It’s been almost a year since meeting Harry, and at no point has he given me a doubt about his intentions and personality.

See, my last relationship ended up with bruises littering my body, cuts along my skin, and fear etched in my mind. He would throw me against walls, yelling at me for literally anything. He drank and drank until bottles scattered the floor, leaving me to clean up the mess. He would use my body for his own enjoyment and pleasure. I would be left sore for days, all for him to do it repeatedly. One day, on his way home from work, he was involved in an accident, which killed him on impact. As awful as it is to say, relief flooded me when the news broke. His older brother took the house, leaving me with absolutely nothing. I worked odd jobs while having to live with my abusive father. He would smash things against my head, and would lock me in a bedroom for hours on end, without food or water. That lasted for a few months before I had saved up enough money for an apartment. That’s when I began creating on the website where Alex had discovered me.

Fast forward to now, I have come to realize something. I’m developing feelings for Harry. It’s absolutely terrifying to me. Butterflies erupt in my fragile chest when his eyes rarely capture mine, or when the warmth of his hand lingers on me for comfort. His once intimidating aura is now replaced by a sense of safety. When approaching new males, whether it’s at a stop or another venue, he always somehow uses his body to gently shield them from my own.

Shifting his body, my attention focused back on the man behind me. The headphones were off his head, and his phone was placed beside him on the couch. “Hey, I just wanted to let you know that our stop is coming up,” his tired, raspy voice rang out softly. I nodded, making a small amount of eye contact, and mouthed ‘thank you.’ His pink lips turned up into a small grin and proceeded to watch out the window behind the couch.

Once the bus came to a halt, Harry and I stood from our respected areas, and made our way out. Following him into the arena, the sense of dread engulfed my body. Since that night, being without Harry by my side has caused anxiety to bubble inside me. He has insisted I stay in his dressing room during the entirety of the show, for my safety and his peace of mind. I wasn’t going to argue or debate that.

After hours of writing when the bands on stage, they finally run off stage and enter their dressing rooms. Hearing a soft gentle knock on the door, Harry slowly appeared and came in. With a wide smile and adrenaline rush, he walked over to me.

Suddenly, I felt his arms wrap around me gently.

“Hey y/n/n,” he whispered exhausted in my ear. I slowly brought my arms gently around his torso, reciprocating his action. I felt him smile in my hair. I could tell he is exhausted, mentally and physically, from the demanding performances he puts on. I’m not sure how long we stayed engulfed in each other, but he slowly lets me go, and steps back.

“I'm sorry, I just really missed you,” he shyly spoke, blushing slightly. I looked up to him in confusion, seeing as I had seen him a few hours ago. Sensing my confusion, he proceeds to explain himself.

“I just, I don’t know, I love spending time with you y/n,” his shy, sincere voice sounded as he proceeded to take off his outfit, opting for something comfortable. A smile graced my now rosy face. A comfortable silence fell over the small dressing room as he dressed, and as I gathered my notebook.

We walked in silence, Harry in front of me, to our designated bus. As we got in, I tapped Harry on his shoulder softly. He turned around, eyebrows raised in question and lips parted to ask a question, but I cut him off before he had the chance. I hugged him, tight, needing to feel his warmth. Startled a little bit, I felt his arms wrap around me, even tighter. It seemed like we both needed each other’s comfort tonight, and an unconscious agreement to not talk about it.

——

Today marks six months since the tour began. It also marks three months since I’ve realized that I have grown feelings for the pop star.

Tonight is a rough night. Harry woke up with a cold, making his throat sore. He of course powered through the show, however, as soon as he entered the dressing room, I could tell something was really off. His eyes briefly met mine, and when the door shut behind him, he began undressing himself with a slight hint of frustration in his movements. I stood up, and followed behind him to the bus after he changed.

Upon entering our bus, he sat on the couch with his face in his hands. I heard sniffing and could see that he was very distraught. I’d never seen Harry like this before and I didn’t know the reason behind this reaction. Cautiously, I slowly walked and sat next to him on the couch. Sensing my movement, he placed his hands from his face, down on his lap, but kept his head lowered.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this y/n/n, I’m just so disappointed you know? I didn’t give them my best tonight and they paid and traveled to see me, and I feel like I disappointed everyone, fuck” he whispered at the end. I hated seeing him like this, he pushes himself so hard, too hard.

Despite the hesitation and voices screaming at me in my head to not do this, I softly laid my hand on top of his on his lap. His body tensed for only a moment, but his other hand raised slowly and settled atop mine. I heard a deep breath sound from his lungs as his body visibly relaxed. It took everything in me to not get up a run to my bunk, but I could tell he needed me. I needed him.

By the end of the long draining night, we settled on the couch. His muscular tattooed body behind mine, with our body heat engulfing one another. Thoughts raced through my mind, as I danced around the pros and cons of continuing getting closer to Harry. Throughout this competition in my brain, I must’ve fallen asleep due to the sun now shining through the bus windows.

I slipped away from the couch, and walked quietly to the shared bathroom. Looking at myself in the mirror, I came to a realization. I’ve never felt more safe in my life than I do with Harry. And that realization is fucking terrifying.

——

Weeks later, I found myself cuddled against the British man once again. There was definitely growing tension between us as we started sharing more intimate moments together, like this. I began to take notice of his lingering stares on me, his delicate but affectionate touches, and the warmth we both seemed to feel with one another.

We were watching a movie on the small bus tv, and my head laid on his shoulder. Suddenly, his body slowly moved, making me lift my head off his shoulder. His facial expression clearly held anxiety, and sensing my confusion, his voice began.

“y/n, love, I need to get something off my chest,” his anxious yet cautious voice said as his body turned to face me. Anxiety started to fill my veins, thinking of every worst scenario that could play out. Before my thoughts could go any further, the deep British voice carried out once again.

“Fuck it, I’m just gonna say it. I have feelings for you y/n. I have for a while, and I know that’s wrong because we work together but I can’t not say anything anymore. I know you don’t feel the same, which is absolutely okay love, I-” his voice rambled with nerves and worry, but I gently grabbed his face with my hands on his cheeks, interrupting his little speech. Taking a deep breath, I leaned in, so our faces were merely inches apart. Our eyes met, and he began to close the small gap between our lips. My hands fell from his face as his rose to mine. As our lips touched, every ounce of worry and anxiety melted away. Our lips moved in sync with so much longing interlaced. He gently pulled away, and rested his forehead against mine, with a wide smile gracing his now slightly swollen pink lips.

“Well, that was a great way to get me to shut up,” he chuckled against my face. A small giggle escaped my lips as our eyes met.

For the rest of the night, we stayed cuddled up on our usual couch, just holding each other until we fell asleep.

——

Over the following weeks, the band noticed our new found chemistry with each other and eventually figured it out. They all congratulated us, and were so excited.

Nothing has really changed between us, besides the stolen kisses and hand holding. However, I felt myself beginning to want more. I trusted Harry so much, which is crazy to say given my past. In his dressing room during the shows, I have been practicing using my voice. Since it’s been so long since I last spoke a word, it has been proven difficult, but I am determined to start again.

Tonight, everyone was staying in a hotel instead of our buses due to bad weather. It was safer inside there than the buses, which I think everyone was actually happy about considering we haven’t had an actual bed in months.

With our hands intertwined, Harry got our room key and led us to our suite. As we stepped inside, I heard a quiet “shit” escape Harry’s mouth. There was one bed laying in the middle of the room.

“I’m so sorry y/n/n, I was told there were two beds, let me go see if there’s another room with two,” his distressed voice said as he was about to leave the room. I gently grabbed his arm, momentarily making him stop in his tracks. I looked at him and shook my head. I mouthed ‘it’s okay” with a small smile on my lips.

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind going down-” I cut his rambling off with a small quick kiss to his lips.

We set our bags on the ground, and Harry turned around to put the tv on. As he did, I got my pajamas, really his shirt and boxers that I stole, and I headed to the bathroom. After showering, I dressed myself and finished getting ready for the night. As I stepped out, our eyes met. This was the first time he’s really seen me like this. A blush crept onto his cheeks as he stared at my body. He quickly looked back down to his phone, and pulled the duvet up higher on his body. A little shy smile came over my features realizing how cute he was when he was flustered.

Pulling my side of the sheets down, I climbed into bed, next to him. I could tell he was a little tense, and I was about to type on my phone to ask him what was wrong, however, as he bent down to grab his fallen charger off the nightstand, the duvet fell down slightly, revealing Harry’s problem. My eyes grew wide as I quickly looked back to the playing tv. A blush rose to my cheeks as he settled in back next to me. As time went on, he grew antsy and couldn’t stay still. He looked uncomfortable and I could tell he was trying really hard to keep it together.

“I’m gonna head to the bathroom really quick,” he quickly said as he tried to conceal the tent under his shorts, before trying to stand. I do appreciate him trying to not make me uncomfortable, but little did he know, I wanted him. As he was about to stand and swing his long legs off the side of the bed, I grabbed his wrist.

Our eyes met, his embarrassed but mine full of love. I held my hand up to stop him, as I made my way out of the bed, walking over to his side. I stood between his short-covered legs as he looked up at me in question.

“It’s really okay, I’m sorry, I was gonna go sort this, uh, out,” his flustered voice said as he was attempting to stand back up. I shook my head and placed my hand on his arm, to let him know it’s okay.

I nervously leaned down to kiss him. His lips pushed back against mine but I could feel his hesitation to keep going.

“Are you sure, love?” his deep raspy voice whimpered with hesitation and lust. I nodded reassuringly and brought my lips back to his.

I reached to pull his shirt over his head but his hands pressed on my shoulders to stop me. Before I could do anything else, he said, “let me y/n, I want tonight to be about you, don’t worry about me, I promise.” I simply nodded in agreement but not without nerves shining through my brown eyes. Standing up, he switched our position so I sat on the bed and he stood above me.

“Lay back for me love, I want to make you feel good, yeah?” he whispered with lust filled eyes. Following his words, I moved back on the bed, and shifted my body so my head was on his pillow. He moved to the end of the bed and got on his knees by my feet. He tapped my leg for me to open my legs a little wider to allow him to come closer.

With his request, I moved my legs to the side, and he moved forward.

“Are you positive about this love? We don’t need to do anything. We can stop anytime, just push me away or pinch me,” he spoke sincerely. I nodded with a smile and reached for him. I gripped the bottom of his shirt and began lifting it. He helped me and threw it off his torso somewhere in the room. Tattoos littered his skin and heat radiated off. His eyes met mine for consent to take mine off. I nodded with a shy grin and he proceeded to gently peel mine off. Left in a bra and his boxers, I moved my arms to wrap around myself.

“y/n, love, you are so beautiful, no need to hide my love,” he spoke as he gently moved my arms away from my stomach, to my sides. With his arms on either side of my face, he met my lips with his own. Our tongues danced together as my hands went through his soft curls. A small groan ripped through his chest as I tugged more.

“Can I?” He asked as he kissed down from my lips to my chest, in question to remove my upper garment. With slight nerves, I nodded. With my consent, he tapped my torso for me to arch my back, to allow him access to unclasp my bra. Swiftly, the garment was dropped beside the bed, now leaving me even more vulnerable.

Before I could even think about shielding myself, his lips came down to peck over my exposed chest. He whispered “beautiful” every time he came up for air. His mouth hovered for a second before landing down on my nipple. With a deep breath let out, I felt myself getting hot. He gently sucked one while softly kneading the other with his large hand. My hands gripped his hair tighter in pleasure as his tongue swirled the swollen nub. He alternated between both for a few minutes, until I gently pulled him up. His face was visibly flushed and I could feel the warmth coming from his body down below.

I stared into his green eyes, silently pleading for more. Understanding, he nodded and grinned in silent acknowledgement. His hands found their way to the last piece of clothing on my body. His fingers hooked around the sides, gently pulling them down, away from my body. There I laid, bare, in front of a man. This was the first time that someone cared about my comfort and pleasure. Harry took his time admiring every inch of my body. As his eyes landed on my exposed thighs, his expression faltered for a moment. I knew what he saw. Old scars of the abuse I endured littered the soft skin. Although his gaze lingered, there was not one trace of disgust or anything but love that filled his orbs. Instead, he bent down and kissed from my lips, down to my thighs.

“Is this okay? Are you comfortable y/n/n?” he questioned. I nodded and encouraged him to continue. With my approval, he brought his hand lower. Despite the anxiety of the situation, I felt safe in his hands.

Once his index finger slipped below, a quiet moan slipped from my lips. A grin appeared on his face as he felt my arousal. Using my arousal, he gently glided his finger through my folds. He began to rub my clit with precision and a softness in his touch, as he captured my lips once again. He knew the weight of the situation and how much this was affecting me. Disconnecting our swollen lips, he silently asks for permission. I graciously nodded, and I felt the tip of his finger nudge my opening. Taking a deep breath, I felt him begin to slide in a little deeper. Stilling his finger, he let me adjust. I leaned up to kiss him, and he took the hint to go forward. He slowly curled his finger inside me. A moan escaped my lips and I quickly put my hand over my mouth in embarrassment.

“Hey, no, none of that love, let me hear you, yeah? It’s okay, I got you,” he whispered. He started going a little faster inside me and my body began to tremble. With my eyes rolling back, he whispered little words of encouragement as he slipped another finger beside the one already in me. I felt a little burn, but it was quickly replaced by even more pleasure. He pumped them in and out, curling them up as he went all the way in. I felt a deep burn in my stomach, indicating my orgasm was quickly approaching. I reached down for his hand, and he immediately stopped. I mouthed ‘I want you,’ and his eyes turned an even darker shade of green.

“You are positive love? We don’t have to, I promise,” he said in reassurance. I shook my head with a smile and reached for the hem of his boxers. He helped me out and took them off his toned body. His red leaking cock bounced up to his stomach. Butterflies erupted in my stomach at the sight. He climbed off the bed quickly, and went to his bag. Grabbing what I was assuming was a condom, he got back in between my legs.

“Alright, shit, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful. This may hurt or burn a bit, Love, but just squeeze my hand yeah?” I nodded and as he rolled the latex on, I leaned up to capture his lips. His hands went to my breasts and my head was laid gently on the pillow below. He grabbed hold of his cock, and brought it up to my pussy. Gently sliding his tip through my folds, he teased my clit a little. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he guided his tip to my entrance. I grabbed the back of his neck, bringing his face to mine. As he slipped his tongue in my mouth, he pushed a little further in. Closing my eyes, my heart began to race. Feeling the unsteady beating of my chest, Harry brought up his face.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay my love, you’re safe, open your eyes, it’s me, Harry,” his soft delicate voice spoke. Upon opening my eyes, a sense of security fell over me and I felt safe again. He peppered kisses over my face and he agonizingly pushed in a little bit more. A whimper escaped my throat, and before he could say anything, I brought my hand to his back, and pushed his lower body closer to mine, resulting in him bottoming out. I moved my hand to hold his tightly as a burn fell over my bottom half. Taking everything in him, he stilled inside me, letting me adjust, not only physically, but mentally too.

