#but so is sadness so this cold weather is really fitting

[hyunpic]

winter here is really never ending my god

[evilminji]

Okay, you know how bird don't ACTUALLY look the way we think they do?

They are far more colorful? But only to the eyes of other birds?

And it has to do with how light reflects off them and how their eyes are shaped etc etc.?

Well..... humans can see the most shades of green, right? But! We sure as shit can't see UltaViolet and InfraRed? Or shades BEYOND those. Ectoplasmic colors. Magical ones. Third eye, need to see with your SOUL type ones.

Danny? Could very well still have lil baby "kitten's eyes who haven't open yet" syndrome.

He thinks the Zone is Green and his hair is white.

But it's not.

His hair is Starlight colored. Frost. His suit is specifically "the void between stars" colored. Which looks... different? Then black? No, no, guys. How can you guys not see it? It looks REALLY different! How did he not NOTICE before?! They're not ever CLOSE to the same shade! It's like calling salmon and hot pink the same. You know... if you were to compare an actual fish and some irradiated, violently glowing version of "hot pink".

......guys?

His gloves are.... guys, these ares stars. Pressed so close together there's no gap. His body is the night sky, all rearranged. He's wearing SPACE, guys.

*continues to stare at his gloves for the next five hours*

Now... why is this relevant? Because! Danny slowly, as all humans do, adjusts! It's like finally having glasses after years of blurry vision. He... forgets, what it was like, not NOT See Zone Colors. Not completely, mind you, but enough he has to be reminded.

And the Zone? A Realm of the Dead. Specifically, the great catch-all and highway of the Dead. They get EVERYBODY. Misfits and vagabonds. Those who don't quite fit. Funky lil dudes. And of course, assholes, but everybody has those! See, Zone colors?

Are DIFFERENT.

They're all of um!

It's like looking at the technicolor, stobe light, multi galaxies in one, Sun. Tingly(tm)!!! You get used to it. What helps? Is that as garish as the Zone is? The painting and grand tapestry of it all? Keeps changing. Like weather. If it's too much for you, you can stay inside your Lair until the current Color changes. Until the designs shift. Vibe changes.

There are even glasses for that! "Temperate" areas for people to set up, that get headaches or are just... kinda killjoys. Too each their own. Though the stormy areas? Those guys are freaks. Watch out for those guys. They're the kind who stare directly are stars until their eyes burn out.

Where was I? Oh yeah! Danny!

No longer a wee baby, smol baby, twig-o!

Sad. We miss it.

But he did get used to Seeing The Colors. Got a handle on his powers. And! Finally worked with his parents on how to safely turn the portal OFF. There was much booing. Cries of "kill joy" and "booo! You suck!". But? Like? Dude DID have the right to protect his home. Go to college. What can you do?

Problem with THAT is? Baby grew into his "built like a brick shit house of constantly running off to literally tackle the Supernatural excellence" Fenton genetics. He Tall. Muscles! And he PUMPING out "somethings fucked up with me" Vibes!

Add in his DEEPLY Sus off hand comments. Weird ability to tell when someone has or is about to die. Basic immunity to the cold. Fuckin EYE GLOW?

Ha ha... *Horror movie screams from his college dorm mates*

Clearly a demon!

He gets kicked out. Well... not kicked out. He's a model student and broken no rules. They'd never survive the lawsuit. But... he's? STRONGLY INCOURAGED to finish his education elsewhere. Repeatedly. By like... 15 colleges.

Sam is not just livid, she's actively foaming at the mouth.

Breathe, Sam! Remember what your doctor said! Your mortal body can't handle that kinda Vengance spiral! Think of your blood pressure! Breathe!!! (Were not for the laws of this land... and the weak, fleshy constraints of her mortal form!)

Thankfully? Tucker's been interning, remotely of course, with Wayne Industries. He asked his manager where he could find some of those scholarship forms. (Since Gotham University is just a touch out of Danny's price range.) Manager wanted to know why. And oh! Oh holy shit. Apparently? Danny is the hot new office gossip.

People in the main office are OUTRAGED. Danny's "too spooky"?! Too FUCKIN SPOOKY!? Are you KIDDING THEM? Even juicier, a Meta kid from some wacky ghost hunters turned scientists. From a line of Supernatural hunters. Wants to be a aeronautics engineer.

Ooooooh how SPOOKY! Better watch out! He'll design an ENGINE at yooooou!

Fuckin casuals. Non-Gothamites are WEAK. "Too scary" their collective asses. Yeah, maybe the kid SHOULD come too Gotham. He can be the weird kid. Mildly unsettling or something. His powers won't be SHIT in Gotham. Just remind him to buy a gas mask.

So! Danny gets his Scholarship! Merrily packs his bags for darker, Gothic hellscape hills. Unaware... that Constantine has been following reports of a "demon" that he's? 80% sure is a Banshee but MIGHT be a winter spirt with a shtick? For the past 13 colleges. He's getting closer. And this sucker is a strong one.

Not "this is going to cause me serious, life imperilling danger" strong. But more? "Man, that cat is HUUUUUGE". Could he still get mauled a lil? Yeah. Scratched to all hell and back? Probably! But DIE? Unlikely.

He just needs to know why the FUCK this spirit his hanging around colleges.

Which is made harder... by the fact that what HE sees? And what OTHER people see? When they look at this guy? Separate things. Yeah, he'd LOVE to give you guys a description! IF HE HAD ONE.

@the-witchhunter @hdgnj @hdgnj @spidori @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @lolottes

[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!

[talkbycolor]

the nun and the soldier

A/N; I ACTUALLY DREAMED ABOUT THIS AND THOUGHT LOL WHAT A GOOD IDEA FOR AN OS

Pairing; "[REDACTED]" x AFAB!Reader

CW; cnc? for someone who doesnt know how to put limits the line is very blurry, you will guess / daddy kink but in a priestly way / def religion kink, breeding but im not sure if its just a kink, worship but im not sure who worships who the most / this is more like an au like 1940 battlefield where [REDACTED] is a soldier and MC a nun

The night was like a classic old horror movie scene.

And how not to be scared? Outside the cathedral it was raining heavily, the skies were roaring from the electrical storm and the only lighting was the holy candles, that place was a refuge for the homeless.

After all, many people needed comfort in times of war.

You had decided to stay until midnight, praying to your father to protect the soldiers in battle, that the families would stop going hungry, you held the wooden cross that hung from your chest so tightly, begging for the massacre to stop, the times They brought sadness to the entire nation and God had to save them.

A loud clap of thunder echoed outside the cathedral and the doors were opened, the cold of the night and the wind caused the flame of some candles to go out, so holding the cross tightly to your chest you turned to see who dared to break in. with such violence in the house of God.

"Who's there?" You asked as you walked towards the huge wooden gate.

A man in uniform walked in, soaked from the rain, he looked tired, hungry, hurt, he barely made eye contact with you you felt a chill run through your entire body, not just because of the weather.

"I need food" He was a soldier, you nodded immediately and helped him walk to take a seat on one of the benches while you went to the warehouse for something the man could eat, there was food stored that was going to be donated, or that's what the priest said.

You returned with canned food and some water for the stranger, who snatched your things to eat like a dying dog, water running down his chin and eating haphazardly as he breathed heavily.

"Sir, are you okay? Where is he coming from?" You didn't avoid being curious when asking those questions, although just one cold look from him was enough to make you close your mouth.

…

You only heard him chewing, the man seemed to have had a really bad time and it was no wonder that you could tell from miles away that he was a soldier, and since he came alone, there was a high probability that he was one of the few survivors in the trenches, but you are not going to assume too much.

"Father, please help this poor man to heal his wounds safely, to regain his strength, to protect his life on the battlefield and the lives of our nation -…"

"Stop talking shit" he interrupted you in a vulgar way, causing astonishment on your face, even disgust.

"That is no way to speak before the lord" You scolded him, the black-haired man only laughed hoarsely.

"Bring me clothes, I'm freezing in this" he demanded arrogantly, getting rid of his wet clothes, your kind soul heeded his words, because that's what you were, right? A sweet nun willing to help the needy, love your neighbor as your god ordered.

"Excuse me, I only found the priest's old clothes and I'm not sure they fit him, I hope they can help you" You said as you returned to the bench, he once again snatched the things from your hand.

Yes, he was a rude man.

The minutes passed, the candles continued to melt at the altar, you were praying in front of the golden statue of your lord while the soldier was resting on the benches, grunting at his wounds and trying to stay warm.

"Hey, nun, since you won't shut up come here, I think I know how you could keep that mouth busy" The man suggested with a cheeky smile, it was unheard of how he could say such things in the lord's house.

"Hey! That's enough of-…"

"It wasn't a question, come here or I'll come for you" his voice was sharp, and with no intention of continuing to listen to you, seeing how you froze in surprise he grumbled and took the trouble to walk towards you.

Right in front of the golden statue of your god, he subdued you to the ground and lifted your robe to reveal your underwear, that man was shameless because he simply buried his face between your asscheeks to inhale deeply.

"HEY! HEY" WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! STOP! YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" You begged him, confusion and disgust replaced with terror, but… he was a soldier, a man willing to sacrifice his life for his nation.

"Please, honey, aren't you supposed to be a helpful sweetheart? You promised to help me stay warm, and this is my last dinner before I die?" He murmured on your back, riding you without a word, his hands had already pulled down your underwear while you were busy in your thoughts.

"Oh my god, this can't be happening, I'm supposed to stay pure" You whimpered as you covered your face, too embarrassed by the situation but not trying to push the man away.

He was an angel sent by god to save the country, it would be so rude to reject any order he gave.

He ground his hips against yours in a messy manner, he hadn't even prepared you well when your pussy was already engulfing his cock.

"Wow, you're so tight, so it's true that nuns are virgins, right? I feel so lucky to be the one to take your chastity, dear." His voice was teasing in your ear as you squeezed your eyes shut to endure the sudden intrusion, you were Pretty sure you would bleed.

No one would pass by the cathedral at that time of night, much less in a storm, the clicking of both skins echoed in the enormous building, right in the eyes of your lord.

"P-please forgive me Father for I have sinned, forgive me so much" A hand grabbed your jaw to silence you.

"You better ask thanks to the Lord because you will soon have a son, I will take care of filling this pretty pussy of yours to the brim, okay, angel?" He mocked your prayers but the seriousness in his voice was immaculate, he really wanted to impregnate your womb with his seed.

Your legs were shaking as you tried to stay in the doggy position, the soldier was selfish, penetrating your wet cunt for the sole purpose of having his release and getting you pregnant.

"S-sir please slow down, I feel like you're going to break me" You begged, snot slipping out of your nose as well as tears at how disastrous the situation was, the problem wasn't that the man was using you, because he was part of the brave army that risked his life, it is logical that you want to help.

"... We shouldn't be doing this in the Father's house." Sob quietly, your body reacted so well to his touch and it was inevitable not to moan, causing echoes in the cathedral.

"No, no, angel, call me father, you don't want your lord to hear you acting like a slut in his holy home." His calloused hands squeezed your hips and he pulled you like a wolf would its prey towards its nest.

"My god, angel, you feel so good, I'm melting between your walls, I want to spill all my essence inside you, you're being so good for me, I promise you it will feel better" He whispered lovingly despite the furious thrusts. that you received. "Don't worry, this is what your god wants, right? Demigods are worshiped with flowers, real gods need blood." His tone felt so somber, his hand traveled to your crotch to caress, collecting said blood, your blood.

So if he died on the battlefield, he would at least have left his inheritance in the world and he wouldn't be completely forgotten, right? His greedy hands ran over every inch of your skin under your tunic, squeezing the flesh, he too seemed inexperienced too, moaning and letting out incoherencies as he ground his groin against you, saliva running down his jaw as he moaned like a dog, panting, his eyes rolling back, sharper sounds until you both trembled violently.

Just as he said, you were dripping, as soon as a mirror cascade came out of you and warm semen was present from your pussy, his member was already a little more flaccid as he observed such a work of art in front of him.

He didn't want to die, he wanted this stupid war to end so he could get this nun pregnant and raise a child together.

"It's okay, you'll be okay" he murmured one last time as he clung to you, taking you into his arms with a blank look, but his words weren't.

He promised that when all that was over he would return to you to take care of you and the baby, that was what he wanted most, a life without daily blood, peace.

It's a shame that the promise would never be fulfilled.

♡

[0nlyhere4phil]

Rating All of Dab and Evans New Outfits (except the randomized ones)

Starting with Dabs Everyday:

Um. No this was not the serve they thought it was. First things first I hate the silver, it makes no sense, Phil doesn't have silver hair. Next THE BOOTS! THE BOOTS ARE FOUL THEY DON'T GO WITH ANYTHING! This look would have been acceptable if it wasn't for those fucking boots. The sweater is good and the pants were fine (should have gone with green though), but those boots ruined it. Overall 5/10. They took my boys drip away.