We stayed in this position for a few minutes, and during this time, I fought the internal battle in my mind. Part of me wanted to tell him I loved him while the other half was scared and not to, cause then it would be real.

I lifted his head from my shoulder, and looked into his eyes. Opening my mouth, after years and years of not speaking, my voice began to sound from my chest.

“I love you,” I whispered. Frozen. That’s what Harry was. Frozen. He stared at me with wide surprised eyes as he was processing the fact that I spoke.

“Oh my god,” he finally whispered with tears glazing his eyes and the biggest smile I’ve seen.

“You… oh my god, I love you so much, so so much,” he whimpered into my hair. Shifting my hips up, he got the hint to begin moving. As he thrusted slowly but deeply, my nails scratched his back. He wouldn’t stop whispering how proud of me he was and how much he loved me.

“I'm close,” I said after a few minutes.

“Me too, my love,” he responded after a second to catch his breath. I could tell he was holding back for my sake. Every single moment of the time I have spent with him, has been nothing but love. His thrusts began to pick up a little, and before I knew it, pleasure rippled throughout my body. My orgasm came over me as harrys did for him. His sheen glowy body stilled as he came down from his high inside me. As he was about to pull out, I stopped him and placed my hand on his hip.

“Please stay,” I whispered pleadingly. Nodding, he positioned us so we were chest to chest on our sides. I felt him growing soft inside me, but feeling him close, after being alone and scared for so long, was needed. With my head in his chest, under his chin, he soothed my skin delicately by rubbing over it. With the post-orgasm rush, our bodies were exhausted. With a final kiss to my hair, he whispered “I love you, my beautiful sunflower.” Before I could question the new nickname, his breathing shallowed out, indicating his now sleeping body.

I can finally say that I am safe. I am loved. I am comforted. And I am in love with Harry Styles.

The End….

[miley1442111]

(part 9)- hotel room choice- a.donaldson

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summary: how art and you start to reconnect, as friends, of course.

(dw there are more parts after this :))

pairing: art donaldson x reader

warnings: mad angst, feelings of disappointment and depression, hurt, loneliness, eating disorder, SMUT 18+, piv, fingering, no protection, small fluff, etc.

PART 9 of 12

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You sat in your hotel room, a full plate of untouched food in front of you, a party going on outside, and an empty feeling in your stomach. You hated your life. You were worse than empty, you felt desolate, and unknown. Everyone knew your name, but no one knew you. No one knew what you liked and hated, what your real dreams were, what you liked as a kid, what your favourite colour was. 

No. You were completely, and utterly alone. 

Which was fine. It meant no hurt feelings. No complicated relationships. But it also meant radio silence. It meant going days without speaking a word out loud. It meant weeks without real human contact. You had no family, none that wanted to see you anyways. You had no friends, no one at the top could. You enjoyed the tennis season, because it meant you’d at least be surrounded by people, even if they didn’t speak to you. That was fine. You liked people watching. Like when you spotted Lily and Art in the crowd at your match earlier that day. Lily was a beautiful little girl, and your heart ached for the hypothetical children you and Art would talk about back in college when you both got tired enough to forgo any anxieties surrounding talking about a future together. 

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“We’d have a girl first,” he smiled, pecking your lips as he held you close. The cold air from the open window (that neither of you were bothered to close) caused you both to huddle together under his bedsheets, the darkness of the room giving way to a serious conversation. What you wanted your life to look like. How you believed it would look. “We’ll call her Lily.”

“Lily? Like my favourite flower?” You’d smiled as he nodded. You could barely make out his face in the dark room, but you could feel his smile against your skin. It felt good. 

“Like your favourite flower,” he nodded. “Then we’d have twins, a boy and a girl.” 

“We’d name the boy Matthew,” you decided. “After your grandad, obviously.”

Art beamed with happiness. He’d been close to his grandfather when he was a kid and a few months ago he’d opened up about it, telling you off-handedly about his desire to name his kid after him. You’d remembered. 

How could you ever forget it?

“And the girl could be named Heidi,” he offered. “It’s cute, right?”

“Very cute,” you agreed. 

“And then we’d have another boy-”

“Christ, how many times will I have to be pregnant?” You chuckled. 

“You don’t seem to mind me fucking you everyday now,” he smirked, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. You chuckled at his antics and pushed him off. 

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes. “What would his name be?”

“Lucas.” 

“Why Lucas?” You asked, holding his hand. 

“It’s pretty, like you,” he smiled and kissed your cheek again. 

“I love it,” you nodded. His hands went down to your waist and pulled you on top of him. 

“I love you.”

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

You pushed the plate of pasta away from you, a scoff on your lips. You weren’t hungry. You weren’t anything. 

You were empty. 

Knock, knock, knock. 

You got up and answered it, swallowing your tears back. “Hello?”

And there he was, blonde hair in a pair of pyjama pants and a hoodie that made him like 19 again. He looked at you with those same sparkling eyes, Lily’s hand in his. You both just stared at each other for a few seconds, before Lily shook his hand, breaking him out of the trance you’d found yourselves in.“Hi.”

“Hi!” She smiled. “You’re really good!” 

You leaned down to her. “Well thank you,” you smiled. “I’d love to play tennis with you one day, I bet you’re amazing.”

She nodded her head profusely. “Let’s play now!”

“Oh peanut, it’s kind of late-”

“It’s fine,” you nodded at him. “Unless she needs to be in bed?” 

“She’s fine to be awake,” he nodded, his eyes trained on you. 

“Perfect,” you smiled at her. “I’ll grab my racket, yeah?”

“Yay!” she celebrated. “I’ll go back to the hotel room and grab one of yours daddy! I’ll be right back,” Lily rushed off, keycard in hand. 

Art walked into your room and your frame stiffened. He felt like he had no control over his body. He was just… drawn to you. Like a mosquito to a light. His eyes stayed glued to you. 

“Have you eaten?” He asked, looking at the untouched dishes at the end of your bed. 

“I’m not hungry,” you shrugged. 

“You should eat something,” he nodded. “It’s good for you.”

You turned to him with a teasing smirk. “Really? I never noticed.”

Art felt 19 again. Awkward and much too sweaty around you. Nervous.

Like when you two first met at that party. Your beautiful face in the crowd. When Tashi introduced you to him. 

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

“That over there, is Art Donaldson with Patrick Zweig, Art’s great at tennis, but he lacks a certain drive, and Patrick is just an asshole who thinks he’s way better than he is,” she giggled. You laughed along, but your eyes lingered on Art. He met your eyes and his widened, he choked on his drink and you chuckled. He waved at you, and you waved back, a teasing smirk on your face. 

“He seems to like you,” she winked. “Go for it.”

You did. 

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

“You haven’t changed,” he chuckled nervously. 

“I wish I had,” you plastered on another fake smile and took his hand. His entire body went electric, every nerve ending on fire. You were touching him. You were here with him. Your eyes met his and he leaned in, trying to commit your face to memory. Like he would ever forget it. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, bright eyes staring into yours. “So, so beautiful.”

He noticed how your breath hitched. How your lip quivered. How your eyes watery slightly.

“Dad, I’m ready!” Lily called from the door. 

“So are we!” you smiled, walking over to Lily. She put her hand in your and you felt that sorrowful ache in your heart increase in size. You’d wanted to be a mom. You couldn’t now, not after what you’d done to yourself. 

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

The tennis court was foggy, a slight midnight haze on your game. Art and Lily played against you, mostly having it be Lily serve, you hitting it back, then Art catching the ball and giving it to Lily to serve again. She was pretty great, especially for a little girl. It was beautiful. Your dreams coming true for one night. A family. A domestic setting in which Art looked at you like he used to. But Lily wasn’t your daughter. And Art wasn’t your husband. They were both Tashi’s. Everything in your life had become Tashi’s. 

Everything. 

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

Art walked you back to your hotel room after he walked Lily back to their hotel room. 

“Thanks for tonight,” he smiled. “Lily had a blast.”

“Thank you for tonight,” you smiled. “I had fun.”

He just looked at you for a moment, feeling exactly how he did eleven years ago.

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

“I had a great time tonight,” he smiled, dropping you off at your dorm. 

“It doesn’t have to end,” you smirked. “You could come in for a while.”

He’d never agreed so quickly. 

His lips were on your in an instant, his hands expertly undoing the lacing on the back of your beautiful black dress. “You’re so beautiful.”

“So are you,” you smirked, slightly biting his lip. He swore he could’ve cum right then and there. 

His lips worked down your neck as you both stripped, then you landed on the bed, his fingers slowly working you to your first orgasm of the night. 

“So pretty like this,” he whispered into your ear, somehow speaking over your moans. “So gorgeous.”

His lips seemed to be magnetic to your neck. His eyes, drinking in your body as you convulsed and moaned beneath him. 

“Art!” you whined gripping his bicep as you came. 

“Good girl, just like that-” he groaned when you took his hard cock in your hand. 

“Feels good?” you asked, coming down from your orgasm. He nodded his head as he whimpered out small praises, depraved sounds coming over of his mouth as you worked your hand up and down faster. He lay back as you straddled him, pushing him inside of you as he moaned out particularly loudly. 

“Fuck!” he whined out as you started to move. “So good- so, so good.”

“Fuck you’re huge,” you groaned. “You’re so big.”

With your praises Art came quickly, cumming inside of you with a groan as you clamped down around him, his orgasm triggering your own. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, laying beside him. 

“Please tell me you’re on birth control?” He asked and you groaned. 

“Fuck off and stop ruining the moment,” you chuckled, kissing him softly again. “But no, I am not. I’ll go and grab the morning-after pill now,” you sighed, getting up. 

“No way you’re getting it. I’ll go get it,” he assured, getting up and dressing himself. You simply walked over to your desk and pulled out a blister pack, then chuckled at him. He rolled his eyes and walked over, burying his face in your neck. “I thought you meant going out-”

“I know what you meant,” you smiled. “You’re so sweet Art, thank you.”

He faced you, a rosy blush on his cheeks. “So we’ll see each other again?”

“I hope so,” you smiled. “Cause I really like you.”

“I really like you too,” he admitted, and kissed you softly. 

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

He cleared his throat  “You’ll get some dinner?”

“Sure,” you nodded. “You’ll get some sleep?”

“Sure,” he nodded. 

You started closing the door, giving him a small wave,  but he stopped you, putting his foot in the door. 

“I wanted it to be you,” he admitted. “Always. I’ve always been in love with you.”

Suddenly this innocent night had turned into something much heavier. 

Suddenly you didn’t know what to do. 

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

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[ericshoney]

Toxic Friends ~ Sturniolo Triplets

Summary: You and the triplets were childhood friends and still to this day, you were close, often going out to LA to visit them or hang out when they came home to Boston. However, the triplets have noticed you've changed and not for the good, only putting it down to your new "friends".

Warnings: slight angst, toxic friends, mentions of underage drinking/drugs/smoking, mentions of not eating/eating disorder, mentions of not sleeping, broken home, brief panic attack, anxiety, pet names used in a platonic way, let me know if there's anything I've missed.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Nick, Matt and Chris had just arrived back home in Boston and were first greeted by their parents, who met them at the airport. When the trio arrived at their childhood home, they were next greeted by their older brother Justin and best friend Nate. However, the three were expecting to see their other childhood friend, Y/n.

The triplets and you were still close to this day, including Nate, the four males basically being brothers to you now. But you happened to make some new friends to keep you company in Boston when Nick, Matt and Chris weren't there or Nate was busy. Nate however, didn't like them one bit and today was the day he was going to tell the trio the truth, he was far too worried about what was going on.

After texting you about your whereabouts, the four started to chill, but Chris was first to notice something was up with Nate.

"What's up?" Chris called, the younger male looking at him.

"She won't reply. She's with her new friends." Nate said.

"New friends?" Matt repeated.

"Yeah, she got some new friends the past month but they aren't the best." Nate admitted.

Before any of them could respond, their phones pinged with a group chat notification from you, saying you were on your way and ten minutes later, you arrived.

"Hey guys!" You cheerfully greeted, hugging the three.

"Hey." They all replied, taking in your appearance.

And instantly, they knew something was wrong. You were a lot thinner than last time they saw you, dark circles under your eyes, which were also slightly bloodshot and your clothes had a funny smell to them.

"Nate was just telling us about your new friends." Nick said, breaking the silence as you sat on the sofa.

"Oh he did. Don't worry they'll never replace you guys." You reassured them.

"Well of course not, we're the best." Chris said with a cheeky smile.

"Right. Nate's not that fond of them." You mentioned, the said male nodding at your comment.

Nick, Matt and Chris all nodded and dropped the subject for a while. The five of you hanging out like old times.

~~~~~

A few hours later, Nate had to go. You all said bye and you remained in the Sturniolo house. You were still sitting on the sofa, scrolling through your phone. You were wrapped up messaging your new friends, that you didn't notice Chris sat on your left, Matt on your right and Nick pulled up a chair in front of you.

"Kid, we need to talk." Nick said, taking your phone from you, placing it on the table behind him.

"Okay...." You dragged out, feeling slightly confused.

"Nate told us about your new friends. Before he left, he mentioned they aren't the....cleanest people." Nick mentioned.

"What do you mean by that?" You questioned.

"Doing drugs, drinking underage. I mean your only nineteen and Nate mentioned the oldest just turned twenty-one. So out of what, five people, one is legal to drink." Chris answered.

"Just cause they smoke and drink, doesn't mean they are bad people." You tried to argue. But deep down you knew, they weren't great.

"Sweetheart, we're going to be honest with you. You smell like weed and look like you haven't slept in weeks. Plus you've lost a lot of weight. You don't look healthy." Matt said softly.

"I...I...so?" You tried to fight back the tears building up.

"We're your best friends, basically your brothers, Nate included. Don't push us out. You know we're not going anywhere." Nick said, holding your hands gently.

"We're not going to push you either. But if your ready, tell us what's been going on." Matt said, rubbing your back in comfort.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, looking down at your lap. A wave of disappointment washed over you.

"Bub, you don't need to be sorry. We're not angry. We just want to understand so we can help." Chris replied.

"I...I met some new friends....t-they seemed okay at first, but they do drugs and drink. At first I said no, I said no many times I swear!" You began to explain, feeling your breath quicken.

"Hey, sweetheart take a deep breath okay. We believe you, calm down. It's only us four, nobody else. We're not mad, Nate's not mad okay. Take a deep breath in and out." Matt gently said as Nick squeezed your hands to keep you grounded.

You closed your eyes tightly, a few tears still slipping out as you focused on your breathing and Matt's voice. Once you calmed down, you began explaining again.

"I...I said no. Said I don't wanna do drugs or smoke and that I won't drink till I'm twenty-one but only if I wanna.....but the peer pressure got too much. I caved. I felt like I was losing you guys to LA, I know you always come back and we still talk everyday but I was still scared. I didn't want to burden Nate with everything so I tried to find new friends. My parents are constantly arguing, so I thought being out late at night with these new friends was a good thing. I stopped eating because the drugs made me not hungry, I couldn't sleep cause the house felt cold and dark. I just fell down a big rabbit hole and I'm sorry." You finished explaining, more tears rolling down your face.

"Kid, you don't ever need to be fucking sorry, okay? We're sorry." Chris said, patting your shoulder.

"You don't need to be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong." You responded.

"We're going to help you okay. First off, your going to tell those people your done with them, then block their numbers. You don't need toxic friends." Nick said.

You nodded as he passed you your phone, the trio watching you as you texted the group chat, saying you were done with them and had real friends who cared about you. Before any of them could reply, you blocked their numbers. Nick, Matt and Chris smiled as the eldest took your phone back.

"Now what?" You asked, looking at the three.

"Well, how about you move to LA with us?" Matt suggested.

"Really?" You asked in shock.

"But what about my stuff here? What about Nate? Oh what will my parents say? Will they shout a-" You rambled, but got cut off by the guys.

"Hey, kid calm down okay. Fuck your parents, if they're constantly arguing to the point they can't see you need help, you don't need to be around that. Nate will be okay, he comes to visit often and we always come back here. You can text or call him everyday too. We'll pack your stuff up and talk to our parents so they are aware too." Chris said first.

"Okay. You guys really want me to live with you in LA?" You questioned, still feeling in shock.

"Of course bub, we'll help you recover, we love you." Nick said.

"Thank you." You said.

The three smiled and pulled you into a group hug. You knew it would take time, but with their support you would be back in a good place again soon.

[woniverse-writes]

"Moth to a Flame (part 6)"

Bada Lee x Reader

part 5 ⟵ part 6 ⟶ part 7

series masterlist

summary: y/n l/n is the youngest team member of Jam Republic, competing in the second season of Street Woman Fighter. she’s got the sweetest smile and the most vibrant personality, but she also may or may not be the biggest hothead on the show when it comes to defending her teammates. apparently that’s attractive to Bada Lee.

word count: 12k

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of depression anxiety disorder, mentions of medication, not proofread, nothing i write is a reflection of anyone's true character and is a work of total fiction

It had been almost a week since the interim mission check. Almost a week since 1 million was estimated to place first. A week since Jam Republic began preparing themselves for elimination. A week since Bada and Y/n fought… a week since the two had last spoken.

After the screaming match between the two girls and y/n making her exit with a slam of team Bebe's dressing room door, the younger headed to her own dressing room bawling her eyes out. Her teammates didn't immediately question anything as she stormed in and began to aggressively pack up the few things she had brought back for the day. Audrey made her way over to place a gentle hand on her shoulder

"y/n-" but was immediately swatted away by the still-crying girl. y/n immediately turned around with regret written all over her face

"I'm so sorry- I didn't- I didn't mean to push you away" she sobbed with wide eyes, shaking her head, trying to convince her friend that she didn't mean it, but Audrey already knew that. Audrey knew Y/n.

"hey, hey! It's okay, I know you didn't mean to…" she comforted the girl, bringing her into a hug. This time the younger girl let her friend wrap her in a warm hug. She buried her face in Audrey's chest and bawled her eyes out until she felt too tired to carry on.

"Is something else bothering you lovey?" Kirsten asked gently from somewhere in the corner. Y/n looked up slightly confused, which is when she realized they had no idea what just happened. She began to cry all over again, this time just weeping exhaustedly. I don't even think you could call it crying- more so just her looking sad as tears freely ran down her face. It took her a few minutes before she could even begin to explain, but when she did it wasn’t any easier.

“I got into an argument with Bada… well- it was actually a really bad fight, and- and I totally fucked everything up” Poor girl could barely finish her sentence, as she hiccuped her way through it before she started sobbing and heaving again. Everyone in the room shared looks of shock and confusion, all rushing closer to comfort their youngest. Audrey already had her hand rubbing circles softly on Y/n’s back while Emma sat on the other side rubbing her shoulder, and the oldest three kneeled/sat in front of her.

“I’m so sorry my sweet girl… do you wanna tell us about it?” Kirsten being the wonderful leader and friend she is, did not hesitate one second before openly trying to comfort y/n. The youngest sniffled and hiccuped a bit more while trying to nod.

“Y-yeah, just give me a-a few minutes, p-please” y/n shakily pleaded as her sobs picked back up. After about ten minutes of crying, she was pretty sure there was nothing left in her. Latrice had gotten up to get her water a few minutes ago and now was forcing her to drink it seeing as y/n had been able to calm down.

“Take your time baby, you don’t have to tell us everything- you don’t even have to tell us anything if you don’t want to!” Ling reassured her little bestie and made sure y/n still remembered how safe she was with Jam Republic.

“No, it’s okay- I want you guys to know… I just- I don’t even know where to start or how to retell this…or if I even have the energy to do so right now…” the youngest countered, wanting just to tell her members what happened and get it out of the way so she could begin suppressing it, but her eyes began to droop and her voice got soft, both being immediate signs of her exhaustion. And on any other day, or in any other situation her members would find it quite endearing, but they can’t help but feel crushed at the sight.

“Why don’t we finish packing- after the flight, you’ll have rested a bit, and if you’re feeling up to once we’ve landed you can explain the whole situation to us then. If not, that’s okay too.” Latrice gently spoke up, reminding everyone that they had a flight to leave for in just under an hour and a half. Y/n sniffled and nodded, slowly standing up. Everyone immediately backed away slightly to give her enough space, then watched as she lifelessly moved around the space, finishing packing her things. It sincerely shocked them to see her this way, thinking it was already pretty bad how she was acting before they showed up- and that was when they WEREN’T paying attention to her. Y/n was never good at hiding her feelings unless it was when she was dancing or performing- when she was putting on a show- so to see her so sluggish and empty really scared the five other members of Jam Republic.

“This is going to be a long, hard fucking week…” Emma noted, the others either nodding or tiredly humming in agreement.

________________

“Do you wanna talk about any of it?” Lusher tried her best not to pry- not that she would've had to pry much anyway since she heard the whole thing- but she wanted to hear how Bada was feeling with the aftermath. The leader just sighed deeply once again with her elbows resting on her knees, hunched over as she laid her head in her hands.

Bada felt nauseous. She felt dizzy, like the room was spinning and her ears were ringing. To be completely honest, there was a possibility she would pass out at any moment. None of what had just happened in the last- what? 20 minutes? Was it longer than that? Hell, was it shorter? Bada really had no clue, but none of what had happened in that time felt real to her.

“I don’t know Lusher…” the leader finally mumbled, still hunched over. It was quiet and meek, sounding exhausted. The sub-leader glanced around at her teammates whose faces were all some sort of variation of fear or anxiety, She sighed and crossed her arms before speaking up again

“Well, then how about we get some rest? Maybe afterward you’ll want to talk about it, or maybe you won’t- either way, we’ll be here…” She firmly stated, knowing how tired everyone was and how sleep easily played a role in how well they felt. The leader took a huge breath, her members watching had her shoulders rose and fell. Bada stood up with her head still hanging low. The other girls moved out of the way and watched as the oldest started groggily packing up her things and sat back down on the couch with an empty look when she finished.

“I’m ready when you guys are.”

____________

The first day back in New Zealand was just another segment added to the nightmare that Jam Republic has been living in these last few days. Y/n slept the whole plane ride but woke up with a very minor fever and headache. She just chalked it up to crying so much and getting so world up.

“I promise it’s fine Kirsten, I'm probably just dehydrated-” 

“Which still isn’t good! Even if that’s the case, it’s not something to treat lightly, y/n. And since I know you’re lying it’s even more serious to me… I need you to try your best to take care of yourself right now love, we need you.” she dragged the youngest over to some airport market and grabbed two waters and a bottle of juice. Kirsten glanced over her shoulder and saw eyeing up some snacks, but didn’t end up grabbing them. When the younger walked away to look at something else, the leader moved to grab whatever she was looking at. The bright colorful packaging with cute designs made her smile. It was obviously a very y/n-like treat- some sort of sweet gummies with a sour sugar coating. She grabbed two of them and got a savory snack as well, knowing how stubborn her youngest is and how hard on herself she can get.

When all of their luggage had been picked up, all six members of Jam Republic headed back to their hotel. y/n lay with her head against the cool glass of the window, not quite asleep but definitely not mentally present. Everyone was already worried from what had happened the previous day, but it seemed like something different was the issue now. Y/n didn’t only seem depressed anymore- she seemed physically ill.

By the time they arrived at their place, Emma was the first to offer y/n help, which she obviously declined. Yet Emma still took her heavier bags, and y/n didn’t even have the energy to complain. The older carried them up for her as she dragged behind the rest of the group. Audrey, noticing how out of it her best friend was, circled back around to meet y/n in the back of the clump

“You not feeling too good, bunny?” the slightly older brunette questioned with eyes full of concern, and a mouth of whatever candy bar she was munching on. Y/n actually felt herself smile a bit at how endearing her friend was. still, she sighed and nodded, which of course Audrey didn’t believe.

“I really don’t get why you feel like you have to lie about it…” the elder mumbled, kicking a rock while they walked. Great, now I made Audrey upset. y/n frowned and sighed deeply

“It’s just easier to deal with it by myself… it’s exhausting having to explain why I feel the way I do, especially when I don’t even understand it half the time… I wanna tell you guys, I promise I do, but it would drag the team down so much, Audrey…”

“Why do you say that? Because we’d have to take time to discuss what’s wrong? Because we’d have to stop working and focus on you for a second?”

“No Audrey it���s not-”

“Oh so then it’s because we care about you and we’d do anything for you in a heartbeat and you don’t wanna accept that you have people that sincerely love you? You don’t wanna accept that you really are a loveable amazing person who doesn’t deserve to be talked to or treated like that?” Audrey pointed off somewhere in the direction they had just come from, seething as she finished. this was the first time y/n had ever seen the girl as angry as she was, but she couldn’t help but feel confused

“How… how do you know what she said?” y/n tilted her head and awaited her friend’s response with said eyes. Audrey hesitated for a second, feeling like she’d said too much, but sighed and began speaking again

“Lusher told Latrice… well- Latrice and me. I still want to hear everything from you though- I want to know how you’re processing all this and how it felt for you because while she seemed neutral, there could just as easily be things Lusher left out in favor of Bada.” she quickly explained, hoping she hadn’t betrayed the other girl’s trust by getting the story from someone else first.

“Lusher didn’t seem… mad? Wait- how does she know? Did Bada really tell them everything already? I mean I guess that makes sense since-” her mumbled external pondering was cut off

“They heard everything…” the older of the two once again spoke hesitantly, unsure of how the other would react. y/n just glanced over, slightly dazed

“Huh?” Audrey let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding, then continued explaining.

“Lusher said their entire team was just around the corner while you guys were arguing, and they could hear everything…” she trailed off at the end, cringing slightly at how bad the entire situation was. Y/n sighed and closed her eyes, feeling another wave of headaches coming

“Great, now all of team Bebe hates me…”

“You don’t know that!” Audrey was simply trying to be her optimistic self, and she couldn’t help but giggle when the slightest bit of normal y/n showed through the depression when she gave her older friend an over-exaggerated deadpan look. The two finally reached their shared room and began unpacking the few things they had. After doing so, the girls all quickly washed up and got changed, then headed to practice.

Practice had gone well for the most part- the first half was reworking practically everything and adding more to make the choreography stand out more. The second half was just drilling everything until it was muscle memory, or at least close to it. Everyone could tell y/n wasn’t feeling well. It didn’t show in her dance, but definitely on her face as she looked miserable every time they finished.

“Why don’t you take a break hon-” Emma tried convincing her with a gentle hand on her shoulder, to which y/n loosely pushed it away

“Em, I’m fine” she whined and moaned, tired of having everyone baby her for the day. The older stood there for a moment before sighing and shaking her head, then walking off. The rest of the practice went the same, and everyone finished wrapping things up around 12:45 am. 

Later that evening (or morning rather) after practice had ended and all of Jam Republic had returned to their hotel, y/n started throwing up and her fever increased severely, ending her up in the ER at 2 am with Kirsten and Ling, the others being told to stay back and get some rest.

“After running some tests and talking with her, it just seems like a stress fever, which thankfully means there’s nothing physically wrong- well besides some dehydration, but we have her on an IV for right now- However, whatever is causing the girl so much stress should probably be taken out of her life immediately…” the doctor sternly informed the two oldest members of Jam Republic. They both just looked at each other, not really knowing what to do, seeing as their poor baby’s stress was unavoidable right now unless she were to completely drop from the challenge, and maybe even the entire competition as a whole.