Next His Formal:

This had potential to be something good. I don't hate the idea of the outfit, but the way they executed it was horrible. They needed to change the shoes, add some makeup, and some accessories THEN this would have been camp. If the shirt was a white and not pink it would have been nicer. If they had tied in the green or blue into other parts of the outfit it would have been a look, but honestly this might as well be randomized. No thought was put into it in my opinion. Overall a 4/10

Next His Swimwear:

It's fine. At first I thought it didn't make sense for Dab to be wearing something like this, but actually it makes a lot of sense LOL. So yeah this one is fine. 6/10

Next His Hot Weather:

What the fuck? At least the colors go together, but other than that it's bad. If they had made the shirt a more fitting one, maybe like a tank top, it would have been good. For the shoes...why did they keep those? They could have just put him in some plane white shoes or slides, but they put him in those. I'll give it to them they do match the color scheme, but other than that it's a flop. Overall this is just a mess 3/10

Next His Cold Weather:

This is actually fine. The only complaint I have is I wish they made the shoes a black boot, but other than that this works. 9/10

That's it for Dab. I'm sad they took his boho artsy aesthetic away. Moving on to Evan.

Evans Everyday:

This is great! I love his new hair a lot, I'm glad they stuck to a good color pallet, and I'm glad they let his ankles breathe. Literally the only thing I would have done is choose a shirt without the hand coverings, but that's just a nitpick. For Dan and Phil this was a really good cohesive fit. 10/10

Next His Formal Wear:

Another serve from Evan Pancakes. The only thing that would have made this perfect was if the pants were darker, but other than that it's still a really good look. 9.5/10

Next His Sleepwear:

Nothing much to really say other than it's sleepwear. I do like how he has a cohesive color pallet going on. Overall it's cute 7/10

Next His Party Wear:

This is really cute. I like the top, I love the nails, the pants could have been better but they're not hurting my eyes, and he has accessories! The only thing that irks me is the shoes, I feel like they don't match the rest of the outfit. Other than the shoes though this outfit is quite cute. 8.5/10

Next His Swimwear:

So, personally I feel like Evan wouldn't wear something like this. I feel like he would be a long trunk with a tank top kind of guy. It's not bad, because it's not much, but it's not good cause it just doesn't match Evan. 3/10

Next His Hot Weather:

Ummm no. Again I feel like this doesn't match Evans vibe. I like the color blue on him though. Other than that it's kind of a mess. Those flip flops don't match the rest of the fit, and the random glasses confuse me LOL. 2/10

Next His Cold Weather:

This is really nice. This matches his vibe perfectly. 9/10

That's it for Evan! Honestly they did a really good job on him.

So, that was Dab and Evans new wardrobe, it could have been better it could have been worse. Depending on how this is received and on if I really wanna do it, I'll make one of these for the Howlters.

[verstappenf1lecccc]

would you write a Nando x reader like a longish one where she’s a fan at the British Grand Prix like that’s her home country and all.. and Nando is all annoyed and everything because of the British weather but they fall in love after Nando has to apologise to the reader.. however Nando wants to leave the uk as its weather depresses him carries on all season racing then realises he misses the reader and comes back for her and is like home is where you are blah blah .. I want angst and lots of fluff and comfort.. I never see enough Fernando I need more please 🙏

I am so sorry for how late this is being uploaded!! I really hope you like it :) once again i am so sorry for not posting this sooner.

Let me know if you guys like it and or want a part two :)

British weather, you’ve heard of beach weather or even sweater weather but what you might have not heard off was British weather. Bipolar, Unpredictable and frankly a nuisance.

If there was one thing Fernando Alonso would openly hate and criticize it would be the British weather, something about the cold and gloomy weather never sat right with his Spanish blood, it wasn’t that he wanted it to rain and be cold it was just the way the weather would pull a sad cast over the country pissed Fernando off.

He thrived in the salty Spanish atmosphere always groaning and making up excuses for when Lawrence needed him to come to the UK especially with the production of the new factory. He despised it and once almost semi threatened the older stroll into leaving if he had to visit the UK more than twice a year. That included the British Grand Prix. Let’s just say senior stroll was not pleased with his antics but hey who was he to judge.

Fate was a twisted thing when you come to think of it.

Fernando would never believe you if you would have come up to him months ago and say that he willingly took more than two flights a year to the UK, all for what you may be asking. He was doing it all for love.

The way they met was nothing short of a love story.

It was the British Grand Prix, and she was there eyes trying to capture everything the atmosphere had to offer, she’d work her butt off to finally afford paddock passes. It was her dream come true. A little fun fact about her was that she was painfully patriotic, she was the type of person to cry annually on the queens passing day, she was the type of person who wouldn’t mind giving her two cents whenever someone would dare complain about her country infront if her. She was also the type of person who considered one direction a national treasure and cried when Zayn left the band. she loved her nation and was proud to be British. It wasn’t a surprise that her favorite driver was Sir Lewis Hamilton, it was rather fitting but what was surprising was that her second favorite rather then being George was Fernando. Her friends found that bit rather ironic but alas.

Fernando had spotted her way before her sense even registered that she was far too deep into the paddock way beyond what her day pass allowed her to be, the Spaniards assistant was about to knock some sense into the girl but was stopped by a quick grunt from his boss.

Something captivated Fernando about her, it was almost like she had brought sunshine and brightness in her that she sort off over shadowed the gloomy weather. He liked that about her, Fernando was never shy especially when it came to getting girls number or talking with them but with her he almost was shy, a rather weird feeling for him. He wanted to get her name or her number before she could blend in with the hundreds of fans present. Fate had other plans. Before he would approach her security came to drag her away from the area and also ended up dragging Fernando away from his chance to get to know the girl. He ended up having a faint laugh over his luck.

The race ended up with Lewis winning followed by both Fernando and lance on the podium. It was one of the greatest moments for the team something Fernando would never forget. A double podium would be any teams dream but for a team like Aston Martin it was a miracle. Fernando doesn’t know why he said yes to staying longer in the UK with the team to celebrate the victory the logical part of him thought that it was due to the love he had for his team but a part deep inside of him knew otherwise.

Fernando knew someone was looking out for him when he ended up bumping his Aston Martin into a rather tipsy passerby, who might that passerby be you might be wondering? Well it was none other then the pretty girl Fernando had set his eyes on in the paddock. Fate really had a twisted way of bringing people together. But hey Fernando wasn’t going to complain especially if it brought him to her.

The first thing that registered in her mind was that the fabcy car she was ogling at had in fact hit her. She didn’t mind the part where the handsome Spanish driver came out and started apologizing rather quickly for her drunk mind to comprehend. She thought his lips were pretty and had accidentally said it out loud which only resulted in the Spaniard laughing.

Fernando knew she was drunk and he did his best to try and get a friends name or number to get the girl he now knew as yn home.

Alas she was not budging only saying that she lived just down the street and that she could walk. Long story short she could not. Not only that she ended up throwing up in his car and then going on a rather long rant about how perfect Britain is and when Fernando mentioned the weather she quickly shut him up by throwing up again. ladies and gentlemen at this exact moment Fernando knew that she was the one for him minus the throw up.

He had ended up flagging a cab down and had found out her number and address and made sure she got home safe. He made sure that she had a little something to eat prior to getting into a cab and that resulted in a still rather tipsy but more sober yn giving him her number.

It was exactly a week later when they went out on their first date and the rest is history.

2 years down the line and the only issue in their rather perfect relationship was the weather. To anyone’s SUPRISE Fernando had ended up traveling to the UK 24 times in each year that they have been together. Both of them knew this wasn’t an environmental or logical solution to their issues.

It was a no brainer to Fernando, when he had proposed the idea of asking her to move in with him in Spain. He knew how much he missed the Spanish sun and the salty air, funny enough he really missed his homeland. Fernando was one proud man his nationality being one of the many things he was proud about. He hates being away from her and hates the UK weather even more so when he suggests moving to Spain he really thought it would work.

Alas when the idea was brought up she simply said no, it left Fernando rather perplexed and confused as to why she wouldn’t want to live with him. He had taken it the wrong way, of course she wanted to live with him she bloody loved the bloke and didn’t was to be away from him but she didn’t want to leave the UK.

It was a weird situation neither of the patriots wanted to leave their country and settle somewhere else. Unfortunately this debate carried on for way too long and ended up in a rather tense argument which lead to Fernando saying “A la mierda, claramente amas este país y este clima miserable más de lo que me amas a mí. no puedo soportarlo más”

* fuck this you clearly love this country and this miserable weather more than you love me. i can't take it anymore*

and with that he had packed up his bags for the dreaded triple header, neither of them being mature enough to find a solution and sort things out before he left for the month. the way his words churned in her head made her eyes tear up and tore her heart into two. She didn’t mean to make him upset and make him feel like she didn’t want to live with him. She simply just didn’t want to leave the country it was all she ever knew.

On the other hand Fernando was miserable, a triple header was never easy especially when you had just argued with your girlfriend prior to leaving. He regretted his words and his tone, he hated how entitled he sounded. He didn’t want to hurt her but he genuinely just wanted to move to Spain with the love of his life, the other reason he wanted to get her to Spain was so that he could propose to her in the heart of his city. He had it all planned. He really didn’t know if she would even say yes after this fight.

It was 3 days into the argument when they first made contact. It was the first time they had gone so long without talking and it genuinely killed both of them.

Fernando being the older and wiser fox had called her in the hopes of her temper subsiding and to simply hear her voice. He had sent flowers to her apartment as a token of his remorse and in hopes of her texting him.

She didn’t pick up his call. That had left his head pounding with worry and his heart hurting, was she truly going to leave him.

She couldn’t take it anymore all she wanted was to jump into his arms and have him hold her close while whispering apologies in his native tongue.

So she did what every rational person would do, she booked a plane ticket to the next race. Surprisingly enough it ended up being Spain, she knew he would be smug about it after they had made up. It was a red eye flight and was well over 12 hours with the layovers. She didn’t mean to end up ignoring his call and had not even seen the message.

It was well into the second practice session when she showed up in the paddock and was simply directed to Fernando’s drivers room where she sat for the remainder of the session. She knew she should have given Fernando context over shutting down his idea. She wanted to apologize but it seemed like fate wanted to add a little drama into their lives and made Fernando crash his Aston Martin into the barriers jusy as the session was coming to a end. The red flag and seeing her man in the crumpled car were all she needed to end up bursting into tears. She knew that he was okay but as he aged she knew that although the accident looked rather simple it could have a higher impact on his body.

It was a quick stop at the medical center for Fernando before he made his way into his drivers room just to check if his love had called him back. What he wasn’t expecting was to be attacked by a crying mess.

He held her close as she sobbed into his chest, fear and anxiety making her a crying mess. But in Fernando’s eyes she was nothing but an angel. He held her close letting her rant about how stupid it was of him to have a crash and how she never wants to see that ever again. He let her ramble until she slowly calmed down.

He then peppered her with kisses and held her whilst he apologized for everything. For the way he spoke to her for the way he marched out and for simply crashing. He rambled on saying something along the lines of never leaving her especially after arguing and that he didn’t care about the miserable weather anymore and he just wanted to be close to her no matter what country it ended up being in.

His apology resulted in a fresh wave of tears escaping from her eyes and she quickly apologized for shutting him down and ended her ramble with saying that she just wanted to live with him.

Their quick turnaround and apologies continued for a rather long time which was followed by some rather interesting activities which displayed the passion they shared for eachother.

At the end of the day they held eachother close and the silk sheets covered them and came with the conclusion after much discussion with George and Carmen who were in a similar situation that they would end up partly in Spain and partly in the UK.

To be honest Fernando could care less where he ended up as long as he was with her.

Over the next week they explored the Spanish countryside and where Fernando grew up before he got down on one knee and proposed to her.

She obviously said yes :) But that is a story for another time

[thelov3lybookworm]

Winter Without You

Summary: Its been fifty years since he left. Being happy no longer feels right, and winter no longer feels like winter without him.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: As a gift to all my babies, your lil santa got a lil busy eatin cookies, so here is a late solstice present 😉

(Also to make up for the awful Rhysie in remember me)

(this is mostly Y/n missing and wallowing in sadness because she misses rhysand, the end is reunion)

(i also know this is kind of a break up song, but the lyrics fit 🤷🏻‍♀️)

•○🌑○•

Every year right around this time People putting up trees and lights And I been thinking that this don't feel right 'Cause I'm without you

Everywhere Y/n looked, she found people smiling, with and without reason.

And she could not blame them, for it was the season to be happy.

The coming of solstice had everyone excited, making the air and aura lighter and brighter, filling it with loving laughter and chatter.

Y/n almost hated herself for tainting it with the darkness and sadness she had been carrying around lately.

Almost.

Only because there was no place in her heart for any emotion that was not longing for her husband.

'Cause I'm without you If I could make a list, you'd be the first in it If I could make a wish, you'd show in a minute Only if it was that way But there's some things that I can't change

There had been a new tradition going around Velaris.

Parents had begun telling their children about how the mother would grant their wishes and give them all they wished for if they stayed good all year, in hopes to get them to behave, and Y/n could not help but wish it were true.

Wished that the mother really did grant wishes on solstice, if only it meant Y/n could pray for her husband to be returned to her.

Wished that all she had to do was make a list of things she wanted, the first- and only- thing she wanted being Rhysand, and when she woke up in the morning, she'd find that he had returned.

Y/n sighed, continuing to walk towards the town house after a quick run to the market for some ingredients the wraith twins had asked for.

So now This ain't winter without you No more joy, no laughter Wish that I could turn it back around When I'm falling down

Winter had been Y/n's favourite season. Because colder weather meant drinking hot chocolate prepared by her husband.

It meant snuggling up to his warm body, grinning shyly up at him.