“We’re actually a part of a competition right now… we want her to rest but- we need her to be able to compete with us. Is there anything we can do to speed up the recovery?” Ling spoke before her friend could, the desperate tone already taking over her voice. The doctor sighs and takes off his glasses.

“We could try putting her on an anti-anxiety medication to see if that helps… but it really would be the most ideal to let her rest as much as possible in a low-stress environment.”

“A low-stress environment isn’t really possible right now. And- she’s actually already on something for anxiety and depression, would she even be allowed to do that?” at Kirsten’s question the doctor looks slightly confused

“Has she not been taking the medication recently? Because when we ran the tests to see if there was something in her system, we found no traces of drugs, alcohol, or any substances…” The two dancers once again looked at each other, having a silent conversation.

“Would we be able to see her?” the leader asks softly, to which the doctor nods and leads them to y/n’s room. He opens the door and they find her lying there staring off into space, barely awake.

“Hey honey… is it alright if we come in?” Kirsten asked as softly as she could while still wanting the girl to hear her. Y/n nodded wordlessly and closed her eyes. The two oldest Jam Republic members came and sat near her hospital bed and after a few minutes of conversation with the doctor, it was just the three of them in the room. 

“Sweetheart…” the leader brushed some hair out of y/n’s face and watched as her eyes fluttered open

“Did you hear any of that?” She finished and furrowed her brows, unsure of how aware of her surroundings the younger was. Y/n shook her head and matched Kirsten’s expression

“They’re gonna keep you here overnight to make sure you get enough hydration before going back, okay?” She kept brushing away stray hairs and petting them down softly against y/n’s head, lulling her to sleep. There was a slight nod of understanding. Kirsten stood up and y/n quickly (as quickly as she could) reached out to grab her hand

“Please stay… at least one of you… can at least one of you please stay with me” the youngest pleaded in a pitiful whisper that made the older two’s hearts break all over again. This girl really was going to be the death of them all

“Of course honey, we’ll both stay” Ling reaches for her other hand pressing a motherly kiss to the back of it 

“I’m sorry… for slowing down the process and now dragging you guys into it… you should be getting good rest right now… not here with me… and here I am being selfish by asking you to stay… shocker…” It seemed like y/n was just mumbling whatever was coming to mind, yet tears were once again freely slipping down. Her eyes closed and wet eyelashes fluttered softly against her cheeks as she drifted off. The two sat there in slight shock, a bit taken aback by what she’d said. Both had wanted to say something and let her know how wrong she was- how while yes they should’ve been resting, it was more important to them that she was okay. After a few minutes of silence, Ling spoke up

“Why didn’t you tell her she can’t practice?”

“Because now is not the time to send her into a nervous breakdown… she’s barely even conscious, it’d probably give her a heart attack if I told her she wasn’t allowed to practice” the leader stressed and hung her head for a moment.

“We’re gonna have to ask her about her medication in the morning…” she sighed rubbing her forehead, causing Ling the groan softly so as not to disrupt the sleeping girl a few inches away

The next day Kirsten woke up first and told a half-asleep Ling she was going to grab breakfast for them. When she returned, it seemed the older had been awake for a bit and that y/n had just been waking up. The leader sat in the chair next to the hospital bed and handed everyone their food. y/n thanked her teammate quietly and they all began eating. After a few brief moments of silence and soft chewing, Kirsten spoke up

“So there are a few things we need to talk about…” she mentioned seriously, glancing up at y/n who was staring intensely at her food, but had stopped chewing for the moment.

“...like what?” the younger questioned and went back to cutting up her food to eat more.

“Like why you haven’t been telling us things… we need to know when you aren’t feeling well y/n or else we can’t help you-” Kirsten explained in a worried motherly tone but was quickly cut off 

“I don’t want you to have to help me-” the bedridden girl argued tiredly and sighed. There wasn’t any anger and she didn’t raise her voice in the slightest. She was just exhausted. 

“I should be able to take care of myself on my own. I’m an adult… i should start acting like one” y/n spoke everything loud and clear until the last phrase. She had mumbled the statement to herself, sinking back into her pillows and wallowing in pity again, but Ling and Kirsten both heard the self-deprecating callout. Every second that passed, the two eldest grew more and more worried about their youngest’s wellbeing 

“The doctors said they didn’t didn’t find any traces of anything in your system, which is good, but that also included your meds… did you forget to take them yesterday?” Ling questioned softly rubbing the back of the girl’s hand. Y/n once again goes completely silent, and avoids eye contact with an extremely guilty expression, which has both older members raising an eyebrow.

“Y/n… what’s up?” Kirsten pushed for a response, causing the younger dancer to sigh

“I haven’t been taking them regularly…” Y/n mumbled, fiddling with the blanket that laid over her lap, still avoiding eye contact.

“You haven’t been taking your meds???” “Y/n are you fucking kidding me? Since when?” both members started began outwardly stressing

“...since the second week of filming-”

“THAT WAS THREE AND A HALF MONTHS AGO-”

“Lingy, let’s not yell at her… I’m sure she had a reason…” Kirsten put a hand on her shoulder and the oldest sighed, they both turned expectantly to y/n, who felt immensely small in front of them for the first time in her entirety of knowing the two dancers.

“...they were making me tired” The youngest curled into her and cringed at the excuse, especially after seeing both women’s faces drop into disbelief.

“Are you serious right now?” Ling questioned with a deadpan expression her arms crossed. Y/n bit her lip and continued to play with her fingers.

“y/n…” Kirsten sighed as she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose

“I started that new medication and it made it impossible for me to do anything! I was barely making it through those battles and the only thing keeping me going was the excitement and adrenaline-” The youngest tried to defend her reasoning but what cut off

“So you thought it was better to just take nothing? Why didn’t you say something to someone, or even just call your doctor and ask to go back-” This was the first time Kirsten even slightly raised her voice at y/n, and it wasn’t even at that point, but the small girl could feel the disappointment radiating off of her team leader, and she felt everything come crashing again.

“Because I didn’t want to go back to the other medication, it did nothing for me- I wouldn’t have switched in the first place if it worked!” she could feel herself getting worked up again, tears somehow still being able to form. She sighed and laid back in the hospital bed, actually crying this time instead of having tears judge freely fall down her face as she stared blankly.

“I know I shouldn’t have stopped taking them… but I just couldn’t do it. I thought I was doing fine…” y/n mumbled, wiping away tears and sniffling, feeling exhausted again.

“Y/n…” Kirsten started after taking a deep breath and hearing the younger girl’s hum of recognition 

“You can’t practice.”

“What…” barely came out as a whisper 

“You’re too stressed out right now, and your immune system is down… you aren’t eating or sleeping properly and you’re overworking yourself. You are literally killing yourself slowly… and for what? A stupid competition? Some girl?” she tried to keep her tone level and calm, but Kirsten couldn’t help the rise at the mention of the other team leader, hating her in that brief moment for being one of the reasons her poor baby was feeling this way

“If it’s so stupid Kirsten, then why are we here?” Y/n could feel herself getting frustrated again. This was exactly why no one took her seriously, because her team didn’t even take her seriously, or at least that’s what she thought. Kirsten let out what felt like the twelve hundredth sigh within the last 24 hours.

“They’re discharging you in about 20 minutes… you’re allowed to come to practice but it’s recommended that you don’t… the doctors said it’s best to keep you out of high-stress environments right now-“ 

“Yeah well, do they even know what’s going on?” so many things were happening in the moment. Y/n felt like she was going to combust and throw up and pass out all at once. She’d never spoken to Kirsten like this- fuck she’d never felt frustrated with Kirsten like this. 

“Yes y/n, we told them, and they still think it’s best for you to rest… at least for a little while” The leader’s tone was back to gentle, but it sounded just as tired as the younger girl’s. Y/n didn’t say anything as she sat in disbelief. The three sat in silence for the next few minutes until it was time for y/n to be discharged. She signed off on some documents and then the three were off. They decided to head back to the hotel first before meeting the others at the studio, wanting to change and all that since they’d all spent the night at the hospital in their pajamas. 

Y/n decided to stay back and get some more rest, finally giving in to her exhaustion. While they were glad she was taking their advice, Ling and Kirsten once again couldn’t help but feel their hearts hurt for their youngest members. It was always hard seeing each other go through tough times, but it usually never lasted this long or became this severe. It felt like there was nothing they could do to help her.

The youngest jam republic dancer napped and rested for about five hours after she had made her return to their hotel. After waking up she showered and got dressed and decided to head down to the studio. When y/n arrived she waved and greeted everyone politely with a gentle smile, shocking everyone at her appearance.

“I thought you weren’t coming today- you said you were gonna rest.” Kirsten separated herself from the group after telling them to keep practicing

“I did rest- but I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing… even if I don’t feel well I should still come and watch to make sure I’m not missing anything” y/n defended her case to the best of her ability, but Kirsten was always right

“No, if you don’t feel well you need to be resting and taking care of your body AND your brain” the leader retorted, teasingly poking the younger girl’s forehead at the end of her sentence to make a point. Y/n cracked the tiniest smile and even though it was barely there Kirsten was proud of herself for at least being able to do that much.

Y/n sat at the front and watched the practice for the remainder of the time, taking notes on everything she saw whether it be strengths or weaknesses, new ideas, or things she felt needed to be changed entirely. The girl was surprisingly calm and didn’t feel any stress while she was observing. That’s pretty much how the rest of that week’s practices went for Y/n until the last three days before filming. She had been begging Kirsten to allow her to get back to dancing and the leader actually almost caved a few times, desperate to perfect the routine, but still stayed strong and insisted she rested.

____________

It had been a week since the two had spoken. By now all the choreography was finished being created, taught, and perfected. The videos were all shot and edited and it was finally the day where all seven teams would present their work to everyone else and the judges. The day when another two crews would be put up for elimination, and once would go home. 

Everyone entered the arena one by one, each team taking their designated seat. It was always mindlessly interesting in these situations, where they’d all gather to watch something but not dance because the fashion choices were truly a show of each dancer’s honest character. Y/n looked as elegant as usual with her red, black, and ivory ensemble. She was doing surprisingly well at the moment, having more of an icy glare rather than the empty eyes of depression that had taken over her the last week or so. 

Y/n was doing surprisingly well until she wasn't. Jam Republic is seated by the time team Bebe passes by. y/n feels her heart rate pick up as they approach, all of them glancing at her, some glaring, but their leader acted as if she didn't even see the girl and walked right past them with an icy stare.

“Oh, now that’s just fucking mean” Ling scoffed and stared down the team as they took their seats. Everyone was obviously feeling on edge and very nervous about the results, but y/n still looked quite ill. She had recovered for the most part, but she suddenly felt like throwing up again at the interaction with Bebe. She's still so distraught from the fight with Bada a couple of days before, and now the youngest dancer is scared shitless that both of their teams are going to be up for elimination. As much as she wants to avoid the older girl right now, y/n wouldn't be able to live with herself if Bebe got sent home today…

y/n took a sharp breath, biting her lip trying to push back the sudden sting of tears already feeling the anxiety begin to gnaw away at her. Lusher noticed this right as the team took their seats and spoke over her shoulder to their leader. 

"you can't keep ignoring her…" the younger prompted after seeing the way Bada pretended y/n didn't exist when they passed by

"excuse me? Who are you to tell me what I can and can't do?" the leader coldly responded, eyeing the girl up and down. Tatter felt a shiver run down her spine at the interaction, already worried about the integrity of her team considering the rest of their practice time felt like a waste as well. She just sighed and tilted her head out of stress.

After the fight between Bada and Y/n happened, and they both went their separate ways alongside their teams, team Bebe began to fall apart. Bada read through the countless criticisms their routine had gotten and didn’t even know where to start. The stress was eating her alive and she tried her best not to let it show. Normally when things got bad, the Bebe leader would talk about it with Y/n, but that obviously wasn’t a possibility right now, which made everything so much worse. 

Practices became unbearable due to how irritable the leader had become, often losing patience easily when things didn’t work out how they were supposed to. Any time they’d go on break Bada would sit and rewatch whatever footage had been taken or reread the notes to see what was going wrong. The other six Bebe members sat off to the side getting water, all observing their oldest with immense concern. She still hadn’t opened up about the situation to them, honestly feeling too embarrassed, even though she knew they heard the entire thing. The guilt of it all was eating away at Bada and she didn’t want to admit that.

“She’s gonna have to share the burden with us at some point” Lusher sighed and pushed herself up off the floor, sauntering over to their crew leader and popping a squat next to her

“You haven’t had any water today…” the sub-leader observed while glancing at the taller girl

“You’re seriously keeping track of whether I do or don’t drink water?” it was supposed to come out in a joking manner, but Bada was serious, the sentence coming out flat and irritated. She didn’t look up from the sheets of paper she was looking over when she responded as well, completely focused on fixing the issue that she couldn’t seem to understand.

“Yeah I am- because you’ve stopped taking care of yourself and you won’t let anyone help you” Lusher snapped back, causing Bada to finally look up and meet her harsh gaze. The younger dancer’s arms were crossed and her brows were furrowed, making her look more like a pouty child than an angry adult, but still Bada could feel the frustration radiating off of her. She sighed and stood up, tall stature looming over Lusher for a second before she stood as well.

“Talk to me… this isn’t gonna work if you take everything on yourself” the shorter once again encouraged her teammate to share her troubles. Bada sighed and the two stared at each other for a moment before Lusher turned her head slightly to call out for Tatter. The blonde came bounding over with a somewhat nervous look on her face

“What’s up?” she asked

“You think you’d be able to run things by yourself for a bit?” Lusher questioned in return, causing Bada to cock her head a little, not entirely fond of the idea. But the way the youngest director confidently responds makes her feel a little better about it. The other responds with a quick ‘great’ and a smile, before dragging Bada out of the practice room and slightly down the hall to one of the small dancer lounges.

“Alright- let’s hear it.” Lusher claps her hands together as she sits on the couch and crosses one leg over the other. The leader lets out an amused scoff and shakes her head. She sits down on the other side of the couch and leans on the armrest.

“I just feel stressed about the routine… we’re taking a big risk with what we’re doing and I can’t help but wonder if it’s the right approach…” Lusher eyed her suspiciously, not fully believing the leader

“So it has nothing to do with Y/n?” she tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, the leader huffing at the question

“Well of course it has plenty to do with Y/n- we didn’t exactly leave off on good terms the last time we talked… it’s just more unnecessary added stress that I need to stop thinking about and move past.” Bada finished her reasoning in a reserved manner, looking away from the girl next to her

“Woah- wait- you think that’s really something you should just ignore??” Lusher was genuinely shocked, not used to her leader being so avoidant. Maybe it was her way of trying to remain relaxed and cool, but the younger dancer could see how terribly the whole situation was affecting her friend, and it definitely wasn’t something to just be left alone.

“Well, I have better things to worry about right now than some childish dancer who clearly can’t control her emotions” the shorter girl scoffed completely unamused 

“This is coming from the person who blew up on her just as easily- come on Bada, you’ve never been a hypocrite so don’t start now” She couldn’t help but laugh a little at how childish the leader was being without even realizing it 

“So you’re taking her side now?” Bada looked pretty offended, telling the other dancer just how serious she was with her question. Lusher sighed deeply

“I’m not taking anyone’s side, but you both were really shitty to each other… neither of you should’ve said the things you said- but by you saying how immature and emotional she is, you’re pretty much saying it all about yourself because you two had the same energy going on…” she tried to explain calmly, which resulted in another immature response from the leader

“I was simply matching her energy-” Bada pouted as she talked, and Lusher usually would’ve found it cute if it were any other situation

“Right, which by your definition was childish and irrational…” the leader scoffed and looked away, playing with her sleeve. There were a few moments of silence 

“You know she’s not doing well either…” the sub-leader spoke up after a while

“Yeah? And how would you know?” the taller girl mumbled, still not looking away from her sleeve, finding the loose string much more interesting than the conversation at this point

“Uhm, I asked her?” she posed it as a question, but it was meant in a sarcastic way, pointing out the obvious answer. Bada quickly snapped her head back up to finally look over at the younger girl

“Oh, so you’ve been talking to Y/n?” Lusher sighed again after seeing her friend’s irritated expression make a return

“Of course I have, she’s our friend- well she’s my friend, I don't know what she is to you” she responded softly and sincerely, yet mumbled the last part, causing the leader to scoff for probably the thirteenth time during this conversation

“C’mon Seoyoung, be serious right now- this isn’t the time for your silly little delusions-” Bada tried to joke slightly and steer her away from the door they were about to open

“No, you be serious Bada. you know damn well she’s more important to you than you’d like to admit. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were practically in love with her.” the older of the two let out a laugh of disbelief at her teammate’s (accurate) accusation

“In love? With y/n? That hilarious Lusher- really funny actually. I’d love to know where your brain comes up with things like that.” her tone was low and sarcastic, becoming mean and condescending, similar to how it was the last time she spoke with Y/n

“Oh don’t fucking talk to me like that- you’re not gonna treat me like I’m an idiot because I know you better than that. Stop putting your insecurities onto the people who care most about you when they’re trying to help Bada” The room went silent and the older stood straight up in her place, eyes softening at the callout. It was strange to hear Lusher talk to her like that, or even hear her talk like that at all. Sure, the girl teased her a lot, but the two had never gotten into a serious back-and-forth argument like this. Bada thought at that moment that maybe she really could be the problem, seeing as how no one else had been getting into screaming matches like she had recently.

“I just don’t understand why she couldn’t just talk to me…” Bada mumbled sadly burying her head in her arms

“Because she was stressed out and hurt… I mean- if my girlfriend voted to eliminate my group, I would be hurt too-” Lusher tried easing the mood with some light teasing

“Seoyoung…” the older girl dramatically glared at her, but both knew the look held no real malice

“Okay my bad- sorry, but you get the point.” she rushed out in turn

“I do, but she said she understood…” the leader once again drifted off, focus going elsewhere

“Okay, and? She can understand your reason and still be upset about it. Especially since there were other things that were probably weighing down on her… you have to remember, we weren’t the only ones who voted to eliminate Jam Republic… EVERYONE voted for them… and since they had already been facing setbacks from the moment they got to New Zealand she was probably struggling a lot-” Lusher tried to help her understand, but Bada wasn’t having it

“yeah, she was struggling but I was too- you didn’t see me taking it out on her did you?” she tried to retort, but was met with Lusher’s immediate response

“but you did take it out on her! Just not immediately…” 

“Lusher you saw everything- you know how hard everything was for me-“ and it was true, lusher did see everything, just like she’s seeing it now. She witnessed one of her best friends completely lose her confidence and doubt all of her abilities while keeping it bottled up. But she was the only one who saw.

“Right, but she didn’t, Bada… How is she supposed to know that if you don’t tell her-”

“She didn’t tell me anything!” it felt like an argument was starting again. The older of the two truly not seeing the whole problem, or at least not recognizing her part in it

“Right, but you pushed her to talk about something she didn’t want to share with you- why? I don’t know- but that’s none of my business! YOU need to figure out what went wrong…” Lusher explained from the objective point of view

“I get that, but how is it fair for her to shut me out and then get bitchy with me, but when I do it in return that’s not okay?”

“Oh my god- Bada, it wasn’t okay for either of you to act that way! But your retaliating after pressuring y/n to talk about something she wasn’t ready to talk about seems like your own fault…you were so fucking mean to her Bada- like- the things you said were awful and absolutely not okay!” The younger of the two allowed her voice to increase, finally getting her point across. Lusher watched as Bada’s face softened again, feeling like she finally got through to her, even just a little bit.

“...I know” The older hung her head and covered her eyes, as Lusher sighed and sat down next to her, leaning her head on Bada’s shoulder.

“I know she treated you badly too, what she said wasn’t okay either- but it wasn’t charged like yours was” Bada scoffed and wiped her tears that she didn’t even realize had fallen

“yeah, and how do you know?” she shifted slightly to glance down at the younger girl, but Lusher just kept staring off into the space ahead of them

“Well- maybe at first it was a little bit… but at some point, she had already given up on fighting and just wanted to get out of there… believe me, Bada, she knows how bad she fucked up too…”

That week had been just as terrible for Team Bebe as it had been for Jam Republic. The last day before filming they ended up making drastic changes to really sell the concept, causing everyone to be exhausted the next day, but luckily they were all able to hold off until after filming had finished.

The team now sat in their designated area, everyone carrying a very negative intimidating intense energy, except Lusher who was just exhausted from still having to play the mediator at this point. After all teams have settled in and the production staff is ready to go, Kang Daniel begins recapping the mission for the audience members and announces the first concept shortly after. Deep n Dap’s video was shown first.

Y/n felt another wave of depression rush over her as she watched the video. It was so well organized and put together, and hearing how loud everyone else was cheering for the green team made her feel nauseous all over again. Yet the young dancer was able to preserve her face and not let her anxiety show, although she didn’t make a single sound or expression for the entire video. Once Deep n Dap’s score was revealed the entire team of Jam Republic began to get nervous seeing how high all three directors had scored.

Shortly after, it was Jam Republic’s turn. Kirsten had been asked about their rehearsal process and was only able to get a few words out before she started tearing up. The leader finally showed her tears, and Y/n hung her head holding her breath knowing she'd cry too if she didn't. When the score for Jam Republic’s leader was shown, y/n felt herself genuinely smile for the first time in three days.

Once the video started and everyone was cheering, y/n felt herself start to lighten up a little- but was also still frustrated at the circumstances- seeing as they all had no faith in Jam Republic and now here they are cheering for them. Witnessing how well the video turned out after all their trials and efforts, and how much everyone loved the individual parts really made Y/n feel so much better. It shocked everyone slightly that y/n wasn't showcased or highlighted at all, but they had no problem pointing her out since she still stood out due to her energy.

“Oh- Y/n didn’t have any highlights?” Redlic commented as the applause died down

“I guess they weren’t able to give her something with all the idea changes…” To be completely honest, Y/n didn’t want a highlight. When the crew began reworking their choreography and it came to the segment that had featured the youngest dancer, Y/n told Latrice to cut it. She was still not allowed to practice at the time and felt it was unfair to the other dancers and her team.

It actually made Bada feel really bad about herself- because, for the first time since meeting the girl, she was glad y/n wasn't in the spotlight. When the leader realized she was thinking this way it made her feel even worse about the situation, knowing how hard this all was on the younger girl, and she did nothing but make that worse for her. She felt conflicted the entire time watching the video- while she was mostly glad she didn’t have to watch Y/n be in the center of attention and was able to avoid accidentally reacting to how pretty she was; Bada was also annoyed that she wasn’t showcasing her talents like she normally did. Knowing how skilled the young dancer was, her presence alone probably would’ve guaranteed Jam Republic a win, so what reason was there for her not to be given her own part?

The other two scores were revealed and the team felt immense pride. However, any relief Y/n was feeling was ripped away just as quickly as it arrived. Daniel announced the 100-point deduction from Kirsten’s score due to them failing to meet the minimum amount of required dancers and y/n felt her stomach drop. The gasp she let out was followed by tears although she managed to push them back- she truly thought she was going to be sick. Y/n had to physically cover her mouth, to avoid letting out a sob or to stop herself from throwing up? She doesn’t even know. This poor girl is literally internally losing her shit and having a mental breakdown over the fact that they could lose to deep n dap.

Moments pass as Daniel re-explains the extra concept points that would be rewarded to the crew that executed the outdoor concept better according to the judges. When it was revealed that Jam Republic won the points Y/n burst into tears and covered her face with both hands as her shoulders shook with sobs. 

“Ahhh the baby” Amy whined in sympathy, pouting along with Redy and Lia

“She must’ve been so stressed” Waackxy pouted as she and her teammates nodded

“DON’T CRYYYYYY” Lusher was the only one from Bebe to shout out to her, the others kind of just side-eyeing her

“What? She still deserves comfort… she’s not a bad person, she just did a not good thing… I wouldn’t even call it a bad thing” The sub-leader sternly eyed up her teammates, then her leader, already tired of how they were acting.

"she cries too much" Bada was mumbling to herself but made sure to say it loud enough for the girl in front of her to hear. Lusher whipped around and pursed her lips, her nostrils flaring as she forced herself to take deep breaths

"For someone who got into an argument over immaturity, you're acting really childish." the younger of the two whispered calmly, but everyone could feel the rage simmering in her. She turned back around and her face immediately reverted back to one of pride for the pink team.

“Y/n, you were extremely ill during the second half of the rehearsal process-” Bada tilted her head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion and concern at Daniel’s words. She was sick? Is she okay now?

“How do you feel that impacted your overall performance?” the host questioned after Kirsten and Emma had finished giving their speeches. The youngest member sniffed and wiped her tears as she was handed the microphone, taking a deep breath before speaking

“Well…” she sighed and felt more tears coming

“It was extremely difficult for me personally, obviously… but I couldn’t help but feel like a burden to my team…” the youngest member let out a sob as she tried to finish her sentence. Audrey rubbed her back, comforting her friend.

“So I did my best to attentively take notes and help where I could, while actively reviewing the choreography until I was well enough to perfect it on my own…” Y/n was able to finish more stably after taking a few deep breaths and calming herself down. Daniel nodded and smiled sympathetically before thanking her and moving on.

“Wow… she taught herself everything in her own time and practiced it less than the others… and still looked that good???” NOB cocked her head, genuinely stunned by how dedicated and talented the youngest Jam Republic member was.

After 1 Million and Mannequeen’s videos were both shown and scores were revealed, announcing that 1 Million had taken the win, it was time to move on to the all-gender concept groups. Lady Bounce’s video was shown first, and they scored extremely well, seeing as it was well executed and had a lot of energy. The team had received a generally positive reaction during interim checks and also finished off strong with positive feedback from the judges. Both Bebe's and Y/n’s nerves were beginning to rise.

When it came time for Bebe’s video to play, everyone was interested to see what the team did with the feedback. Since Jam Republic was seemingly able to come back from near-elimination, the other crews were curious to see if Bebe would be able to do the same, or if they would simply take the other team’s place as the least impressive performance.

Right off the bat, Y/n was already distraught. The amount of partner work really threw her for a loop because it wasn’t like that before… and she literally thought she was gonna burst into tears again. She knew it was obviously just acting, but the young dancer still hated it and lowkey felt like it was a punishment, even though it clearly wasn’t. 

The entire time, she watched with a heavy heart. It was so good and she couldn’t even tell anyone how proud she was of them, especially Bada, so Y/n just there and silently let tears roll down her face the whole time. Her eyes were on Bada as soon as it ended. She of course didn’t look her way, but y/n continued to clap as hard as she could, knowing if she were to open her mouth and cheer she’d probably let out a sob

“It was just really good… I’m glad it turned out so well” she said wiping her tears and putting on a very fake smile trying her hardest to look happy and not utterly heartbroken, knowing how the camera picked up every reaction. Audrey once again patted her friend’s back and gave her a sympathetic smile. When Bebe’s score was shown everyone was shocked to see that it was lower than Lady Bounce’s- not by a ton, but still lower. Y/n felt her heart rate start to pick up, getting nervous at the thought of Bebe losing the whole challenge and ending in the elimination battle.

Bada started her speech well but only got about two words in before feeling a surge of emotions. She quickly recognized the hard work of her team and spoke on how she would continue to improve and grow as a director, before affirming it all with a nod and handing the microphone back over. Wolf’Lo’s performance followed, and Y/n wasn’t shocked at all when she continued to be unimpressed by the group’s work. However, despite her exhaustion and anxiety, the youngest Jam Republic member was still able to pull out an expressive reaction to the orange team scoring higher than Bebe.

“That’s fucking ridiculous…” Y/n glared at the screen, unable to hide her distaste. Emma snorted at the girl’s reaction

“Good to see you haven’t lost your judgment” the older girl teasingly smirked at her teammate who just smiled lightly and shook her head. Daniel moves on to announcing which of the three teams received the bonus points for executing their concept the best. Ladybounce took the win and y/n began to panic more seeing that Bebe came in last out of the three. When they showed the current rankings based on judges' scores, she was relieved Jam Republic wasn’t at risk for elimination, seeing Bebe in sixth place had her head spinning. She was really hoping the audience votes would keep her safe and boost Bebe in the ranks as well.

The host began announcing the final ranks for the mission, after adding in audience votes and views. 1 Million placed first, not surprising anyone, since their performance was practically flawless. Jam Republic was called for second place and all six of the members felt the tension leave their bodies, even though their safety was guaranteed by their win. Audrey put her arm around y/n and the girl was able to smile a little bit more at their victory, still not completely present in the moment due to how much of a nervous wreck she was for Bada and her team. Now that Y/n knew she was one hundred percent safe, she should’ve felt relieved, but no such feeling came.

While the other members debated who tied with Mannequeen for third between Ladybounce and Bebe, y/n just continued to lay with her head on Audrey’s shoulder, totally zoned out. Ladybounce won and the youngest jam member tensed up while applauding, not moving from her teammate's shoulder. When Bebe is announced as fifth it takes y/n a second to come out of her daze, and when she does she sits straight up and feels tears sting her eyes again. She’s able to hold them back as she applauds, finally feeling genuine relief knowing that the team is safe.