It meant watching him laugh whole heartedly, receiving a kiss on the forehead before he went back to his work, now with her stuck to him like a new limb.

It meant being forced to stand still while he wrapped her up in warm coats and scarves whenever they went out, grumbling about the extra layers and receiving a kiss to quiet her down.

It meant extra time in the bed in the morning with her husband because they both were too lazy to get up.

It meant being stuck to him or following him around like a lost duckling because she was just that desperate for warmth and fire never satiated her needs quite like her husband did.

But that was all before he had left.

Now fifty years had passed, and still it never got easier.

Winter just was not the same without him, and it made her wonder how she had ever lived without him before they met.

So how How am I supposed to go without you? Days gone cold so won't you Say that you'll be home for christmas

She yearned for him.

To simply hear his voice again, to stare into those beautiful eyes, she was ready to bargain away her life.

She no longer cared whether she lived or died, and she would have taken her own life a long time ago if it meant she would not have to bear this pain.

Despite trying to end things multiple times, Y/n could never take that final step, because the last thing she wanted to see before she died was not the ceiling or the wall of her bedroom.

It was those violet eyes she wanted to die to.

She did not want the feeling of the cold hard ground or hanging suspended in the air to be the last thing she felt before that sweet reprieve claimed her.

It was the feeling of strong, warm and loving arms wrapped around her body.

She wished he would at least open his mind to her, so she could at the very least ask him if he was eating well. Sleeping well. Drinking enough water.

Y/n wanted to ask him if he was okay.

Wanted to tell him he was strong, that he was stronger than anyone she had ever known, and to never give up.

Alas, all she could do was want and wish.

All she had done in the past half century.

And if I could turn back the time You'd be in my arms again But there's some things that I can't change

Y/n sometimes cursed the mother for not granting her the power to turn back time, for not making any instrument to fast forward in time, just so she could at least have one glimpse of her lover, her husband, and know that he was alright.

She wished she'd been born with the gift to turn back time so she could have him in her arms again.

Hell, she even perused the books in the library of the house of wind in search of any way to turn back time, didn't matter if it was allowed or not. Even if it went against all laws of nature, if it would curse her soul forever to go against the decision of the Mother.

Mother's happiness and blessing be damned, Y/n just wanted to hold and be held by her husband again.

Even if she'd burn in hell for it.

Heavy snow pouring out my window I pray to stars and the angels No, no more lonely nights 

Y/n sat next to the huge window in the darkened room, arms wrapped around her knees as she watched the snow dance in the air before landing softly onto the already blanketed layer on the ground.

She swallowed down the knot in her throat.

Back before Rhys had left and then been unable to return, he would take Y/n out to play.

Just the way him and his brothers would have snowball fights, he would play with Y/n in the snow, as if the two of them were again kids.

Rhys knew all about Y/n's upbringing, and it had never been glitter and sparkles. So whatever chance he got, he tried to get her to experience everything she had missed out on.

This was one of those things.

Now Y/n sat alone, the sounds of her family celebrating in the background, and she prayed again.

Prayed to the stars, the moon, the night sky, the mother, the angels, the devils and forgotten mortal gods.

Prayed to anyone willing to listen, to return her husband.

She had lost all hope, but still, there was nothing else she could do but sit and pray for his health and safety and hope.

Pray to them so there were no more lonely nights she had to go through.

Hope that he would be by her side again.

So I keep wishing and hoping You'd walk through the door Hold me 'cause I know We'll fight through the cold 

She had stopped celebrating solstice or any other event that she had loved before, because what was the point in celebrating life when the one who kept you alive was probably dying off somewhere?

Y/n sucked in a ragged breath, clenching her eyes shut, feeling the fat tears roll down her cheek.

The sound of footsteps echoed outside the door, and her eyes flashed open, and she stared at the door, wishing, hoping, it was him.

Hoping he walked in through the door, gave her his signature charming smile, and then held her as they both fought to get back to their normal lives.

She would give anything for that piece of imagination to become reality.

Y/n sighed and turned back to the window as the footsteps faded away, likely a family member going to bed.

Now tell me how How am I supposed to go without you? Days gone cold so won't you Say that you'll be home for Christmas

Staring at the stars that he probably could not see, she screamed.

After everyone had gone to bed, Y/n had snuck out of the town house and made her way to the tallest peak in Velaris, and then finally, she let loose.

It had become a tradition, a habit, where every solstice night, Y/n would sneak out of home and come to this exact mountain, and scream up at the stars.

Why her? Why him?

She screamed and screamed, asking the mother, and him- not that he could hear- how she was supposed to live without him.

How she was supposed to be happy without him.

And then, after hours of screaming and cursing at the twinkling starry sky, she would collapse, staring up while laying on her back, whispering, pleading, begging, for some sign that he would return.

That he would be home, at the very least, for the next solstice.

So how How am I supposed to go without you? Days gone cold so won't you Say that you'll be home for Christmas

Exhausted, she would fall asleep, only waking once the soft rays of the sun caressed her skin gently, telling her it was time to start the miserable routine she had fallen into all over again.

She would drag herself back home, suppressing the urge to throw herself into the Sidra, and wait for the next solstice to come around so she could again scream and cry at the injustice of it all.

•○🌑○•

The wards felt different today, Y/n could feel it.

They felt stronger, more lively, though they seemed ready to fall.

What was going on, Y/n could not tell, but as she made her way through the winding passages of the moonstone palace, her heart beat louder and faster, and a sense of longing gripped Y/n's body in a vise-like grip.

Her strolling footsteps hurried, and Y/n was running by the time she reached one of the sitting rooms, the door ajar.

Panting, chest heaving, she took that final step, and her world came to a stop.

She smelled him before she heard him, heard him before she saw him, and saw him before she understood fully who she was staring at.

Rhysand.

Her husband.

The male she was in love with, one she had not seen in fifty long years, one she yearned to get a glimpse of each second of every day spent she spent without.

He stood there, his skin pale as he hugged his cousin, crying, whispering, over and over again, where is she?

Where is my wife?

It took only a moment for the siblings to notice the new presence in the room, but to Y/n, it was another fifty years.

Though this wait she did not mind, for what did a moment compare to eighteen thousand, two hundred sixty-two days?

She simply stared at the embracing siblings, a traitorous tear slipping out of her eye the longer she stared.

And then finally, he lifted his eyes, and glossy violet met hers, widening, more tears slipping out as he pulled away from his cousin, his lips parting on an exhale.

Mor turned to look at Y/n, tear tracks staining her own cheeks, and grinned.

Y/n paid no attention to her though, her eyes tracking her husband's body, marking the amount of weight and muscle he had lost, the loss of colour of his skin, the dimmed shine in his once sparkling eyes.

Y/n swallowed. "Mor? Do you mind giving us a moment?"

"But-"

"Please, Mor." Y/n's voice broke, and she cursed herself for it.

Mor nodded, hastily making her way out of the room.

Y/n reached behind herself to grasp the door, shutting it softly, not taking her eyes off of him once.

She had let him out of her sight once, and as punishment, had been able to see him for fifty years. She would not look away again, not while this felt like a cruel dream the mother was showing Y/n, only to take it all away for her to realise she was dreaming.

"Rhysand." She whispered, taking a step foward.

"Y/n." His voice broke on the name, and he swallowed, tears beginning anew.

When she was close enough, she reached her hand out, running her fingers along his cheek, afraid anything other than the ghost of a touch would make him vanish.

His eyes were pleading, filled with silver, and Y/n wanted to do nothing more than throw herself onto him and never let go.

But she couldn't do that.

She first wanted t make sure this was not some mirage, and that he really was here, unhurt and safe, back with her where he belonged.

Slowly, she cupped his cheek, trying her best to stop any tears from flowing.

When she was sure that this was a miracle, not a mirage, Y/n stepped closer, searching his eyes, his face.

She gently grasped his chin, turning his head this way and that, running her hands along his shoulder and arms, searching for something she hoped was not there.

He laughed, the sound a balm to her frayed nerves.

"You've lost weight." Y/n phrased it like a question.

He smiled softly, sadly. "So have you."

She shook her head. "Are you okay?"

His smile widened, and he leaned forward slightly. "Will get there."

Y/n nodded, and then finally, she extended her arms, snaking them gently around his neck, pressing every inch of her body against his, and buried her face in his neck.

His arms wrapped around her back and waist, and instantly, tension bled from both their bodies. She tightened her hold on him, and he returned it tenfold.

Y/n didn't care he was crushing her, all she knew was she was home, finally.

He was back home.

"I missed you, husband."

"I missed you more, my love."

She pulled back her face to search his nearly empty eyes, and gave him the first smile she had smile in the past fifty years. He rested her forehead against hers, his lips tilted up in contentment.

"Welcome home, my love. Welcome home Rhysand."

•○🌑○•

Rhysand Taglist: @kennedy-brooke @hnyclover

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392

[lyrenminth]

Over the rain

Rainy days in Oregon were common during October, and you loved it when you had your big cozy boyfriend in bed, spooning you from behind.

But that wasnt the case today. Justin was mad at you, and you were mad at him. Everything started when you offered and interview in a friend podcast and he got mad because your started talking about your relationship with him. You did not say anything controversial really, it was the contrary but since he was extremely private he got upset, and you were fed up with that.

"Are you really giving the cold shoulder because I said good things about our marriage in a podcast?" you asked, standing in front of him. He was red from anger and did not want to look at you. Justin's anger was silent. "You know it is not for that reason" he argued back, voice low. "I don't want people noses in my marriage"

"Really? What's wrong with sharing that I have a happy marriage?" you snapped, raising your voice. "If this is about your privacy, don't worry but as the wife in the relationship I have the right to share whatever I want"

"I don't want you talking about me in those podcasts" he replied, coldly.

You laughed, incredulous. "Ok, another thing?" he rolled his eyes at your sarcasm. "You can't tell me what I get to say or not" you argued, feeling sick.

"We decided to keep things private!" he said, raising a little bit his voice, something uncommon.

"And they are Justin! Nobody knows a thing about our relationship besides that we are married. It was a two minutes conversation and you are making me feel awful about it" you said, your voice sounding watery "If you don't want to talk about the marriage, why did you marry me?"

"You know is not about you" you shook your head at his words, and went upstairs "I'm not going to apologize for saying that I have a great and supportive husband, that's nuts. I need time off"

You went to the bedroom to cry alone, because the feeling was choking you. You understood he was a private person, you understood you had an agreement, but why did it hurt so much? You wanted to share your hapiness and he didn't like it. After forty minutes, you wanted to talk to someone. You changed your clothes and put on a raincoat, the weather was gloomy but it was safe to walk outside. Your mom's house was twenty minutes away, and a walk could help to clear your mind.

Happy with your decision, you went out. Justin was in the living room, catching tape on mute. When he saw your fit he raised his eyebrows, stealing a glance at the window, the cloud were gray and heavy. "Were are you going?"

"To talk about our marriage with the neighbor" you said, snappy. You felt bad instantly but couldn't backtrack.

"There is a storming coming, you shouldn't be out" he ignore your snarky comment.

You grabbed an umbrella and the keys. "It is ok, Justin" you assured him. "I will call you"

You leave the house, and during the first ten minutes the weather was ok, then it became a fucking storm.

*******************************************************************

Justin was worried. Very worried. He couldn't watch the tape or pay attention to anything that wasn't the storm outside. The wind was harsh and so the rain, he realized you didn't took the car and he got a little scared. He was a asshole for arguing with you over the podcast. It wasn't a popular podcast, and it was true you only talked about the marriage like four minutes but he got mad anyway. He remebered you sad face when you went upstairs, you were heartbroken.

He rubbed his eyebrow and called you again. Nothing. There must be something with the signals. Maybe you were at your mom's house, you must. He called your mom, then your dad, nobody answered. The desesperation he was feeling wasn't normal. Why he didn't stop you?

He didn't want to think in the worst scenario. You were to precious to him, he didn't want to lose you...to hurt you.

Tha rain was pouring so heavily he couldn't see anything two meters ahead. He but a hoodie on, and grabbed an umbrella and the truck keys. He hold his breath all the way to your mom's house, in the short walk from the car to the door he got wet. He rang the bell, several times until your mom, opened the door, surprised to see him

"Hi, is Y/N here?" he asked, anxious.

"Yes, get inside, I'm going to bring you something to dry yourself" she said. Justin went to the living room, and you were there. Sitting down, with a blanket over your legs, a mug between your hands, and your beutiful eyes looking at the T.V, they were a little bit red. You were crying. Your hair was darker as if wet. When he cleared his throat, your gaze fell on him, your eyes widening with surprise.

"Justin? What are you doing here?" you almost dropped your mug at the sight of you tall husband looking all tousled and damp.

"I want to see you're fine" he said.

"But...there is a storm outside. Did you drive here?" you asked, incredulous.

"Yes, I did" your mom appeared with sandals and a blanket for Justin who thank her politely.

"I'm going to leave you talk" she said, with a warm smile.

Your mom knew you and Justin discussed, but you never told her the reason. It was a private bussiness.

You were frozen in your place as he approached you.

"I'm sorry" he said. You held your breath. "I shouldn't have gotten angry. You-you can share your hapiness over our marriage, even though you aren't happy now" he sounded so sincere and regretful.

"It's ok" you eyes started getting watery. How much you loved this man was beyond explanation. "I'm not angry anymore" He sat next to you, and you put the mug over the tiny table near the couch. "You are my husband, I choose you" he closed his eyes, feeling the words hit.

"Thank you" he said, opening his green eyes, showing a glimpse of vulnerability he didn't show often. You hugged him, an without much words, everything was fine again. Because the things between Justin and you were simple, honest, raw.

[keeponquinning]

hey yve, now that summer is coming, do you ever think about eddie being annoyed by the hot weather? he has a rickety old fan blowing on him in his room. he’s in nothing but a tank top, lazily stroking himself. his ass sweat making a stain on his bed and his bangs slick to his forehead. he’s wanting nothing more to finish so he can stop stewing in it, but he’s having such a hard time without you there to help him

sorry about this mutuals. it’s demon hours and she asked for it

I didn't think about that, @eddieandbird

I'M THINKING ABOUT THAT NOW !!

I was thinking i wanted summer to come but now I have a whole ass different reason.

18+ !!!

Eddie would be so annoyed with the hot summer weather, the boy wasn't made for it, the fan helps, but not by much. what made it worse, funnily enough, is when he went to the mall with you earlier. because YOU love the summer, and looking forward to it, though you loved cuddling with your boyfriend in the cold, you loved the sun and that feeling of being free in loose fitting clothing made for the heat. you're amazed eddie still goes out with the layered clothing and jeans, already wearing some short shorts and a tank top for the shopping trip. he say you dress in cute summer dresses, so flow-y and cute as you twirled for him. then in more tank tops and jean shorts, showing off your hips and thighs — oh yeah, he really liked those. But the most torture for our favorite boyfriend? when you wanted to try some swimsuits. oh, he loved that the best. at first you tried out the one piece that showed off your curves and more of your thighs, hugging you in the right places, his fingers just itching to grab at you right there in the dressing room. but when you came out with the two piece? cherry red? hugging your breasts and showing off your tummy and your ass, your perfect ass?? He almost lost it. you were too perfect! you looked too good! he almost didn't want you to get that one in case any wandering eyes that were not his looked at the perfect vision of you.

but you did, anyway.

which led him to this sad state, practically melting in the heat, stroking his hard, fat cock, slick from his pre-cum and lube? or just sweat?? he wasn't sure, it made his hand glide up and down with ease, though, bringing him waves of pleasure as his cock throbbed and pulsed...thinking of you in the cherry red two piece bikini, knowing you'd taste so sweet on his tongue... but you were at home, probably sleeping like an angel, while his mind was filled with filth, imagining it's your hand stroking him instead. that helped a little, his tongue poking out between his lips as his hand went faster and faster, imagining you. imagining you begging for him to cum just for you... but every time he was close, something would distract him. some sound from outside the trailer, something that broke the fantasy of you being with him. he wanted to cum, needed to cum, but without you? he just didn't see the point.

"Baby?" he said into the phone when he was too needy. "Did I wake my princess?"

"Mmmhm," you sleepily respond, but he could tell you were smiling. "I don't mind, I was dreaming about you. Made my dream come true."

He grinned so happily at that, biting his bottom lip. "Wanna help me make my dream come true?"

You didn't think you did much, he was saying things much filthier than you were, but with your sweet voice in his ear, encouraging him, saying how much you loved him, he came all over his hand so quickly, so powerful it took the both of you by surprise. The sound of his laugh as he came made your heart beat louder and you grow wet. Repaying you the favor and talking you through your orgasm, his voice soft and deep doing things to you that you hadn't understood. After a moment it was just the two of you on the line, catching your breaths, laughing softly at the moment, how soft it was, how hot, how loving and yet how dirty.

"You know..." you started, swallowing hard. "If you had wanted to do something in the changing room... I would have wanted that, too."

"Shit... Really?"

"Mmhm. I... I would have wanted you to... I kind of...wanted you to touch me, the way you were looking at me with the two piece..."

He let out a sigh, "Shit... Wish I'd known that... I would have, Sweetheart... You looked..." Letting out a laugh, humming softly. "You looked perfect. If I see you wear it again, I... I don't think I'd be able to help myself, y'know?"

"Mmm... I was going to wear it tomorrow, when we're gonna go to the pool..."

"God... Yeah.... Yeah, do that... Gonna kill me, Sweetheart. You really are. But it's one hell of a way to go." He took a deep breath, "You know I hate the summer, right?"

You chuckled, "Uh-huh."

"Yeah, well... It's... It's not so bad, with you. As soon as I heard your voice? Heat didn't bother me once. You're my oasis. Thank you for that. Makes me think... This'll be my best summer yet, our best summer, I can feel it."

[ravenrune]

A little Luis x F!reader thing I've been working on for the past few days. I enjoy writing the reader meeting a character for the first time, so here is one for Luis. I went for she/her pronouns this time. I'm sorry I didn't go for gender-neutral. I will again next time! <3

No warnings. Fanfic. Not beta-read. Around 900 words.

The first step

Under any other circumstances, Luis loved to attend parties. The wedding he was at right now, however, had killed his joy very early on. Luis barely knew the couple and didn’t understand why they’d invited him. Politeness, he figured. He used to work with the man, and they had kept in touch after he’d left Umbrella, but to call them friends would be a massive overstatement. Vague acquaintances seemed much more fitting.

Except for this time, anyway.

Initially, Luis had looked forward to the wedding. Not because he cared much about the wedding couple, but because he always wanted to meet new people. This wedding, however, was boring with a capital B. It seemed as if everyone present was in a relationship and didn’t feel like interacting with strangers.

Luis himself had come alone. He’d tried to get a friend to join him, but nobody had been interested. Luis didn’t have any women in his life that he was romantically involved with, so he hadn’t been able to score a date, either. Didn’t matter much, though, because normally, he was pretty good at keeping himself, and strangers, entertained.

Bored and annoyed, he got up from the table, seemingly invisible to the people around him. He’d go out for a smoke, have another drink, and maybe then it would finally feel appropriate to leave. He didn’t think he’d ever be home before eleven after a party, but he really wasn’t feeling it this time.

“Ai, ai, ai,” he muttered, stepping out into the rain. He was pretty sure the weather forecast had promised clear skies, but apparently they’d been wrong again. “How hard can it be to predict the weather?”

“Surprisingly difficult, actually,” came a female voice from behind him. “Want to stay under my umbrella?”

Luis turned around and saw a woman standing there. Relatively young. Nice dress. It was too dark to see the colour of her eyes or hair. She was holding a big umbrella and gestured to him to come over.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Luis flashed her a big smile and stood next to her. “You mind if I light one up?” He held up his pack of cigarettes.

She shrugged. “Nah, go ahead.”

Luis lit his cigarette and placed the pack and the lighter back in his pocket. “Why are you outside? It’s a bit cold, no?”

“Cold doesn’t bother me much,” she replied. “It’s a bit too… crowded inside.”

Luis glanced at her. She had nice features, but he still couldn’t tell what colour her eyes or her hair were. “Is it too crowded, or is it just too boring?” He asked, only half joking.

She laughed and looked around to ensure nobody was close enough to hear her. “It really is very boring,” she groaned. “I kinda regret coming here. I could’ve stayed home and watched a movie. Would’ve cost me less money, too.”

“Yeah… I don’t even know why I was invited,” Luis muttered. “They don’t seem that interested in their guests.”

“Money, probably. They just want gifts. Isn’t that why people get married in the first place?”

Luis nearly choked on some smoke. “People get married for money? Where’s the romance in that, amiga?”

“Romance is dead,” she stated matter-of-factly, “everything is just a financial transaction nowadays.”

Wow. Luis wasn’t sure about what to say. How could someone think that way? He wondered if perhaps something had happened in her past, that someone had hurt her badly enough to turn her away from romantic interactions.

It was hard to imagine, and the thought made him feel a bit sad. His first instinct was to see this as a challenge. A challenge to try and conquer her heart. Then again, he also knew very well that that could end badly. He may consider himself quite the ladies’ man, but he wasn’t in it to hurt people. He didn’t hop from woman to man to woman just to satisfy his needs and move on. Not anymore, anyway. Not like when he was younger.

Luis had gotten so lost in thought, his cigarette started to burn his finger. “Agh!” He threw the thing on the ground and stomped it out. “That hurt!”

“Not the smartest thing I’ve ever seen,” she joked. “Do you need a plaster?”

Luis smiled. “Nah,” he muttered. “I just gotta pay attention.”

He liked hearing her laugh, he thought to himself. He wouldn’t mind hearing it more often.

“You eh… you got a name, amiga?” He asked.

“Y/N,” she replied.

“Good name. I’m Luis Serra.” He extended his hand, which she shook. “Encantado.”

“Same… I think?” She smirked. “How about we go back inside and get something to drink? I’m sick of the rain.”

Going inside for a drink. That seemed like a very nice first step for Luis. “Yeah, why not. I’ll buy you one.”

“Eh?” She frowned at him. “Drinks are free tonight.”

“Oh yes, of course.” Luis laughed. “Well, I’m sure that after tonight you’ll want nothing more than for me to take you out and buy you one elsewhere!”

“I doubt it,” she muttered while folding her umbrella. “But hey… surprise me, I guess.”

Now that was definitely a challenge, and Luis wasn’t the type to say no to one.

[saninthebuilding]

when the rain pours, it dries - tewkesbury

summary: after a tough day, you find yourself sitting alone in the rain. typical movie scene, of course. however, in your time of despair, who is it that arrives to help you up? none of than dear old tewkesbury.

word count: 1k

warnings: rain, hurt/comfort, angst (?), emotions, pre-established relationship, living together, L-bombs, tewkesbury being the sweetest boy

a/n: rewatched enola holmes 2 and i had the urge to write about tewkesbury. so i wrote about him.

hope you enjoy it! <3

~

it was a rainy evening, and i was sitting on one of the benches that were spread out in the park near the lord's office.

without an umbrella.

of course, it had not been my intention originally to get drenched by the downpour. however, i had been out trying to find clues for my newest case and had ended up losing track of time. as a result, i was now stuck sitting here, wet and cold and so utterly alone.

today had been absolutely terrible.

i had been put onto a new case only a few days ago, yet i had still not found any clues. the client had barged into my office early this morning, ruining my so far perfectly good day, screaming at me for being useless and wasting his time, money and hope.

i was trying- i really was. and things like these do not just happen overnight. but the couple heard none of it, calling me a liar, fraud and a thief, before walking out the door.

for some reason, it was too much for me.

on top of the rent being due for the apartment that tewkesbury and i shared, and all the mental strain i was feeling with mother being gone and the fact that i would never be as good as sherlock and tewkesbury being so busy with the lords, i think i had reached my breaking point after that.

which was why i was now sitting here on this bench in the rain, on the verge of tears.

oh come on y/n, don't be ridiculous.

but it was too late, because tears were already starting to stream down my face.

the fact that the rain was covering them up was a small blessing.

sniffling, i shoved my face into my hands and cried, irritation giving way to the disappointment and sadness that had building up for weeks now.

just great.

suddenly i heard footsteps coming up the path, only to stop right in front of me. then the rain stopped hitting the top of my head, and i looked up to see an umbrella covering me. a hand gripped the handle, and the person bent over from beneath, revealing tewkesbury standing in front of me.

he was holding an umbrella- a smart decision in this weather, and was staring at me in confusion.

"y/n?"

i instantly got off the bench, embarrassed that he had found me in such a state. however in my rush, i ended up stumbling and tipping forward, hands catching the front of tewkesbury's coat for support.

he let out a surprised grunt, his free arm coming to wrap around my waist, catching me before i fell.

"by god, y/n, you're soaked."

i raised my head to see him staring at me, eyes wide. "uh- sorry," i mumbled, righting myself and looking away. mentally scolding myself, i rubbed the raindrops off my face and turned to meet his gaze with a forced smile.

"hello tewkesbury. lovely weather, is it not? i was just out here collecting my thoughts. what brings you here?"

i could tell i was speaking too fast, and that my story was completely ridiculous, because  i wrung my hands together in an attempt to calm myself.

"are you alright, y/n?" tewkesbury asked, seeing right through my sorrowful attempt at lying. "you seem...a little off."

"oh no, i'm perfectly fine, i assure you. absolutely wonderful. just enjoying the rain."

he raises an eyebrow, skeptical from under his unnecessarily large black umbrella. seriously, who made that thing? he could fit 5 people in there.

and then there was the matter of him.

how could he look so handsome an such an ungodly hour?

"so, um... what exactly are you doing here?" i asked, hoping he would just answer my question instead of worrying about me.

i hate it when he worries.

he sighed, taking the bait. "i was out at the lords' all day, remember? there was that meeting to discussion the formation of a new bill, so i only just got released."

i cringed, realizing he had told me this both last night and this morning before he left.

oh no, i've completely lost it.

why couldn't i do anything right?

i could feel the tears rising again as my throat began to close up, and i let out a shaky breath.

tewkesbury noticed.

gentle fingers tilted my chin upward, and i saw him looking down at me with concern etched on his face.

"y/n, have you been crying? your eyes are red and you sound upset."

"what? no...no! i'm alright tewkesbury, i-"

my breath hitched mid-sentence and i could feel myself starting to panic.

not again.

tewkesbury cupped my cheek, before pressing his forehead to mine. the warmth of him was a shock to my cold and wet skin, causing me to flinch.