Bada was handed the mic to give her speech, and much like everyone else who had held the microphone at one point today, she began to tear up. Of course, all the natural stress and anxiety of the challenge and competition as a whole had gotten to her, but everything had hit so much harder since she wasn’t able to share any of it with Y/n. The leader felt tears rush faster, no matter how hard she tried to keep them back. After taking a few deep breaths and racing some encouraging pats on the back from her team, Bada was able to speak up

“I’m glad we always scored well in previous missions, but it was a lot of pressure going into this knowing how high the standards were for us…” the tall leader started off 

“It’s really all thanks to the members for keeping things going while i wasn’t at my best, so thank you. We’ll continue to keep showing great performances.” Bada finished with a firm not and grateful smile, evoking applause from the other teams. Deep n Dap and Wolf’Lo place in sixth and seventh by default, meaning they are the two teams up for elimination. Daniel announces that both teams are free to go prepare for the battles now and everyone disperses, heading back to their individual hideouts. Jam Republic is one of the last groups to head up to their room, along with Mannequeen, seeing as the two were hyping each other’s videos up.

“Oh shit- I think I left my phone down there…” Y/n sighed in annoyance after feeling around for her phone and not finding it

“Do you want me to come with you to check?” Emma offered, but the younger just shook her head

“No, it’s okay. I’ll meet you guys back in the room” she replied and the others nodded, then they both parted ways. Y/n went back down to the fight zone area, looking around Jam Republic’s seating for her phone, finally finding it next to the bleachers. As she heads back up and begins going down the hall, someone rounds the corner nearly bumping into her.

“Oh- I’m sorry” Y/n meekly whispers at the taller blonde, who at first was glaring down at her, but softened her gaze once she realized how terrible the girl looked. Even under all the stage makeup she had on, Y/n’s eyes were slightly sunken in and didn’t hold the same sparkle they usually did

“It’s fine…” Tatter somewhat dryly responded. Neither of them moved, both simply staring at each other for moments. The older of the two felt the urge to at least create some small talk between them, also harboring some guilty feelings for being cold toward the Jam Republic member.

“How have you been?” she crosses her arms and tries to sound relaxed, not wanting the other girl to feel uncomfortable. Y/n didn’t really know what to say, as she stood stuttering for a few moments, debating whether or not to answer truthfully

“well… I’ve definitely been better” is ultimately what she decides to say. Tatter frowns and her shoulders slump as she sighs

“I’m sorry…” y/n gives her a tight-lipped smile in return, hoping that would be the end, as the whole thing felt incredibly awkward. Yet the older sighed again and continued

“I’m actually sorry for some other things too… I’m sorry for not reaching out to check on you and for being so bitchy. I just saw how distraught Bada was after the whole situation between you two, and I didn’t even stop for a moment to think you could be doing worse… so I’m really sorry y/n” Tatter gently explained with genuine sorrow in her eyes. The other dancer was touched by the apology and a bit taken aback as well

“Thank you Tatter… I really appreciate it. These last few days have been miserable, especially since fighting with Bada… I understand you guys not wanting to talk to me or other things like that because I said some pretty terrible things-” the blonde cut her off with a scoff of a laugh

“Yeah well, you definitely weren’t the only one… I’d even argue that what Bada said was much worse” she strongly retorted, causing the younger girl to sigh and look down

“I know… but I kinda deserved it” Y/n quietly replied feeling her throat begin to close up at the memory

“Not really… I mean sure- you were being an annoying brat, and maybe a tiny bit selfish in the moment, definitely petty-” the other girl calmly argued

“Okay Tatter, was there a point you were trying to make?” the blonde laughed at her friend’s sarcasm, glad to see the slightest smile on the girl’s face, making it known that she wasn’t taking any of it personally

“What I’m trying to say is that even though you were having a rough moment, how Bada dealt with it was absolutely not the right way to go about it. Of course, you were both at fault, but she took it too far.” Tatter finished seriously with a small shake of her head. There was another moment of silence before she began speaking again, shifting the topic slightly

“I bet dealing with this didn’t make it any easier for you to get better, huh?” the older asked in regard to Y/n getting sick and having to continue working on the mission while trying to recover

“No, I actually think it’s part of the reason I got so sick… because I was so stressed out over everything already and that was like- my final straw” The two laughed softly at Y/n’s slightly dramatic statement. Tatter pouts playfully, yet feels genuine heartache for her two friends.

“Things will get better,  believe me… she misses you, she’s just so fucking stubborn” Tatter grimaced at the thought of her hard-headed leader and how she’s currently refusing to accept her guilt, causing the tiniest saddest smile to show on y/n’s face.

“I should probably get back to my group now…” the younger softly commented looking down somewhat sadly at her shoes. Tatter hugged her without hesitation and felt Y/n tense up at first, but the short girl quickly relaxed and wrapped her arms around the other in return. They said their goodbyes and right as the blonde watched Y/n turn the corner, she felt a tap on her shoulder and whipped around to see her own teammate.

“what took you so long?” Lusher questioned staring down at the still-empty water bottle the girl said she was going to fill up about 15 minutes ago. Tatter hesitated for a second before deciding it was better to just be honest

“...I was talking to Y/n” she watched as her older teammate’s eyes lit up slightly

“Oh? About?” Lusher curiously and somewhat suspiciously inquired, hoping it would be something good and not about how Tatter decided to beat the shit out of the other girl

“Nothing really, just checking in on her…” the two continued their conversation as they finally began heading back towards their hideout

“Oh, so you’re finally done glaring at her? Good!” the blonde laughed rolling her eyes at the older girl’s sarcasm

“Yeah… I apologized for being bitchy and then we talked a bit about how stressed she was and how it didn’t help when she got sick…” Lusher visibly relaxed at the younger dancer's truthful retelling of the conversation, feeling a bit more at peace knowing she wasn’t alone anymore in the “getting Bada to stop hating Y/n” battle

“I still can’t believe she got so worked up and stressed that she ended up in the hospital” Lusher nonchalantly replied, stopping Tatter in her tracks

“What??” the blonde exasperated, stuck a few steps behind behind the older dancer. Lusher looked around, confused for a moment until she remembered that she was the only one who knew

“Oh yeah, Y/n wound up in the hospital almost as soon as they got back to New Zealand. The doctors said she was so overworked and anxious that it was making her physically ill- that’s why she wasn’t allowed to practice or even be in the rehearsal space at time” Lusher briefly explained the whole situation to her teammate, who stood there with her jaw dropped

“How did you even find this out??” Tatter questioned, still baffled. Lusher’s face went from calm to somewhat guilty for a second

“Well… I had been trying to get in contact with Y/n to see how she was doing, but she wasn’t responding to any of my calls or texts. So I texted Latrice and she explained what was going on, and also made me aware that by texting her, I was lowkey stressing Y/n out more…” she finished with an embarrassed smile, knowing that she and Y/n were okay now and that she didn’t have to feel guilty about it anymore. Tatter scoffed in amusement, shaking her head as they both finally entered their team’s room.

“It took you two long enough!”

____________

After everyone had been given a break while Deep n Dap and Wolf’Lo prepared for their elimination battles, they all gathered in the arena for the show. The bright lights and cheers from the audience amped up the energy and had all the other teams extra hyped. 

The first battle was the “hidden battle”, where both teams went head to head as a whole group. Y/n wasn’t expecting more than what she’d usually seen from both groups, but it’s safe to say she was blown away by Deep n Dap’s performance. The song choice and usage of nunchucks really had her getting hyped up, and her normal, energetic self slowly coming back.

The battle to follow was between Chocol and Locker Zee. The young Jam Republic member was fired up, which meant some interesting comments were bound to leave her mouth before passing through her brain

“Bruh it’s so annoying how they’re suddenly so good… like- they were good before but this is AMAZING…” Her entire team side-eyed her, Kirsten and Latrice worried about the show airing what she just said, fearing she could get canceled; the other half trying not to laugh but internally agreed. When the third battle is about to begin and mini walks out and takes off her over shirt showing off her pink jersey, y/n gets excited and points with a smile, since the two are both pink lovers, of course causing her team to smile at her in endearment. When JJ walks out and does the same, y/n starts dying laughing, clapping her hands in amusement along with the rest of her crew. Once the battle starts Mini is the first to dance

“She’s like- actually scary” Y/n jokes around and hides behind Audrey, who laughs and continues to smile just because she’s happy her friend is able to joke around again. The fourth battle was the 5 on 5 and y/n was beginning to get tired of how good both teams were. It felt like things were never going to end, and she was honestly thinking neither team deserved to go home at this point. The fifth battle was another one-on-one with Baby Sleek and Locker Zee, which resulted in another win for Wolf’Lo, bringing the score to 3:2 in favor of Wolf’Lo.

For once, Y/n actually found herself rooting for Deep n Dap, probably because she couldn’t stand Wolf’Lo just as much, or possibly even worse. The sixth battle began, and it was between a duo from each team. Yeni Cho and Haechi came out for the orange team, while JJ and Locker Zee both came out for the green team. Y/n was once again bored by the older team’s presentation, genuinely excited to see what the Deep n Dap duo was about to whip up. 

When their music started and everyone recognized it was Michael Jackson, the energy in the room somehow increased even more. JJ and Locker Zee put on a flawless performance, executing each hit and accent perfectly, making sure to connect with each other and the audience. 

“BRO WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?????” “I DON’T KNOW BUT I NEED MORE OF IT” Audrey and Y/n are literally losing their shit while watching the performance, absolutely obsessed with the duo, hoping to see more of them in the future. As JJ and Locker Zee took the win, it tied up the score once again, bringing them to the final round, which ended up being between the two leaders. This was a battle Y/n was extremely curious about, already not a fan of Halo’s specific style and also aware of Mina Myoung’s incapability to freestyle. But when the music started, she was pleasantly surprised 

“WHAT THE FUCK WHY IS SHE EATING?????” Y/n is so baffled by Mina Myoung’s sudden ability to freestyle efficiently. Y/n stood there, fully back to her normal self (at least for the time being) holding onto her hair with her jaw dropped. To her, the improvement (call it that or desperation) was sickening- it was such a pleasant change that Y/n felt Mina deserved the win just for that alone.

However, the win goes to Halo, giving Wolf’Lo the overall gain of staying in the competition, meaning Deep n Dap was the next team to be eliminated. It’s a bit hard to watch, knowing they truly did try their best. Y/n was doing surprisingly well with not crying- well… until Mina started talking. The leader began her speech and the Jam Republic member was able to avoid tears until Mina brought up how she felt she was able to move on from 1 Million. After that, it was like the floodgates opened up. Don’t ask her why, but Y/n took that shit personally, like a shot straight to the heart. Especially when the Deep n Dap leader mentioned her relationship with Lia Kim, y/n felt her ache for them.

As all teams say their goodbyes to Deep and Dap and said team leaves the studio, filming ends for the day. Everyone is either standing around mingling or heading back to their own hideouts. Jam Republic continues their conversation with Mannequeen when Lusher comes bounding over and wraps her arms around y/n congratulating her, nearly scaring the life out of the small girl. When the younger turns around to see who it is, she once again bursts into tears and clings to her. Lusher feels her heart break even more for her friend yet can’t help but giggle softly at how cute the reaction was. Poor y/n was so scared that Lusher hated her too and it brought her the slightest bit of relief knowing that she didn't

Bada watched from where the rest of team Bebe sat in their designated spot, not even trying to hide her irritation at the situation. She was feeling a mix of annoyance (at both y/n and lusher) and watching the interaction once again sent a wave of guilt rushing through her.

"Ya know you can go congratulate her too…" Tatter spoke up from behind the leader. Bada looked over her shoulder at the blonde and scoffed, but it held no malice- she just sounded exhausted

"And why would I go do that?" the team leader looks over her shoulder with a cold stare and a slight look of disgust at the idea

"well for starters so you can stop getting into arguments with your own teammates-" She did have a point… Bada had been much more irritable since the argument, causing a lot of their practice time to be even more strictly ran

"and two, so you can stop making both her and yourself miserable" Ouch Tatter. Ouch.

“Weren’t you just glaring at her too when we walked in?” Bada rolled her eyes and pouted childishly crossing her arms, causing the other girl to snort and respond

“Yeah, but I talked to her in the hallway… she was in the hospital you know-” Tatter responded as if it were common knowledge or a quick throwaway fact about the girl

“What???” the leader’s eyes widened and she uncrossed her arms leaning forward to make sure she heard the girl correctly

“Yeah… got so worked up and anxious over everything she made herself sick apparently” Tatter shrugged, not having all the proper information. Bada sighed and rolled her eyes

“Seriously? Where‘d you even hear this from?” she pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, now fully recognizing and admitting to the guilt she’d been suppressing. Tatter hesitated for a second, debating whether or not to mention her small conversation with the girl they were talking about, ultimately deciding not to.

“Lusher” the blonde gave away her source matter-of-factly. Of course, she heard it from Lusher. Bada was beginning to think if she hadn’t made a move on Y/n first, Lusher would’ve easily swooped in and done so. But now that she and Y/n were fighting, did that mean Bada could potentially lose her to the other girl? Lusher was attentive and understanding, closer to Y/n’s age, and had been the first of team Bebe to interact with Y/n… plus she had been in contact with her after the whole incident. The leader tried not to worry about the irrational possibility of her own teammate stealing the girl she was pining after away from her… but it was still a lingering thought nonetheless.

notes: i needed this chapter to be as long as it was just so you guys didn't have to suffer as much in the next chapter🫶

taglist (open) (continued in replies): @tinybada @angel-hyuckie @violetinferno @jesuschrist2006 @1luvkarina @uwulyn @justandloyal2961 @deadgirlwalking3 @squidvoldyvoid @vivzyo @ouhaika @jksjx @ocyeanicc @marianamartinsthings @jxrdxnh @luvjanexx @lorenztired @khjssss @heavenlycloud @loisje123 @starchasermyloves @zhivaxo @grinnwolph @notyourd0lly @stinkbvgs @nermandiiiii-blog @arujee @idontknownemore @thatgayinsomniac @fruitr0llup @cgriffin9797-blog @woooooya @kaaylvst @ssc7514 @astoreea @linda-botello @kpopgirl-97 @erikook @misszoldyc @sammisregrets @jysai @moonsvrse @froufrousnowman @amararosesblog @tikitsune @aestrelle19 @laaaasanielzz @randomhoex @tswisal1 @unpretty-reader @charlesswife @stella222

[captainwans]

Can I sleep beside you tonight?

pairing: fetus!alex turner x fem!reader

warning: neurotic reader, mentions of anxiety disorder, vulgar language, angst but slowly turning into fluff at the end, implied smut.

prompt: nr. 2 (angst)

word count: 1,6k

[Y/N]’s eyes brimmed with tears, chin trembling like a child as she contemplated her actions by coming at his house at this god forsaken hour. The darkness crept in, the cold night engulfing her like a blanket as she was standing at his doorstep shivering. 

She brought a trembling hand up to the door, halting for a second before softly knocking at the door. She knew his parents were asleep upstairs and Alex had a habit of staying up late busying himself downstairs. She knew he was awake, noticing a faint light coming from the kitchen window. 

Her eyes were bruised from crying and she grimaced at how her eyes stung, the skin around her eyes turning raw and dry. Soft hiccups emitted from her throat as she folded her arms in front of her chest, like she was trying to cease some of her pain. Her mind spiraled, going a thousand miles per hour and she closed her eyes. She felt her heartbeat quicken, along with a hard pulse knotting into her throat. 