"oh y/n..."

tewkesbury pulled away and motioned for me to take hold of the umbrella, before removing his coat.

"here, put this on."

i opened my mouth to argue, but the look on his face was more than enough for me to be quiet and slip it on.

"thank you" i whispered, sheepish at how much he was having to do because of me.

tewkesbury pulled me into his arms without a word, simply letting the sound of the rain surround the both of us.

after some time had passed, he spoke up.

"truly, y/n. you must understand that you may lean on me if you need to."

"but i-"

"please, y/n. just trust me. i am always here for you if you need me, but that requires you to let me. i cannot help you if you do not let me."

i buried my face into his chest in an attempt to hide the tears that were filling my eyes.

"i don't want to burden you with my worries..." i mumbled, voice muffled by the cloth of his waist coat.

tewkesbury sighed. shifting his grip on the umbrella, he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to the top of my head.

"you're never a burden, my love. not to me."

despite my best efforts not to cry, tears began to find their way down my cheeks, and i hugged him tight.

"i love you tewkesbury."

"i love you y/n."

[stargazer-sims]

I wrote a thing and It took me way longer than it should have...

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

Full Circle

Yuri is almost asleep when he hears the front door being slammed shut. The sound startles him enough to pull him halfway back from the edge of consciousness, but not enough to compel him to get up. He's far too settled to move unless it's absolutely necessary.

Beside him, Victor is completely asleep and snoring softly. That's another reason Yuri doesn't want to move.

It'd taken a lot of effort to convince Victor the sofa wasn't the best place for him to rest. He's sick with some sort of respiratory virus that's kept him home from work for the past couple of days, and although he has been sleeping in his bed at night, during the day he alternates between the living room couch and the armchair in Yuri's home office.

Victor may be an excellent nurse, but he's an absolutely terrible patient, and at one point it seemed to Yuri as if no amount of coaxing and cajoling would persuade him that he really should be in bed for at least part of the day. Evidently, he'd rather follow Yuri around the house like a sad puppy, or huddle under his blanket on the sofa and whine about how he’d probably die soon from dehydration or from his headache and fever, or from the ache in all his muscles.

"Wouldn't you rather pass away in the comfort of your bed?" Yuri said, trying not to let his exasperation show.

Apparently, Victor found that hilarious, and perhaps not unexpectedly his laughter devolved into a coughing fit so severe that he was gasping for air by the time it resolved and his face was wet with tears.

"Yeah," he whispered, after several seconds. "Maybe I would rather die in bed."

"Okay. Let's just tidy you up a bit first, though. No one likes a messy ending.”

Victor's eyes said he wanted to laugh again, but his body language told a different story. He placed one palm on the center of his chest and massaged slowly as if that might help ease what Yuri assumed was pain and tightness. Yuri felt sorry for him.

"I'm glad you're here to make sure I look nice and neat," Victor said.

"It's not about neatness. I don't want you to be uncomfortable. Now, let's clean your face, all right?"

Victor nodded his acquiescence. He meekly allowed Yuri to pat the tears from his cheeks with a tissue and then to hold several more under his nostrils while encouraging him to blow his nose.

Yuri hadn't really understood the English phrase 'man cold' until he'd experienced one of Victor's for the first time. Back when their relationship was new, he'd panicked because he thought Victor's illness was just as serious as Victor was making it out to be. He'd rung up the emergency clinic and everything, whereupon the female nurse practitioner who took his call had laughed at him and told him to give Victor acetaminophen and herbal tea and plenty of attention.

Solid advice, he acknowledges now. Naturally, hindsight is the clearest form of vision. A little more than twenty years after that first scary situation, he's a veteran of his husband's man colds and knows exactly how to care for him on the occasions when he's under the weather.

After disposing of the tissues, he helped Victor up the stairs as best as he could, tucked him into bed, checked his temperature, and then crawled under the covers with him. Victor would've inevitably wanted cuddles, and Yuri had essentially given up on accomplishing any more work in any case, so he decided he'd save Victor the effort of having to ask him to lie down with him.

Victor made a contented little noise when Yuri snuggled against his side and wrapped an arm around him.

"Comfortable?" Yuri asked.

"No, but I like it when you're close to me," Victor replied. He reached around to run his fingers through Yuri's hair, and added, "I'm not actually dying, just so you know. I only feel like I'm going to."

"I know," Yuri said. "I'm sorry I said that."

"It was funny. No need to apologize. I might feel like I'm ready for the morgue, but my sense of humour is still alive and well."

"That's good." He shifted position slightly so he could rest his head on Victor's shoulder. "Are we going to take a nap?"

"Hmm..." was Victor's wordless response.

Yuri can't help remembering how stressed Victor used to get when he had a cold or flu. He'd desperately want to be taken care of, but he didn't want to let Yuri do it, fearing that if Yuri got too close to him he would catch whatever Victor had. Eventually, they both figured out that it didn't matter because nine times out of ten Yuri would catch it regardless. After that, Victor learned to relax and to permit Yuri to fuss over him as much as he clearly wanted.

Yuri had once remarked to his mother-in-law how he thought time had changed both him and Victor. Grace's eloquent response was, "No, time doesn't change anyone. It gives people the opportunity to change themselves."

And how we've changed ourselves, he reflects as he lies next to his sleeping husband. Our attitudes have changed. Our priorities are different than they used to be. We're stronger than before.

This thought makes him happy. He used to fear change, but over the years he's come to understand that change can be good. He and Victor learned that together.

Well, not all our priorities have changed, he amends. I still love this one to the ends of the Earth and back and I still want to spend the rest of my life with him.

Yuri's mind is drawn back to the present by more slamming noises from downstairs. It's cabinet doors this time. And...the refrigerator? The fridge door being closed so hard that he's able to hear it from Victor's room cannot be good.

Victor stirs and mumbles something that sounds like, "What's going on?"

"I'd say Caroline's home from school," Yuri replies.

"Why's she so noisy?" At least that's what Yuri imagines his husband asks. Victor is obviously awake enough to hear, but not awake enough to produce coherent speech.

"I don't know, but I think I'd better go and check."

"No, I'll go," Victor says.

Victor moves like he's attempting to get up, but Yuri holds him in place with one hand. "No, you will not. If she really needs you, I'll send her up to talk to you. Otherwise, I'll look after her."

"But—"

"No 'buts'." Yuri leans over and kisses him on the forehead. "You don't need to handle everything yourself, love. You know that. Just rest, and let me take care of this."

The fact that Victor doesn't protest any further is an eloquent testimony of how bad he's feeling. "Okay," is all he says.

"I'll be back," Yuri promises.

"Okay," Victor murmurs again.

Yuri climbs off the bed and makes his way downstairs. He's still getting used to the layout of their new home. At the old house, the kitchen was in a direct line of sight from the stairs, but here the stairs are tucked away behind a wall and he has to round the corner to observe what's going on in the kitchen, dining room or foyer. He likes it better this way, though. The new house is almost as big as the old one, but somehow it feels more compact and cozy.

As he steps past the bookcases in the corner of the living room, he's able to spot Caroline sitting at the kitchen island. Her back is to him, but he can see that she's eating something from a bowl. Her hot pink backpack is on the floor next to the stool she's seated on, and its contents are peeking out of the half-opened main compartment. He notices her swimsuit and swimming cap in a clear plastic bag. The suit looks dry.

"Caroline," he says.

She doesn't turn to acknowledge him, but she says, "Hi."

He makes his way over to join her at the island. She's eating mint chocolate chip ice cream, which is her and Victor's collective favourite ice cream flavour.

She was slamming the freezer door, then.

"How was school?" he inquires.

"You know, it was school."

"And what about swim practice? You're home early. Was it cancelled today?"

'No," she says. "I didn't go. I didn't feel like it." She scoops an excessive spoonful of ice cream into her mouth and adds around the mouthful, "Don't worry. Jack and Matilda know. I said I wasn't feeling good."

"Aren't you? Feeling well, I mean. Maybe you're coming down with what Victor has."

"No, I’m not sick. I'm fine," she asserts. “Physically, anyway."

“So, what's the matter?"

"Nothing."

He smiles in spite of the circumstances. The blatant contradiction is such a typically teenage thing. "Are you certain?"

She stabs at her ice cream aggressively with the tip of her spoon. "Where's Victor?"

"He's in his room, resting. He's still not feeling well."

"Oh."

"Did you want to talk to him?"

"Yeah, but I guess it can wait," she says.

Yuri perches on the stool next to hers. "You can talk to me if you like."

He doesn't expect her to take him up on it. It's not that she never comes to him when she needs something, but he's much better at solving practical problems like how to write a good essay, who to call to get her bicycle fixed, and how to budget her money. She rarely asks him for help with more abstract personal issues, maybe because she thinks he's not good at that sort of thing, or perhaps it's because she's closer with Victor than she is with him.

Victor has always been Caroline's favourite parent. She'd bonded with him almost immediately upon meeting him, while she was still his patient, before he and Yuri even discussed the possibility of fostering her. It had taken much longer for her and Yuri to warm up to each other.

Yuri can admit he'd resented Victor's natural, easy relationship with Caroline in the beginning. He'd consoled himself by repeating over and over in his mind that it didn't matter because she was only a foster child and they wouldn't have her forever, but when Victor started bringing up the subject of adoption... To say he'd felt genuine panic would've been an understatement.

He'd been reluctant to tell Victor how he felt, but he knew he had to. Adopting a child was far too big a step for him to simply go along with it because it was something that would make Victor happy. That might've caused more discomfort and resentment in the end. It might've torn a rift between them that would've been impossible to repair, and that was the last thing Yuri wanted.

He shouldn't have been surprised at Victor's response. Rather than being upset or disappointed, Victor listened patiently while he poured out his fears and misgivings.

"I feel like an awful person," he'd confessed. He's never been one to put his emotions on display, but he'd been overwhelmed in that moment and couldn't prevent a few tears from escaping. It wasn't just his inability to embrace Caroline's presence in their lives the way Victor had that was troubling him, but also all the negative sentiments he'd been experiencing; insecurity, inadequacy, resentment, and perhaps even a little jealousy. On top of that, he was struggling under a weight of guilt and shame for having all those other feelings in the first place.

"You shouldn't," Victor told him. He'd pulled Yuri gently into his arms and let him lean against his chest. "You're not a terrible person."

"But... shouldn't I get along with her like you do?"

"Not necessarily. We all build relationships in different ways, don't we? Do you have the same relationship with both your parents?"

"No."

"No, and I don't have the same relationship with Mom that I have with Julian either, and that's okay. I love them both, and I know they love me, and that's what's important."

"That's the problem," he said. "It's obvious Caroline loves you. Shouldn't she love me too? Shouldn't she want me to help her with things and play with her and comfort her? How can I think about adopting a child who doesn't want..." He'd let the sentence fade away, unfinished. He could hardly bear to complete the thought, much less lend words to it.

"Yuri." Victor's voice was soft. He didn't speak again for several seconds, choosing instead to rub Yuri's back with the long, firm strokes Yuri had always liked. After a while, he said, "Tell me something. Do you love Caroline?"

"Yes," Yuri said. He couldn't deny that. Despite his failure to form the kind of connection with her that Victor had, he still cared deeply for her. The difficulty was, he wasn't sure she cared for him, and he was equally uncertain his love for her would be enough to make a permanent arrangement work.

As if reading his thoughts, Victor told him, "That's enough for now. Showing her you love her is the right first step. It's gonna take time for her to trust you, but you'll get there."

"She trusted you straight away. How much time will it take for me?"

"I don't know exactly," Victor said. "It could be weeks or months. You gotta keep in mind that she's been through a lot, and maybe you remind her of things she's trying to not remember right now."

"Such as?"

"Her old life. Speaking Japanese, eating with chopsticks, following all those social etiquette rules... stuff like that. Plus, you kind of look like her dad. I mean, you've seen his passport photo. I know I would've struggled if somebody who looked like my dad suddenly came into my life after he died."

"Oh." This had never occurred to Yuri before, mostly because he'd been looking at everything from his own point of view rather than trying to see things through Caroline's eyes. "Then... maybe adopting her truly isn't a good idea. I... I don't want to make it worse for her."

"You won't," Victor said. "Believe it or not, she needs something you can give her that I can't. Lots of things, actually, but she's going to learn resilience from you. She's gonna learn courage and perseverance and patience, and you know... how to pick herself up and keep going."

"Because she has a disability?"

"Yeah. I can't teach her how to live with a disability, but you can. But, it's more than just that. It's for everything in life, 'cause she's gonna fail sometimes and she might have to go through more bad experiences, and she's going to need to know how to take care of herself and not give up when stuff like that happens. You're amazing at that."

"So are you."

"Only because I've got you to support me," Victor said. "And because I figured out how to follow your example."

"But, how can I teach Caroline anything if I can't even get close to her?" he asked, hoping his desperation didn't show too much.

"Don't underestimate her," said Victor. "It's not like a violin lesson where you have to actively teach her. Just be there for her, and give her time. Let her see who you really are, and try to see her for who she really is."

"How am I meant to do that?"

"How do you do it with anybody?" Victor countered. "Like, you coexist with her, live your life alongside her, and... I don't know. Maybe ask her if there's something she'd like the two of you to do together. If you can work out what you have in common, that might help you communicate better, and I think that'd help you get closer."

Victor had been right, of course. About everything. It'd all gone much better once Yuri stopped worrying about how Caroline felt about him and turned his attention toward finding more common ground with her.

It started with gardening. One day, he asked her if she'd like to help him in the garden, and she said she would. After that, they spent a lot of time tending both the outdoor and indoor plants together. They rarely conversed at first, but they enjoyed being together nevertheless. Slowly but surely, Yuri began to feel less like an extra and more like a main character in the story of his family's life again.

Then, a day came when Caroline noticed him clipping his bonsai tree and asked him about it. Without thinking, he answered her in Japanese, something he'd been careful to avoid doing for the several preceding weeks.

To his utter shock, Caroline began to cry. Alarmed, he put down his shears and dropped to one knee so that he was at eye level with the six year old. When he asked her what was wrong, she told him tearfully that she missed speaking Japanese.

"I thought you didn't want to," he said.

"I didn't," she agreed. "You know, 'cause it made me sad. But then I got scared that I might forget, but I was also kinda scared to tell you that I changed my mind."

"It's okay," he said. "You can tell me anything you want. You don't have to be scared. I'll always listen to you, and I won't be upset if you change your mind about something."

"Really?"

"Really," he assured her. "People don't always feel the same way about everything all the time. It's totally normal to change your mind about things, especially if you know something new that you didn't know before."

"Like... how I didn't want to eat hot dogs, but now I do 'cause I know they don't really have dogs in them?"

Yuri smiled. "Yeah, exactly like that."

"Yuri?"

"Yes?"

"Can I have my own bonsai tree? I want you to teach me how to make it pretty like yours. Then I'll know something else I didn't know before, and maybe I'll want to change my mind about... other stuff."

She did not elaborate on what 'other stuff' meant, but Yuri was sure he could guess. "Of course you can have your own tree. We can ask ojii-chan to send you one from Japan. Would you like that?"

Could he have gotten her a tree from a local plant nursery? Obviously he could have, but it somehow seemed more appropriate to ask his parents to send one.

That was exactly the right choice, as things turned out. Caroline got very excited when Yuri told her his father had sent them a tracking number for the package, and for the next few days it became their little ritual to check the location of Caroline's tree on its journey from Japan to Canada. When the courier arrived, Caroline wanted to sign for the box herself, and the man graciously let her do it. Yuri scrawled his initials next to Caroline's wobbly signature, and thanked the courier for such good service.

The little tree was perfect. It survived its long voyage with no damage, and only needed water and sunlight for it to get back to looking its best. Caroline cherished it, caring for it and talking to it as if it were a pet, and she eventually learned how to trim it herself. She still tends it with as much care and dedication as she did back then, and she still loves to show it off to visitors. Under her hands, the tiny juniper tree is thriving.

It's a lot like Caroline herself, he thinks.

He'd had to learn how to nurture her, how to guide her and teach her to grow. He didn't always get it right, and as flawless a parent as Victor appeared to be, he made mistakes sometimes too. Overall, though, Yuri is proud of their progress, and he's exceptionally proud of the daughter he and Victor have raised together.

Caroline's voice inserts itself into his musings. "If I talk to you, are you going to pay attention?"

Yuri blinks. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was lost in thought."

"Long day, I guess."

"Victor's a handful when he's ill."

The smallest hint of a smile lifts the corners of Caroline's mouth. "Is he dying this time?"

"Yes, quite dramatically if you must know," Yuri says. "In a scene taken straight from a soap opera, I'd say."

This elicits a laugh. "That's how you know it's not as bad as he wants you to believe it is. If he was really sick or in a lot of pain, he wouldn't be all dramatic and stuff. Remember when he had to get those two teeth out?"

Yuri does remember. There hadn't been any theatrics that day; just Victor with his bruised and swollen jaw, crying quietly in the passenger's seat of Yuri's car on the way home from the hospital. He'd gone straight to bed with no fuss as soon as they got home, and later that evening he'd let Caroline feed him puréed fruit mixed with protein powder, with a look in his eyes of such profound gratitude that it made Yuri's heart ache to see it.

Yuri nods. "You're right. That was different."

"He'll be okay," Caroline says.

"I know, but how about you? Are you going to be all right?"

Caroline sighs. "Yeah, probably. I'm mad, but I'll get over it. It's dumb teenager stuff anyway."

"It can't be all that trivial, if you wanted to talk to Victor about it and it made you want to skip swim practice and break all the cabinet doors," Yuri says.

"Sorry about that."

"It's fine. You're not in trouble," he says. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

She eats a spoonful of ice cream, and then sits there with the spoon still in her mouth, clearly weighing up her options. Finally, she puts the spoon down and then turns slightly on her stool so she can look at him directly. "I think I'm going to break up with Forest."

This pronouncement takes him by surprise. "Why?"

"We had a fight," she says. "Not some silly disagreement over some random thing, but like, a really serious argument."

"About what?"

"You know this week at school is Futures Week, right?"

'Yes," Yuri says. "I remembered that was happening this week."

"We're in our last year of high school, and we've gotta start planning what we're going to do after," Caroline says. "They've got people from different universities and colleges coming in to give presentations, and even some guy from the military was there. Plus, we can schedule meetings with the school's guidance counsellors, and today was career day, where they had all these different professionals come in and set up tables in the gym so that we could meet them and talk about what it's like to have different kinds of jobs."

"I know about that too. James went there to represent our firm."

"I know. I talked to him. Felicity Greene's dad too, and Uncle Leo, although I don't really want to be a lawyer or a preschool teacher. Felicity said it was weird that her dad was there, and like, no surprise that Nora didn't even go 'cause she was too embarrassed about her dad being there. Honestly, I wouldn't have been embarrassed. I would've liked it if you and Victor came."

"We were otherwise occupied," he says. "But, you were telling me about you and Forest, weren't you?"

"Stupid Forest," she grumbles.

"What happened?"

"Forest didn't go either," she declares.

"Do you mean, he didn't go to school today?"

"No, he was at school, but he didn't sign up for any of the university presentations this week, and he totally refused to come to the career thing. He hid in the library the whole time."

"That doesn't sound good."

"You know my friend Mohammad? He saw Forest in there and he told me, so I went to get him, and that's how the argument started." She looks away from him momentarily as her pale skin turns deep pink. "We... we got kicked out of the library."

"Did you get detention?"

She shakes her head. "No. We went outside so we could keep talking, but that's when it really got bad. Forest told me he's not going to university."

Yuri frowns. "I thought he was planning to go to art school."

"I thought so too," Caroline says, "But now he's not. He says he doesn't want to waste his time and his parents' money on something that probably isn't going to help him get a job anyway. He says he's just going to keep working at the pizza place after graduation until... until whenever we get married. Can you believe he actually said that? I never said I wanted to marry him!"

"Didn't you?" Yuri queries. "The way I recall it, you and Forest have both been saying since you were seven years old that you want to marry each other some day."

"Yeah, well... I changed my mind," she says adamantly. "Maybe I said I wanted to marry him before I realized he has like, absolutely zero ambition. How can he be happy making pizza for minimum wage? How does a person not care about their own future?"

"There are loads of reasons why somebody might not care about their future," Yuri says.

"I'm sure none of them are very good reasons," Caroline scoffs. "Anyway, I can't be with somebody who doesn't even have goals."

Yuri is silent for a handful of seconds as he composes his thoughts. At last, he asks quietly, "Have you ever considered that you're his goal?"

Caroline peers at him, a look of perplexity on her face. "What do you mean? How can a person be another person's goal?"

"You and Forest remind me a lot of Victor and me," he says. "For the longest time, I didn't have any goals or ambitions for the future either. The only thing I wanted in life was to be with Victor. I wanted him to stay close to me and love me and give me as much attention as possible, and I wanted him to be happy. I thought that if he was happy, that would make me happy."

"Yeah, that kind of sounds like Forest," she affirms.

"And you're like Victor. You've got plans and dreams. You want to have adventures and accomplish loads of things in your life."

"Exactly."

"Another way you're like him is that your happiness doesn't depend on other people."

Caroline nods. "I learned that from Victor, actually. I remember when I was little and I'd be upset, he always told me that it was okay to feel angry or sad or scared, but that I shouldn't let myself stay like that. Like, he said if I wanted to feel better I could get there, 'cause my happiness is my own responsibility."

"He's right," Yuri says. "I know because he taught me that, too."

"Really?"

"Really. I used to be scared about quite a lot of things, and that was one of the biggest reasons why I didn't have any goals for myself. I was too afraid I'd fail at anything I tried, so I barely tried to do anything new. Then, I was depressed and frustrated, thinking about how I'd never accomplish anything."

"So, what did you do?"

"I ate a strawberry."

Caroline laughs out loud. "You always say strawberries make everything better. But seriously, what did you do? How'd you fix yourself? 'Cause you've never seemed like the type of person who's afraid of much of anything to me."

"I really ate a strawberry." Yuri repeats. He recalls the monumental effort it'd taken to pick up his chopsticks and feed himself that one small piece of fruit. "It was one of the hardest things I've ever done."

Caroline is staring at him as if he's setting up for some sort of joke. "But, you love strawberries."

"I do," he concedes. "But that doesn't mean it's always been easy for me to eat them. The winter before we moved here from Japan, I was so ill that I didn't know if I'd survive it. I couldn't eat, and I was so weak and in so much pain that I couldn't even sit up in bed on my own. My doctor decided that if she was going to keep me alive, I'd need to have a feeding tube, so that's what we did."

"Is that what the little scar on your belly is from?"

"It is," he confirms. "One might think it'd be scary to get all your nourishment through a tube in your stomach, but it was such a relief to me. It meant I didn't have to physically eat anything, and I knew the formula would be safe and wouldn't cause me any pain. That eliminated the anxiety of eating."

"Eating gave you anxiety? Like... just eating?"

"Yes, and it still does sometimes, as hard as that might be to grasp."

"It kind of is, honestly. I love eating."

"I know you do. That's another way you're more like Victor than like me." He smiles. "I'm glad you love to eat. I wouldn't wish my problems on anybody."

"So, what happened?" she prompts. "Obviously you started eating real food again."

"I had to go through a lot of therapy," he says. "The goal was to remove the tube within a year, and as much as I was relieved that I didn't have to put food in my mouth for a while, I also knew I didn't want to live with the tube long-term. So, my doctor and therapist got me to start by setting small goals, and the first one was that if I wanted to eat anything by mouth, I had to feed myself."

"You weren't feeding yourself?"

"No."

"Why?" Caroline asks.

"It was too difficult," he replies. "At least that's what I'd convinced myself of, but the truth was, I'd essentially given up on everything. I couldn't imagine a future with anything other than more pain and fear and failure, and it was... too much."

"But eating a strawberry changed your mind?"

"It wasn't actually as simple as that, but eating a strawberry showed me what was possible," he says. "Victor was having a fruit salad. The strawberries were fresh and they smelled delicious, and I really wanted one, but Victor wasn't allowed to feed it to me. It took all the willpower I had in me to put that strawberry into my mouth, and I almost changed my mind at the last second, but to this day I'm glad I didn't. Now I like to think that one strawberry was the beginning of the rest of my life."

"How?"

"Because it made me realize even the smallest victories matter," he says. "Because I started to understand that success can be measured in tiny increments and doesn't have to be something huge or spectacular. But, mostly because I finally saw that I could do things for myself, that I could set goals and work for them."

"So... you're saying Forest should eat a strawberry?"

"Metaphorically speaking, yes."

"How can I get him to do it?" Caroline wants to know.

Yuri reaches across the space between them and touches her hand lightly. "That's the thing, little one. You can't."

"But—"

"Forest has to be ready to learn that lesson on his own," Yuri says. "I'm sure Victor was frustrated with me sometimes, and maybe he even secretly questioned why he'd agreed to marry someone with so little self-worth, but he never pushed me. That wouldn't have worked."

"What did he do?"

"He stuck with me even when I thought he'd be better off leaving. He was patient with me, and he loved me when I didn't know how to love myself."

Caroline picks up her spoon again and begins to fidget with it. "Are you saying I shouldn't break up with Forest?"

"No," Yuri says. "Only you and Forest can decide whether or not that's the right choice. What I'm saying is to give yourselves some time to calm down after what happened today, and then ask him if the two of you can talk. Arguing is normal, but you need to deal with the thing that caused the argument to begin with."

"Even if we're not going to be girlfriend and boyfriend?"

"Even so, especially if you still want to be friends with him."

"I do," Caroline says emphatically. "I love Forest. He’s my best friend. Even if we end up marrying other people some day, I always want us to be friends."

"If that's truly how you feel, then don't give up on him," Yuri says. "You can still help him even if you're not in a relationship."

"But... you just said I can't make him eat the metaphorical strawberry."

"You can't make him do it, but that doesn't mean you can't show him the way. You can talk to him and try to find out what's holding him back, and you can support and encourage him when he wants to try new things."

"Like getting his driver's license?"

"Exactly. If you're proud of him for doing that, then tell him."

"I am," she says. "That was a big deal 'cause he was so scared he wouldn't pass the road test, but he did it."

"Then make a big deal of it," Yuri says. "That might seem silly, but unless I miss my guess, it won't seem silly at all to Forest."

"Do you think it'll work?"

"Only time will tell," he says. "The surest way to find out is to try."