Doorstep. House. Wind. Cold. She thought, repeating a technique she got from her psychologist. She blew her cheeks out, her heavy breaths fleeting in the air from the cold. She nodded to herself, mumbling words of encouragement as she placed a hand over her chest, focusing on her breathing. 

It was like the anxiety was taking the wheel this time, clouding over her heart and mind. She shook her head, teeth grounding with discomfort as she felt another storm hitting her like a tidal wave. She whimpered, sniffling as her body grew tense to the point of shaking. She was so lost in her chaos that she didn’t notice that she was being pulled inside the house, shielding her away from the cold night. 

A pair of hands cupped both of her cold cheeks, their warm touch seeming to snap her back to reality. She blinked a few times, eyes locking with his warm ones, looking at her with concern. Her skin tingled and she felt tears welling inside her eyes. She sniffled, pulling away from his warmth as she sauntered toward the kitchen. 

Alex watched her pacing around the kitchen, face flushed whilst she ran her fingers through her tangled hair with trembling hands. He clenched his jaw, feeling his chest prickle. He furrowed his eyebrows, turning his body around to close the kitchen door before walking towards her. 

“Hey, baby. Talk to me. What’s going on?” Alex said in a soothing tone, inching closer. Her quiet cries left a crack in his heart, feeling his stomach clench at the sight in front of him. 

[Y/N]’s face crumbled. She gripped the hair at the back of her hair with both of her hands, like she was demonstrating how she would grab the anxiety by the neck, squeezing their life out. She felt the hairs on the back of her head sting and she let go, hiding her face with her hands. Her eyes shimmered with tears as they trickled down her cheek. She shook her head while covering her hands to her face. “I don’t know, Al. I’m so fucking anxious all the time. I–I don’t know how to make it stop.” she admitted, voice wavering and muffled due to her hands covering her face, but he heard her nonetheless. 

Alex bit his lip, eyebrows creasing his forehead with a pained expression. He stepped closer, his rough calloused hands placing themselves on her hands, gently removing them from her face before pulling her into his chest. He let her pour her heart out, his hands caressing her hair before trailing down to her back rubbing it comfortably. “It’s gonna be okay, darling.” he whispered into her ear, rocking themselves back and forth. 

She heard her muffling into his chest and he frowned, “Did you say something, baby?” he watched her pulling away from his embrace, but she still had her arms on his waist. He gave her a reassuring smile, a hand brushing a few hair strands away from her damp forehead. 

[Y/N] cleared her throat, biting her lip before speaking. “I said, how come you’re not tired of me?” she said, her voice hoarse from crying. She watched his face fall, brows furrowing tightly at her words.

“Why would I be tired of you, my love?” Alex replied, voice gentle and comforting. He wiped away a lone tear from her cheek, his hand drifting to hold the side of her neck before placing a chaste kiss on her forehead. “You know that you can always come to me with anything, even this. You don’t have to go through this alone.” he told her, his lips lingering longer on her skin as he prepped small kisses along her jawline. 

She felt his hot breath fan over her face and she closed her eyes, leaning into his warmth. She brought her hand to his face, tilting his chin toward her. He smiled at her, eyes glowering from the faint light above them. “I don’t expect you to be fine all the time. That’s impossible and you’re human. Why would I leave the person who means to me the most?” he expressed in a small tone, voice getting fainter as he heard a light thud from upstairs. 

Her breathing seemed to regain back to her normal pace, chest slightly heaving as she took in his words. Her lips curved upwards, fingers brushing over his lips, which he softly pecked. “Do you know how much I love you?” she told him, fingers gently caressing his chin.

Alex simpered, giving her a hum. “Yeah, you’ve mentioned it a few times.” he answered, making her throw her head back in a laugh but stopped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, fuck. Your parents are sleeping.” she swallowed her laugh, whispering as the pair shared a muffled laugh.

"I love you too, bug."

A dust of crimson danced across her cheeks, her hand slowly moving away from her mouth. She stared at him just like he stared at her—as hypnotized and immersed with each other. She inched closer and looked at his hands that was comfortably resting on her waist. She rubbed his arms lovingly, feeling his fingers slipping under her hoodie onto her bare skin. She opened her mouth, but closed it, the suggestion of staying the night leaving her flustered.

Her eyes were unsure and hesitant as she avoided eye contact. It wasn’t like they hadn’t slept on the same bed together, in fact, before they were dating they used to sleep over at each other’s house all the time. But leading to their fresh new relationship as a couple, it felt a little different and she became bashful to say the most. 

“What’s on your mind, darling?” She heard him say, feeling his hand pulling her chin toward him. Her heart skipped a beat, feeling heat flood over her face. She hummed and fiddled with his shirt, biting back a flustered smile. “Can I sleep beside you tonight?” 

Alex’s eyes sparked at her question, unable to hide his grin. “Fuck yes!” He eagerly nodded his head before he paused, internally cringing with the way he reacted like a horny teenager—well, he was a teenager after all. He cleared his throat, “I mean, uh–yes, of course you can.” he rephrased, making her giggle. 

She cupped both of his cheeks, staring at him fondly before pulling him into a kiss. He melted into the kiss, his hands on her waist tightening to pull her closer to his body. He reveled in the feeling of having her closer to him, deepening the kiss. He swiped his tongue into her mouth making her gasp into his mouth. 

The pair pulled away, breathless and panting as they gazed into each other’s eyes. “I love you.” she said, leaning her forehead against his, which he responded by pulling her into another searing kiss, pressing her against the fridge. She groaned against his mouth, hearing the fridge making a sound. “Fuck, Alex, do you want to wake up your parents?” she jested, panting as he felt her prepping short sweet kisses on her face.

Alex groaned against her skin, his lips trailing over her neck. “Don’t worry about them. They don’t wake up that easily,” he murmured against her skin, hands creeping up her sides making her giggle. “Baby, we’re not having sex in the kitchen,” she warned, biting back a moan as she felt him nibble on her neck.

He pulled away, a cocky smirk reaching his handsome features. His raised his eyebrows, “So, you’re saying that we’re fucking, just not in the kitchen? Am I hearing right?” he tested her, inching closer to nudge his nose with hers before pecking her lips. 

[Y/N] scoffed, swatting his hands away. “It’s two in the morning. I’m tired, Al. C’mon, let’s go to sleep.” she practically commanded, dragging him by the hand as they exited the kitchen. 

He was hot on her heel, fastening his pace as the pair went up the stairs. He had his arm around her waist, “You’re hot when you’re controlling.” he cocked, lips curving into a smirk making her glare at him before slapping his arm. “Be quiet.”

“Ow! That fucking hurts!”

[nikibogwater]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[halucynator]

YOU COULD'VE DIED!

So I had this request and I totally forgot about it and I'm so so so so so so so sorry lol

Pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of weight, anxiety attacks, eating disorder, reader has adhd, not proof read and my writing lol

Request: So the reader a long time ago like when she was eighth/9ish used to be on the bigger side before her adhd meds and then got really skinny and stuff and timeskip to sixth year her meds don’t really work aswelll so she starts getting an appetite that was usually suppressed and she quit quidditch last year because of stress and her biggest fear is secretly getting fat again and she starts to have so much anxiety about it

WARNING: I am in no way shaming any one in this text. You are beautiful the way you are. I'm just adhering to the request. I do not agree with anything horrible about weight or anything else you can think of that is in this text.

I'm also really really sorry if you go through eating disorders or something similar to what's mentioned in this text x stay strong xx you're not alone 💕

Most people have nightmares about psycho killers in white masks with a knife who are really crazily into fictional movies they try to make it reality. Most people have nightmares about falling from really high cliffs with jagged edges that could rip you in half quicker than the speed of the platform 9¾'s train. Most people have nightmares about burning in fires that could kill you probably faster than the Dursleys burnt Harry's hogwarts letters.

But not you. You had nightmares about gaining weight. About being the girl that you were when you were nine. You hated your ADHD but oh those adhd meds really helped you to stop being the obese person you were. You were disgusted by your younger self even though you shouldn't have been.

You sat in the Great Hall processing your nightmare. You knew you had a normal weight, probably even lower than healthy. And yet you looked around at all those pretty girls with effortless hourglass bodies and wished you could look like them. You knew you had a normal weight and yet your dreams, or perhaps nightmares, kept on taunting you about it.

Those thoughts clouded your mind. Filled your head. Over and over. And over. Until you felt like starving yourself. And you'd do that until you fainted and realised it's really unhealthy. But then it'd be too late and this vicious cycle continued until you felt like you couldn't do it anymore. Until you were sick of being yourself. Until you wished you were anyone but yourself. Until y-

"Hey y/n!" Theo greeted you as he entered the Great Hall. He was the first one there. After you of course. He grabbed a vanilla cupcake with strawberry icing and sprinkles for himself and a chocolate cupcake with chocolate icing for you.

"here I got you a chocolate cupcake with chocolate icing. Your favourite." Theo smiled as he passed it on to you.

Even though your heart wanted to accept it, your brain knew better.

"no I'm fine, really! Thanks so much though! I'm full" you replied. as if to reprimand you, your stomach rumbled.

"your stomach disagrees" he chuckled. "go on have it it's fine it's just a cupcake"

You knew he was trying to be a good friend. You knew he was looking out for you at yet it was so hard for you to suppress the urge to scream "just a cupcake? JUST A CUPCAKE?! well, I'll have you know that cupcake contains sugar and butter which stores in your body as fat so you wouldn't even suggest it unless you hated me" you obviously didn't say it out loud. You knew you were overreacting in your head.

"erm no thanks." You politely turned the offer of the cupcake down.

"Ya sure?" He asked one last time.

"yup." You replied.

"alright suit yourself" Blaise said as he leaned across the table to get the cupcake from your side.

You didn't have dinner that night and the couple of nights after either. You knew you should've. But you were so insecure about your weight you just couldn't. So you didn't. And you should've. You really should've.

Unfortunately for you, you realised that too late.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡*:☆

You woke up on a white bed. Where were you? You glanced around. There was no way. You were in a hospital bed. After Theo explained it to you, you realised what had happened. On your way to the dorm you had fainted due to the lack of food. You had no energy left in your body and it finally gave out. Theo had realised you had fainted and had carried you to the Madam Pomfrey's. He looked strangely cross at you.

"T-thanks" you replied to him.

"for what?" He said. "I couldn't save you."

"you kinda did" you said smiling at him.

He pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to you. It was a cookie.

Before you could say no, he cut you off.

"you are eating this cookie right now or I will never forgive myself for letting you starve yourself."

You reluctantly grabbed the cookie.

"you didn't make me starve myself. I did it to myself. It's not your fault." You replied as you broke a piece off the cookie.

"but why?" He asked.

"sorry?"

"why did you starve yourself"

"erm i well i had a nightmare I was gaining weight and I thought I was I had gained half a kilogram since last year and I just thought I'd look ugly and I just didn't want to not be liked by anyone!" there it was. The word vomit. The bundle of feelings inside of you all out to the one person you thought would be disgusted by you if you ever gained weight. The one person you loved.

"Woah! Slow down. No matter how many kilograms you put in you'll never be fat or ugly! I can't believe you let a nightmare lead you on! You can't have an unhealthy relationship with food!" He exclaimed.

"you're just saying that."

"I'm not just saying that. I mean it y/n. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I fell in love with you and a couple kilograms isn't gonna change that." He replied.

"Aw- wait you what?!" You asked realising what he just said.

"I thought it was obvious? I love you y/n. I always have" Theo said. "but I'm still cross at you for not eating food."

"ok ok I'm sorry." You replied.

"YOU COULD'VE DIED!" Pansy exclaimed bursting into the room.

"Jesus Christ Pansy! You almost gave me a heart attack!" You said shocked at her entrance.

But you knew her words were right. And so were Theo's. From that moment you tried to prevent yourself from starving yourself and with the support of Theo and all your friends it was that much more easy.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡*:☆

A/n: the ending kinda sucks lol sorry for the lateness of this x hope you liked it!!

Taglist: @m3ntallyunstable34 lmk if you want to be added to my taglist (through asks or you can message me x I'll always respond ❤️)

[flippinpancakes64]

Hi! So, this is my first ask ever (kinda nervous ngl), but could you please write for the cullens with a succubus reader who is their mate? Maybe they're more like a Jennifer's body succubus? Thank you! (I'm obsessed with your writing btw)

The Cullens with a Succubus! Mate

Omg I remember the first time I did an ask I was like 12 and I was so worried I almost threw up. And then I got diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder so

Anyway it’s been like four or five years since I’ve seen Jennifer’s body but I think I remember enough to do what you wanted.

For anyone who needs a rundown, a succubus is a female demon who visits men while they sleep to engage in sexual activity. Either during or after this, they kill the men by taking their energy or by eating them. The male form is an incubus, but mostly the same premise.

And thank you so much for the kind words! Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

Uhm he’s a little scared

He knows that you won’t hurt him

You have no reason to there’s nothing to gain from killing a vampire, it’s not like you can eat him and he doesn’t have any energy to offput

Doesn’t mean he isn’t a little freaked out

But after he gets over the initial terror he is intrigued

He’s never met a demon before

He’s a scholarly fellow as well, he wants to know everything about you

He is gonna have to ask that you find another way of feeding

He sees your hunting ritual as cheating so yall will need to figure that out

Alice:

Yes sign her up

She loves you

She is so entranced

She thinks you are so beautiful, and she thinks your feeding us is symbolic

And of course she’s not scared of you

She’s not gonna go with you when you feed

But she’s also not gonna ask you to change

She knows that that’s what you need to do, and at the end of the day you come back to her and those guys end up dead so

Jasper:

He’s met a succubus before

He used to think Maria was a succubus tbh

He is a little uneasy

But he gets over himself

Again he thinks it’s so cool that you’re so different

Obv he won’t join you for your hunting

That’s just dangerous for him since he’s trying to not drink human blood

And he doesn’t try to change you at all

Yk that twitter post that’s like “my bitch can do what she wants cause im scared of her”

That’s him

Rosalie:

Yes

100 times yes

She is a man hater (except for Emmett and Carlisle and sometimes Jasper and maybe Edward)

She’s a big fan of your work

And yes she wants to join you

She’s abstained long enough to not really feel the urge to drink from the men you kill

And she doesn’t care about the sexual aspect

She’s the one you come home to so ❤️

She might even have a couple of suggestions for you

“That dude there bumped into me on the street and didn’t apologize let’s go for him next

Emmett:

Yes one million times

We already know he has a thing for powerful women

This is right up his alley

And he isn’t concerned about you killing men, he’s already dead

And if you would have killed him while he was alive he would have died a very happy man

He might go with you sometimes just to laugh at the guy

And he doesn’t care about the sexual aspect either

Again, more of the “you come home with me so it doesn’t matter”

Esme:

She’s very curious

She’s never met a demon, nor did she ever think she would

She isn’t judgmental at first when you tell her about how you eat men

But then she learns about what you do to them beforehand

And yeah she views it as cheating

She’ll ask if you have to do that first, or if you can just eat them

If you can’t change then she will not date you sorry

But she will be your friend

Carlisle:

He has definitely met a succubus before

So he knows what he’s getting into

He views it as more of a necessity

Like he knows how you won’t/can’t change and he wouldn’t ask that of you

He’s very accepting

He won’t go with you tho

What you do in your free time is up to you

Leave him out of the ritual killing please

Vampire! Bella:

She’s a little weirded out

I mean she just learned about vampires and werewolves not too long ago and now there’s other stuff?

She’s over learning

But she thinks it’s super cool

She thinks it’s a bit weird that you have to have sex with them first

So you’re gonna have to explain that it’s not something you can control, it just literally doesn’t work if you don’t

So she understands

I think she’d go with you once or twice just to see what it’s about

But it won’t be a habit of hers

Overall she thinks you’re pretty cool

[jarofstyles]

Sugar, Sugar 13

Hey… sorry it’s been so long angels 😭 here you go!! I hope you missed them as much as I did.

Check out our Patreon for early access and 160+ exclusive writings

Sugar Sugar masterlist

WC- 3.1k

warnings- mentions of disordered eating and bad relationship with food, body issues, fad diet mention, bad relationship with a parent, body shaming, etc

--------

“So, spill. How was it?” Delilah asked as she eyed Y/N. 

“How was what?” Playing coy behind the counter, she did the initial cash wrap check as she avoided her best friend’s eyes. She knew exactly what she was talking about. 

“Getting railed half to death.” She deadpanned, making Y/N choke on her laughter. “Don’t play games with me, girl. I can see your literal glow.” She paused, her eyes moving south. “And your man has a nasty habit of biting you.” He did. Y/N knew exactly where the hickey was on her collarbone, but her wrap she had on over her lacy tank top usually hid it. She was just careless this morning and didn’t think about it being on display. 

“He is quite bad with that, isn’t he?” She snorted, turning to her friend with giddy light in her eyes. “Great. Better than I expected. Made me really comfortable and I spent the whole night and day.. Y’know.” Her face felt hot as she placed the cash into the register before starting up the POS and making sure everything would be right for when the day ended. “I was worried for nothing. The man is kinda unreal, if I’m being honest. I was taken care of in every way. I shouldn’t be surprised considering he’s been really good to me so far.” Brushing her hair over her shoulder, the drawer was closed and she took note of her green tea, picking it up for a sip now that it wouldn’t burn her tongue. 

“It’s what you deserve.” Her friend smiled softly. “You deserve a great love like you read about in your books. Besides, I know you’re going to get it. It’s written in the stars.” She was joking, but also… not really. Delilah knew things without knowing how she knew them, and it was almost always true. “Where is he today? Are we expecting a drop in from him?”

“Actually, I don’t know.” Y/N hummed. He hadn’t replied after his initial good morning message but she wasn’t too worried about it. “He said something about stopping by the bakery. He had today off to go run errands so he’ll be dropping things off but I know I’m seeing him tomorrow. We’re going to that new pizza place.” She was excited about that. There was a flatbread she was looking forward to trying, and Harry had suggested getting two different things and splitting it. It was nice to feel comfortable eating with someone. That was one of the anxiety triggers she had to unlearn as she got older. 

“I think we’re going to get a drop in.” Taking one of the baskets they used for restocks, she went towards the tumble table and began to deposit the little baggies of colorful stones and minerals into the correct cubbies. “Have you brought up that Claire woman yet?”

Y/N hadn’t, very well for a reason. She didn’t like the feeling it gave her stomach. Somehow, she was well aware she and Harry had been involved. Somehow, someway. It didn’t seem strong, as she obviously couldn’t be that close to him anymore if she’s unable to contact him but… It still wasn’t a good feeling. The woman wasn’t nice, her energy was rancid and muddy, and she obviously looked down on them for believing in their own thing. That was the exact person she tried to avoid. Y/N knew it was perhaps rude to judge solely off of one interaction, but something told her Harry wouldn’t be happy to hear about her coming in. 

“Not yet.” She said sheepishly, spooning a bit of yogurt into her mouth. “I know, you don’t have to give me the eyebrow. I’m just… You know how it is. When you know it’s going to cause an issue.” Y/N didn’t think it would be with her but the idea of upsetting Harry at all wasn’t something she enjoyed. Being so new in the relationship, she wanted that honeymoon stage. It had been so lovely this far, she selfishly wanted to avoid the past and the real world from inserting themselves in her rose colored daydream with her dreamy new boyfriend. 

Unfortunately, that wasn’t how life worked. 

“Putting it off isn’t doing either of you any favors, Cher.” She gave her another look, hanging up a necklace back on the display. “I trust you to handle it on your own time, but do it soon. I have a feeling she isn’t done sniffing around yet.”

—--

“Hey.” A wide smile greeted her as she heard the chime of the bells on the door, seeing the man that had been on her mind. High waisted black pants with a flare at the bottom and a yellow tee shirt, he walked in with his boots clicking on the hardwood floor. Lifting his sunglasses off his face into his fluffy hair, he extended his arms to motion for her to walk into them. She did so without a question. How could she not? 

Falling into his warm scent, she nuzzled her face into his neck and allowed herself to be engulfed in him. Something about them felt closer now. More intimate. Maybe she was making it up but a layer had been shed and he felt even more close to her soul. Lips pecked a few times into her hair, swaying her back and forth as her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, a relieved sigh leaving the man. “Y’alright, Sugar?”

“Mhm.” She nodded against him. “Tired. Spilled my coffee a quarter through but it’s been a bit busy today so we haven’t had the chance to get away. You win some, you lose some.” She’d rather be a little tired and making money, giving readings, all of that. 

“Should have texted me.” His tongue clicked, finally getting a good look at her as she pulled out of his neck. Didn’t she realize he’d do almost anything for her? “Would have brought you some over, sweets. What good is having a boyfriend if you’re not gonna use me?” He was joking, but not really. He knew that he’d bend over backwards for the girl in his arms. 

“In all honesty, I didn’t even think about it. I knew you were busy today running errands and we had a lot of walk in readings, I’ve been a little busy.” Her fingers ran through his hair again, liking how it felt between them. He always melted like a pup getting pets when she did it too, so it was a win win. “Did you get everything done that you needed?”

“I did.” He moved on swiftly. “Are you sayin’ you didn’t eat?” His brow raised, making her wince. Sometimes she forgot, but it wasn’t on purpose. It was genuine distraction. “Baby…” 

“I had a yogurt and granola bar. I was planning on making some food when I got home, but I was busy. Promise.” She tried her luck at a pout which luckily seemed to break down the glare. 

“Too bad.” He sighed. “M’gonna run and get you both food. I don’t like this, Sugar.” Large hands cupped her face, making her feel more delicate than she ever had been. Sometimes it felt hard to lean into that femininity of delicacy when she’d been treated as the opposite most of her life, but Harry had her falling into it so easily. “I know you’re a big girl and you can handle yourself, but it’s okay to ask me for help. I want to help you, I want to be a good boyfriend and grab your things when you’re busy. I know you’d do the same for me.” She already had. The girl had given him a whole welcome basket when he opened his own business, for fucks sake. 

“I know. It’s…” Feeling slightly guilty now, she rested her hands on his wrists. “It’s a hard habit to break. I’ve been independent for years now and I don’t like to rely on people.” It was always thrown back in her face. “I’ll try harder, H. Promise.” Turning her head, she caught his palm with her lips and pressed kisses to it. That move melted him completely, leaning down to kiss her lips a few times before peeling himself away. 

“Good girl. I’ll be back in a bit. Be good for me.”

Y/N hated to see him go, but she loved to watch him leave. Still buzzing from the affection, she jumped as Delilah came out of the back room fanning herself. 

“That man is completely gone for you. Lord…” She shook her head. “What a guy. I’m glad he wants to take care of you, Cher. You deserve it.” Her hand squeezed her shoulder as she slipped past her. 

“It has nothing to do with the fact he’s getting you lunch too?” She snickered, watching her friend shrug. 

“That definitely helps.”

—--

Y/N’s good mood was squashed just 10 minutes later when a familiar face walked through the shop doors, nose wrinkling at the scent of the incense. 

God, why now? 

“Y/N, I’ve told you that these smoky scents are going to drive away customers.”

Yeah, that was the point. Drive away customers with impure intentions. 

“Hi, Mother.” Y/N sighed, feeling her shoulders tighten as she watched the woman come closer into the shop. Her tumultuous relationship with her mother had a lot to do with the fact that Y/N reminded her of her own. They’d been extremely close, sharing their love of the spiritual world, of magic, all the things while her mom had rejected it. Y/N had been easier to bond with for her grandmother and she knew she held resentment over it for years. 

She wasn’t an awful person, was the thing. She liked to support her at school, took her shopping for makeup, taught her how to do her hair and tie her shoes. She held her when she was sick, stuck up for her when she got bullied- but she didn’t realize she herself was her daughter’s first and biggest bully. 

“Hello. It’s been weeks since you’ve visited me or your father.” She sent her a look. “Are you well? Do you need money? I know the shop is a bit of a hard venture to keep up…” 

There it was. Her mother had always hated this shop. Hated what it stood for, what it represented. Y/N never faulted or judged someone for not believing or being connected in the things she was. It was a calling, she truly believed, whether natural or brought on by a life event. But her mother thought it to be a bit of a waste of time. Always expecting her downfall, though she didn’t think she was cruel enough to hope for it. 

“No, we’re actually doing incredibly well.” It was the truth. They were making bigger profits than the years before and she was more than glad about that. They’d paid off the loan they took out and now they were working towards a possible expansion. But her mom didn’t want to hear about that. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I’ve been a bit busy.” 

Her mom gave her a scrutinizing eye, unsure if she believed her. Y/N wasn’t usually a busy person, despite the shop. She liked a slower lifestyle and she knew that, which is why she understood the look on her face. “Have you gone back to the gym like I asked? I haven’t seen you there. I can go with you, you know. I think you’d love my trainer. He’s very dedicated.”

There it was again. Y/N felt her stomach drop, though she should have expected it. Her mother was obsessed with her weight. She’d been the one to try and get her on diets at an early age, effectively ruining her relationship with food. While she knew her mother was someone who cared about her, sometimes she cared about the wrong things a bit too much. Once Y/N had made peace with the fact that she’d always be a bigger girl, her mother had pushed back at it causing more of a rift. She wasn’t going along with her plans and fad diets anymore, and it felt like a personal insult. 

“No, no. I’ve been busy with something else, actually.” With Harry. The pretty, driven, thoughtful man that had her tummy in knots and her head in the clouds. 

“Well, what? I’ve sent you dozens of recipes. I doubt you’ve tried them though. It looks like you’ve put on a bit of weight in the last few weeks. I thought you were making progress.” Her frown made Y/N’s stomach hurt. She’d resigned herself into knowing she would probably never get her mother’s approval on her body, but the reminders didn’t do much to make her feel good. Accepting it didn’t mean liking it. 

“I may have. I’ve been fine, though.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’ll come by for dinner next week, I promise. I just-”

The door chimed again, interrupting them both. Her stomach dropped as she saw Harry’s smiling face, something that usually would make her erupt into butterflies- but this wasn’t the introduction she wanted to make. Not quite yet. 

“I’m back, sorry. There was a line.” He murmured, going behind the desk and pressing a kiss to her cheek. Her body flushed as she looked towards her mother, her eyes wide as Harry adjusted her hair for her before setting the food bag and coffee tray on the counter. “Sorry, I’ll step out of the way if you’re helping someone.”

“Who’s this?” Her mother’s interest was immediately evident. 

“I’m Harry, Y/N’s boyfriend. Nice t’meet you. What’s your name?” He asked, placing a hand on his girlfriend’s back. 

“H, this is my mother.” Y/N swallowed, looking between the two of them. She could see his eyes widen, reaching a hand out for her to shake. He was always so polite, so charming, but she couldn’t help but see the look on her mom’s face. 

“You’re her boyfriend?” She asked, brows raised. Her voice sounded in disbelief, looking between the two of them as if something didn’t add up. “I didn’t know she even had a boyfriend.” 

Thankfully she’d let him know she hadn’t exactly told her yet so he didn’t seem shocked about that, but the meeting was a little unorthodox. 

His brows did furrow at her tone and she could tell he didn’t like it. But for her sake he kept a smile on his face, shaking the woman’s hand lightly. “Yes, I am. M’quite gone for her. You raised an incredible woman, Ma’am.” He spoke earnestly. 

“Excuse my shock, I just didn’t realize….” She trailed off, still seeming confused. “Y/N does like her secrets, it seems. You’re very handsome. What do you do?” It was likeher mother to be nosy, sniffing out why exactly the man was around her daughter. Y/N could see that she was suspicious and it hurt her because she knew exactly why she was. 

She was making sure he wasn’t using her for another reason. For money or something else, because it was hard for her to believe a man as attractive as him would be with her for pure attraction and chemistry. 

“I actually own the bakery across the street.” He said easily. “Thank you for the compliment. She’s an incredible woman, so welcoming and kind. Beautiful to boot.” He meant every word, tapping the tip of her nose. “I don’t want to interrupt, though… I brought the girls lunch.” 

“Oh, it’s not trouble. I was coming because my daughter forgets she has a phone.” She shot her a look. “Why don’t you come to dinner next week with her? You’re more than welcome. Her father would be more than happy to meet you.” 

“If it’s alright with Y/N, I will.” He nodded, showing his loyalty immediately. Harry wouldn’t do anything that made his girl uncomfortable and he was dedicated to the cause. He was already unsure about the woman, but the next words solidified it for him. 

“Alright, whatever you decide. Just make sure she doesn’t have too many sweets from your bakery, hm? It’s starting to show again.” She was joking as if it was funny, patting her daughter’s hand before stepping back. “I hope to see you next week, Harry. Call me, Y/N, we have much to discuss.” 

Her mother was swift, walking out the door as quickly as she had come in. As soon as she was gone, the energy calmed and her shoulders fell, groaning low in her throat as she moved to hide her face in Harry’s chest again. He knew better than to talk, instead stroking over her hair as he let her recover from that interaction. 

Internally though, his view on her mother was soured. How dare she make a comment to not only her daughter about that, but to him? A man she was dating and obviously really liked her? Did she not realize how awful it was to comment on something like that? Y/N had told him that her relationship with her mother had been a weird one but he hadn’t expected her to say something cruel like that. It didn’t even seem to register that she was being mean, she genuinely seemed to think it was funny. 

“I’m sorry about that.” She sighed, pulling back from his chest. “She’s… she’s a lot. I promise she isn’t all bad, but she’s got quirks.” Her face pulled in a slight grimace, making him smile sadly at her as he caressed her warm cheek. 

“That wasn’t nice to say, but I have a feeling it isn’t something you want t’unpack in the middle of a work day.” It wasn’t something he felt could be properly discussed out here anyways. “We can talk about it tomorrow, if you want…but I just have to say this one thing.” His head dipped to get closer to hers. “I don’t mind if you gain or lose weight. I don’t care about that at all so long as you’re healthy and comfortable. I’ll never restrict you from eating, never make you feel as though you’re too much. I know you struggle with it, but I’m never going to contribute to that. I’m here to support you.” 

His words were genuine, eyes shining as he told her his truth. She could feel it radiating off of him and it made her want to tear up, but he didn’t give her a chance to reply to that before he smacked a kiss to her nose and pulled back to open the paper bag that had been stapled shut. “But now I want you to tell me if I did a good job choosing your meal, please. I did the caramel coffee with oat milk, iced. I remembered that bit.” 

Y/N wasn’t sure where the hell Harry had come from, but she was thankful for whoever had sent him. It seemed like she needed him now more than ever.