"Okay," Caroline says. She slips off her stool and steps forward to hug him. "Thanks for the talk, Papa."

He reciprocates the embrace, pleased as always to hear her call him 'Papa' and to get a hug from her. She's physically demonstrative like Victor, and although her spontaneous displays of affection sometimes made him uncomfortable in the early days, he's grown to appreciate them very much.

"You're welcome," he says.

"Is it okay if I go upstairs and say hi to Victor now?"

"I'm sure he'd like that, but don't disturb him if he's sleeping."

"I know," Caroline says. "If he's sleeping, I'll just stay in there and start my homework. You know, so he won't be alone when he wakes up."

"Good idea," Yuri says. "I was going to go back up there with him and I thought perhaps we'd order something for dinner, but now that you're here, you can keep him company and I can cook instead."

"What are you going to make?"

"How do you feel about carrot and ginger soup? That's fairly easy. And I can make grilled cheese sandwiches for you and Victor."

"We like those," Caroline says. "Ice cream for dessert?"

Yuri smiles. "Haven't you already had enough ice cream?"

"Is there such a thing as too much ice cream?" She gathers her backpack from the floor and slings the strap over her shoulder before turning to leave. “You can text me when it's ready. That way, you won't have to yell."

Yuri waves in the direction of the stairs. "Go. I'll just bring your sandwiches to you, and then you can come down here for soup afterwards."

"Cool. Thanks!"

Yuri watches her as she disappears around the edge of the bookcases. He can hear her bounding up the steps with all the energy her mere seventeen years afford her and wonders if, like Victor, she'll retain most of that energy into middle age. Caroline and Victor may not be biologically related, but they're so much alike that they might as well be.

Both of us may be her parents, but she's truly his child.

Shaking his head, Yuri returns to the kitchen. He picks up Caroline's abandoned bowl and spoon, rinses them, and puts them in the dishwasher. Typically he would've asked her to do that herself, but today is an atypical day.

He puts on some classical music and then focuses on the business of making dinner. Carrot soup is one of his favourite dishes. Victor used to make it for him often when he was relearning how to eat, and once he'd graduated to doing meal preparation, he began making it on his own. Usually, they have it with garlic bread and a garden salad topped with diced chicken, but Victor hasn't had much of an appetite today and Yuri guesses he'd prefer to have his favourite comfort food, grilled cheese. Besides, grilled cheese sandwiches are a lot less effort.

He prepares the soup first. While it's simmering in the slow cooker and filling the kitchen with the warm aroma of ginger, he gets to work on the grilled cheese. He decides he'll have peanut butter toast to go with his soup, since he doesn't like cheese, but he can get that ready after he finishes with the sandwiches for Victor and Caroline.

Soon enough, he's making his way up the stairs with a tray laden with two golden grilled sandwiches and two mugs of steaming green tea with honey. He passes Caroline's room and is nearly at the half-opened door of Victor's when he catches the thread of a conversation.

"...and I don't think he realizes it, but he's a totally amazing parent."

Victor's voice is hoarse, but he sounds much more awake and alert than he did earlier. "I think so too."

Yuri pauses outside the door and tries to peek into the room without being noticed. Victor is lying diagonally across his bed, and Caroline is sitting cross-legged beside him, holding his hand. Caroline is facing away from the door, and he thinks she's likely blocking Victor's view of the hallway.

"I was so mad, but Yuri knew exactly what to say," Caroline continues. "Like, he understood the problem right away and he told me what I should do, and it actually made a lot of sense."

"You shouldn't be shocked," says Victor. "You know, he's very smart and his advice is just as valid as mine. Maybe more so, depending on the subject. There's stuff he can do a lot better than I can."

"Well, he's really good at explaining stuff, and he knows how to get me to see things from a different perspective." Caroline says. "He helped me a lot with what happened today."

Yuri can hear Victor's smile in his voice. "You should tell him that. Sometimes he still worries about whether or not he's doing a good job."

There's no hesitation in Caroline's reply. "He's always done a good job. You're my favourite, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate him or that he's not good at being a dad. He's awesome and I love him just as much as I love you."

"I'm glad," Victor says. "You know, it'd make his day to hear that."

"I'll tell him," Caroline says.

For a moment Yuri stays in place, trying to take in what he's just overheard. Then, not wanting to give away the fact that he was eavesdropping, he backs carefully down the hall and approaches the door again, deliberately making a bit of noise this time.

He halts in the doorway of Victor's room with a cheerful, "Dinner is served!"

It sounds a bit too upbeat to his ears, but Caroline doesn't seem to notice. Victor does, though. He catches Yuri's eye, smiles and mouths, "Nice one." Yuri wonders whether Victor was able to see him in the hallway after all.

Caroline bounces off the bed and comes over to inspect the tray. "This smells so good!"

"The soup is ready too, if you want some of that."

"Yes, please," Caroline says as she lifts one of the plates. "I'm going to take this to the kitchen and have some soup too, and then I'm going to FaceTime with Felicity because I promised her I'd help her with our math homework."

"Isn't Felicity's mother a financial analyst or something?" Victor asks.

"Yeah, but Felicity says she doesn't know how to make math simple," Caroline explains. "She'd rather get help from somebody who can tell her how to do it step by step, so... Captain Math to the rescue."

"All right, Captain Math," Yuri says. "Enjoy your dinner and your study session."

As Caroline exits the room, Yuri sets the tray with the remaining sandwich and the two cups of tea on the bedside table. Victor sits up, and remarks, "That does look good. I wish I could smell it."

"Hopefully you'll be able to taste it," Yuri says.

"We're about to find out." He picks up half the sandwich and bites into it. With his mouth full, he continues, "So, I guess you heard Caroline singing your praises?"

Yuri looks away. His face is suddenly hot, and he says, "Sorry. I wasn't intentionally spying on the two of you."

"I know," Victor says. He pats the space next to him. "Come here and let me tell you why Caroline is right."

Yuri obligingly climbs onto the bed and then reaches across Victor to get one of the mugs of tea before finally settling against Victor's side. "You think she's right?"

Victor slides an arm around his shoulders. "Why wouldn't I? You are totally amazing as a partner and a parent, and Caroline is right about you having a talent for getting people to see things in new ways. I knew that about you before we ever had Caroline, but how you're able to break stuff down in a way that she understands? That's a real skill, and you know what else?"

"What else?"

"You passed it on to her."

"At least I passed something along to her."

"What are you talking about? You've given her a lot. Whether or not you realize it, she's like you in a lot of ways. She's strong and determined like you, and she's practical and logical and great at reading people. Plus, she has your sense of humour."

"That... that's not exactly something to be proud of."

"Sure it is," Victor says. "You can make me laugh, and sometimes that's worth more than all the wealth in the universe."

"Did I really give all that to Caroline?" Yuri asks.

"Yeah, you did. That, and a lot more. You can ask her if you want to. I'm pretty sure she wants to tell you."

"I'm not sure I'd be comfortable asking."

"That's okay," Victor says. "I think she'll tell you on her own, when she finds the right moment."

Yuri closes his eyes and leans into the warmth of his husband's one-armed embrace. "I never thought we'd reach this point," he says. "Caroline and me, I mean."

"I knew you would," Victor says.

"That's because you're an eternal optimist."

Victor kisses the top of his head. "It's easy to be optimistic when I have such a great family. You and Caroline make me happy and you help me keep my faith in humanity. How could I think the future's gonna be anything but good with the two of you around?"

Yuri contemplates this for a moment, and feels his features gradually relax into a smile. They may have had a rough beginning, but everything is better now, and he has to acknowledge Victor is right. Their lives may not be perfect and they may have difficult times ahead, but that doesn't mean the future won't be good. His family loves him and he loves them. No matter what happens, with the three of them all supporting each other, they can make the best of it.

[flowery-mess]

Noah dating slavic girl

I am writing this as a slavic girl myself, I know this is specific and probably not all of you can relate. If I could write about all nationalities and cultures, I would, but I don't feel educated enough to do that, also it doesn't feel right to write about something I'm not part of. I hope I don't offend anyone. I hope you understand and I hope you will still enjoy reading this!💗 you can talk to me through inbox or submit a post about what it would be like dating you, if you're from non slavic country, I'm interested in cultural differences!✨

First and foremost, your beauty

There is something about the 'slavic girl aesthetic' that makes men fall to their knees

Your pale skin that makes your eyes pop out

However you and Noah met, the first thing he noticed about you was your thick accent

Because I feel like no matter how hard we try, we all have the same accent

But he didn't ask where are you from straight away, because he assumed that it is something everyone asks

It was when you started talking about 'back home' or 'in my home country' that he asked where are you from

He's a smart man who travels through Europe, so he knew where that country is

Still you couldn't help some jokes about americans not knowing a thing about Europe

He acted like he was interested in your name because of where are you from, but in reality he just wanted to know your name

That being sad, there was lot of attempts to pronounce it correctly

Which was cute

But he couldn't get it right

He said he's going to practice and surprise you next time he sees you

Which made a great opportunity for him to ask you out

And who could say no to this man

I bet this man would google facts about your country to charm you

And translate how to tell you that you're really beautiful in your native language

You usually get annoyed if people make that your whole personality, but Noah would be so cute and genuely interested in what you have to say about your home country, that you wouldn't be mad at him

I can imagine dates where you cook your national meals for him

Him saying that you need to cook them for all of the boys, because it's really good

He would become like a fan of your country, telling everyone little facts he learns from you

He would show off new words he learned every time he meets the boys

And they would get annoyed

He would also be amazed every time you talk to someone from back home, because I think slavic languages sound really agressive and he would listen even though he can't understand

Then he would ask what did you talk about and would be surprised if you said about that it was about makeup or work

When you make things official you plan a trip to your country to meet your family, friends and to get to know your culture more

I'm going to skip the family part, because I don't fit in this part of slavic strong family bond lol

But can you imagine what would slavic grandmothers say to his tattoos?

But he would be surprised how welcoming your friends are and that everyone can talk in english with him so it's easy to get to know them

Your friends enjoying teaching him cuss words

He would love eating out in local pubs, because you cook those meals perfectly, but the quality of american ingredients is worse than in Europe

Beer. That's it, do I need to say more?

He would be amazed by the nature in your country

You would plan another trip to Europe in winter so he could enjoy this very cold weather with full experience

Maybe another trip to celebrate Christmas, Easter, 1st of May or Walpurgis night

I'm sure he would be interested in that

In all those traditions, clothes, food, songs and activites that are done on those holidays

Songs and music in general, we can't forget that

Slavic music is beautiful

You would show him some clasic old music and new young musicians that make modern folk music

Maybe that could be inspiration for BO new music hehe

Talking about music, watching Eurovision with you is a must!

I feel like Noah is very open person to new things, so he would love living with a slavic partner and finding new things about you or your country everyday

Even if it was with how you do things at home

Collecting plastic bags, saving boxes from a food and then using it as a box for something different or some weird snacks

Alcohol? You can easily out drink every american in your friend group

Hear me out... wedding

You don't have to be much traditional, but there are things that are done at weddings out of habit I'd say

Like breaking a plate and seeing how you two can clean the mess together to see how you will work in the future

Or dancing with 'crowns' made out of things typical for your country

Or the guests tinkling on plates at wedding reception so you two share a kiss every time they do it

Or chopping wood which can be done only by Noah to prove that he is worthy to be married to you or you two can do it together to show your love and commitment to overcome obstacles together

I'm sure it would be cultural shock for the American side

I feel like if you would plan to have kids together, he would take learning your language more serious

Because you would want to teach your kid both languages

So he wants to learn more so he can understand when the baby is talking in your language

Maybe you could move to Europe later in life for some time

Explore and travel through countries

Buy a house in the woods and have a place to come back that would be fully yours

I'm a bit sceptical about relationships with person from a different country, but I'm sure Noah would give 110% to make it work

[nickfowlerrr]

series masterlist

part two • part three • part four • part five

happy golden days of yore • 1

pairing: dark!bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. 18+ ONLY. future parts will contain noncon smut. 40s misogyny? pet names. masturbation. i’m just gonna say, reader is detrimentally non confrontational 🫣.

words: 2.8k

notes: this is completely self indulgent lol. i couldn’t focus on any of my three ongoing series so here’s a new one 🙃. good news is, you won’t have to wait for updates on this because it’s all written (sans the last scene i’m wrapping up as i type this). i hope you guys enjoy this and i promise i’ll get back to my wips in another week or so. 🖤

The jazz of Duke Pearson’s, Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, was floating through the chill air all around you as you finished folding your laundry in the living room of your late grandfather’s cabin. You let out an unbidden shiver despite the efforts of the fire glowing just across the room to warm you. It was still too cold. Out here it was always too cold.

You grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around yourself, reveling in the feel of the soft, comforting material along your skin. The smell of cookies baking wafted through the air, the scent of the small pine tree you’d picked out and set up accompanying it. You admired the twinkling of the lights you’d strung up as the next song on your playlist began. The crooning of Judy Garland as she sang the same song you’d just been listening to was relaxing.

It seemed funny that the same song would play one right after the other while you were on shuffle, but fitting nonetheless. You would have yourself a merry little christmas this year. You were sure of it. Not bogged down by obligations to anyone other than yourself. No parties to attend, no friends or family to buy gifts for. It may seem sad to some, but you had been waiting for December all year. And you didn’t mind the solitude. In fact, you longed for it. As you finally sat down and tried to make yourself comfortable on the couch, you swore you heard a noise sounding from the kitchen.

You furrowed your brow and turned your head just slightly in the direction of the noise. Your speaker was playing music loudly, but there was no way that sound would have been part of the song. You were frozen as you sat there, not moving an inch, completely focused on listening for the noise again.

There was nothing.

You were sure you were going crazy. There was no way someone would be all the way out here, especially in this weather. And no way someone would have gotten in the cabin without you realizing it, either. No way.

Just as you were giving up on listening for more noise, opting to let it go and accept that it was just you hearing things, the errant beeping of the oven sounded, startling you.

You slowly moved to get up, not sure why you were feeling so trepidatious. This thought of you walking into the kitchen, only to be ambushed by some unknown stranger suddenly flitted through your mind and you shook your head at the thought. It was nothing, there would be no one, and you were not going to let your cookies burn over this.

You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself and as you approached the threshold of the doorway, the oven suddenly stopped beeping. That didn’t really register, though. Not until you saw the man standing at the stove.

Dark, chin length hair framed his face. Light stubble lined his jaw. He was tall, his presence all together intimidating. Dressed in all black, a form fitting long sleeve shirt and black cargo pants, combat boots still laced on his feet. He didn’t look at you immediately, and you both just stood there a moment, staring as “And The Angels Sing” began and the music filled the silence between you and the stranger. You took notice of what you could only assume was his jacket thrown haphazardly on the table, what appeared to be the end of a gun lying beneath it, and a set of keys strown on the table while the patio door just beyond was still locked. When your eyes flitted back to the man, you found bright blue ones staring right back at you. Piercing. Another shiver ran through you, but this one wasn’t from the cold.

He looked perturbed, as if you were the one invading his space. Like your presence was a nuisance to him.

You took the slightest step back, still no noise escaping you. Your eyes never leaving him. And the second you moved, he did, too. He turned and faced you head on. You startled at his swift, sudden movement and froze again while you took in his physique. He was well built, broad chest and shoulders, huge arms - muscles straining under the thermal material of his shirt, strong, thick legs. He was straight out of a movie screen.

If you had seen him in public, you were sure you’d go out of your way to keep off his radar. But you weren't in public, you were in your cabin. And you certainly were on his radar.

You hadn’t realized you had been holding your breath until he took another step in your direction. You sucked a breath in and matched him as you retreated back into the living room, dropping the blanket as you did.

“Who are you? What do you want?” you eked out. “How did you get in here?”

He eyed you up and down, his gaze lingering on the emphasized curve of your hips before it fell briefly on your cleavage. You were dressed in a form fitting scoop neck tank top that you were going to put a sweater on top of before you got distracted by the laundry, and a pair of sweats that hugged your waist. It wasn’t like it was an overly revealing outfit in the slightest, but with the way he looked at you, however fleeting, you felt exposed before him. Vulnerable.

“I could ask you the same thing, sweetheart,” he finally said. You were confused to say the least.

“Excuse me?” you said incredulously. “You’re the stranger inexplicably in my grandfather’s - my - cabin, not the other way around.”

“Grandfather?” he questioned before a flash of understanding passed his eyes. “Oh. John’s your grandfather? He know you’re up here?”

“Was my grandfather,” you corrected, clearly confused as to what was going on. “He passed about a year ago. Left me this place in his will…” you spoke softly, eyes still watching the stranger’s every move. He looked genuinely surprised at the information as you gave it. “You knew him, I take it?”

He nodded, clicking his tongue lightly.

“I’m Bucky. His tenant. I live here,” he informed you.

Suddenly everything clicked. Your grandpa had mentioned in passing once or twice renting the cabin out, but you never realized he actually did. You were surprised when you got there last week to find it in such good shape, but there wasn’t any obvious indication that someone was living there. The master bedroom was locked and you hadn’t been able to find a key to open it anywhere, so you just set up in the spare, making a note to call a locksmith out after the holidays. You assumed it was probably just filled with a bunch of your grandfather’s stuff. The entire downstairs was void of any personal items, the only food in the fridge and cabinets were nonperishables and the freezer was solely stocked with frozen meat. You had brought your own groceries and household supplies, you had pretty much taken over this poor man’s living space.

“Oh my god,” you said, mortified. “Oh my god. That makes so much sense. I am so sorry - I had no idea. He never explicitly mentioned it, and all I was told was that the place was in my name now and they gave me the keys, I didn’t- God, I am so sorry,” you babbled on.

“Look I get it, you didn’t know. No harm, no foul,”

“Cool,” you breathed. “Uhm.. I don’t know how to go about this..”

“I’ve paid John once a year for the past five years to stay out here. It’s a good arrangement for me. Under the table. No one to bother me. I’d like to keep doing so with you if that’s alright? He usually came by at the beginning of January for the cash. I pay for the year, but I’m not always here too often with my line of work.”

“Oh. Uhm, okay.. How much do you pay?”

“60k.”

“A year?” you asked, absolutely shocked. 60k was more than you made in two years, let alone once in a single payment. You could literally quit your job if you wanted to with that kind of money annually.

“I like my solitude,” he said shortly.

“Right, I - uh. I’m really sorry about this, again. I - I don’t have a problem with, ya know, this..arrangement. As cryptic as this is, if my grandfather trusted you, I trust you. I wasn’t really planning on coming out here all that much, anyway,” you lied. In reality you had plans to start coming out here at least once a month in the new year. But why bother him with that information? “I just needed a break for the holidays. Uhm did you have any other contact with him aside from the payments? Should I give you my number or like email or something before I go? It shouldn’t take me super long to get all my stuff together,” you rushed, wanting to leave as soon as you could. You had completely intruded on this poor man’s home and more than that, he was a man who paid handsomely to be left alone. That in and of itself was setting off a bit of a red flag in your mind. He definitely did not want you here and if you let your suspicious thoughts start turning, it seemed like something up with him.

He gave a light, half hearted laugh.

“I barely made it up here, you plan on driving out in that right now?” he said, head motioning in the direction of the window, the snow still swirling around outside.

“Oh, I just, I figured-”

“I’m not gonna throw you out in the middle of a storm,” he scoffed.

“You really don’t hav-”

“Look, there’s no way you’re making it past the drive even if you tried, anyway,”

You felt embarrassed and looked down at your feet, biting your cheek, not sure what to do or say now.

“How long were you planning on staying before I showed up?”

“Through the new year,” you answered honestly. “But don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair as soon as the storm passes.”

“Stop assuming things, sweetheart,” he said harshly. With his tone, you felt like you were being reprimanded. Your change in demeanor must have been apparent because he softened after considering you a moment. “I never said you had to leave. You can stay as long as you wanted, I don’t mind. Chances are I’ll be leaving for work again sooner than I’d like.”

Before you had the chance to respond the smell of burning cookies permeated the air.

“Oh shit!” you gasped as you rushed past him back to the kitchen.

He followed behind you and watched as you pulled the oven door open and your face fell at the way too darkened cookies. He came up behind you and gently pushed you out of the way, reaching for the baking sheet with his still gloved hand.

“Wait, it’s hot!” you tried to warn him. You gawked at him as he nonchalantly set the tray of cookies down on the stove. He slipped his gloves off, revealing one metal hand as he looked over to you.

“Not much of a problem for me,” he responded, clenching and unclenching his fist before he grabbed the back of his neck, seeming to try and stretch a tight spot before he let go. “I didn’t get your name, doll,” he said expectantly. You hid your slight surprise at the new pet name and gave him your name. He repeated it aloud, and the way it fell off his tongue had you squirming but you weren’t sure why.. If it was good or bad.

“I’m gonna go upstairs, shower, change and all that. I’ll be back down later to make food,”

“Yeah, of course,” you said, letting him get a few steps away before you spoke again, wanting to make things less awkward if you could. “Uhm, I was planning on making food anyway, I could make enough for two?” you offered. You were only now noticing the dirt on his clothes and the light bruising marring around his face. He was moving a bit stiffly now, too. You felt bad for him. Here he was coming home after being gone for work, obviously worn and tired, only to be met with some stranger taking over his place. You weren’t sure what line of work he was in exactly, but just taking in the state of him, and especially considering the kind of money he must make to afford 60k just to rent this cabin annually, you figured it must be pretty important.

“If you don’t mind, that’d be great, actually.”

“Sure, yeah, I mean, it’s the least I can do,” you said, offering him an awkward smile.

You watched as he grabbed his things off the table he had thrown them on, and you were proven correct about the item beneath his jacket as he put the gun in the waistband of his pants. It wasn’t the most comforting sight, but it was clearly a part of his work uniform - if that’s what it was he was wearing - so you didn’t want to stress about it. Your grandfather had plenty of guns around himself, always had, so it wasn’t all together too upsetting.

“You have any allergies?” you called to him as he made his way through the living room to the stairs.

You swore you heard him chuckle before he responded.

“No,” he called back as he ascended the stairs.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

For a moment, it was like a dream. He felt anything but threatened as he walked inside to the smell of cookies baking and classic Christmas music playing in the kitchen. A pretty girl on her knees doing laundry, soon cozying up under a blanket before the fire. That same girl who, after unplanned introductions, was now making him a homemade dinner while he showered and tried to relax after the three month long mission he'd been away on. As the warm water was running down his back, the pressure of the stream beating on his sore muscles, he couldn't help but let his mind wander back to her as she waited downstairs. She seemed so kind, a trait that seemed more and more rare in the people he came across, not that he could say much. But she was lovely. She was beautiful and womanly and she had an air of innocence about her he couldn’t let go of. He tried to shake it but the thoughts of her, who she might be, how he imagined her to be soon turned to thoughts of how it’d feel to have her soft hands on his skin, rubbing out the tension where he needed her to. Doing everything she could to relax him herself. Provide him with a much needed release with just her light touch. He hadn't planned on doing it, but soon enough he was lost in the pleasure of his fist pumping his thick, hard length, images of the girl he’d only just met running through his mind. The soft shape of her body, the ampleness of her breasts, the curve of her waist and hips. He couldn’t stop his thoughts as he imagined clear as day the sight of you bouncing on his cock, your breasts in his face, his rough hands gripping your wide, fleshy hips as he helped you take all of his thick cock inside your warm, tight cunt, guiding you up and down his girthy shaft, an undeniable look of ecstasy on your pretty face. He could just imagine the dulcet moans and whimpers he could get falling from your lips before he’d have you screaming his name, crying and begging him for more.

It wasn’t long before he came hard all over himself, barely restrained growls and grunts sounding deep from his throat as his cum spurting down his cock while he stroked himself, the milky substance all over his hand as he teased himself a little longer, not wanting the fantasy to end so soon. He cursed when he couldn’t take any more and with a shiver, stopped to catch his breath for a second before he finished up. As he toweled off and began to get dressed, he could smell the new cookies you were baking from upstairs and couldn't believe you were real. How lucky he had to be to come home to someone who appeared to be literally out of his wildest dream. He didn’t know how this all worked out, but he knew he wasn’t planning on letting you slip away anytime soon. How could he?

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Still thinking about being childhood friends with Ajax and knowing him after he gained Foul Legacy

Like just sitting in his room, curled up under blankets and watching the snow fall as Foul Legacy chitters and chirps at you, hands gently holding ur face.

Foul Legacy getting sad cause as Ajax gets older n taller so does Legacy, but that means he can’t really fit in your lap anymore :(( Him trying to clamber into your lap like a big dog and he just ends up laying on you, like a big ol weighted blanket

houhh my boy, i wannaa hold his face [📺]

*slaps post* this right here is my favorite thing ever, in the history of forever

see, you're used to Snezhnaya's weather; you've lived there all your life, it's basically inevitable. but that doesn't mean that you LIKE Snezhnaya's weather- in fact, you hate it. the frigid air brings sickness no matter what time of the year, the ice makes everything slippery, and the few times it does warm up the roads are always full of slush. the only saving grace is that the snow is pretty, you just prefer watching it from inside, a sentiment which Foul Legacy shares with you. Ajax used to like dragging you outside for ice fishing on such days, but now it seems that he's more than content to let his Abyssal half take the reins, and Legacy has firmly decided that there's no better place to be than next to you, preferably with several blankets and some hot chocolate

when the time comes that Foul Legacy can't fit on your lap anymore (for the record, Ajax can't either- he can lift you up now though!!) you propose a new idea- blanket forts!! you're very good at making them and it also means that there'll be enough space for both of you. you build them near the window so you can watch the snowflakes flutter to the ground, Legacy's chin on your shoulder and arms wrapped around your waist as he purrs. he and Ajax only feel truly at peace in your presence, although it becomes more melancholic when Ajax is shipped away to the Fatui, waking up cold in the middle of the night and missing your comforting hugs... hopefully you'll be able to forgive him for leaving you behind, though he's not sure that Legacy will ever forgive himself

[soft-for-them]

The feeling of anger and the letter that caused it - Pride and Prejudice x plus size reader

Summary: You've known Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley since your were a little girl, so it's only normal for them to offer you a ride home when they spot you sad and angry at the side of the road in such cold conditions. (Can be seen as any version of Pride and Prejudice.)

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: I hoping people like this like I love this for I have a whole idea for a series where you the reader get to pick who you end up with.

“I despise that filth.” You don’t even use the word 'man' as you start to boil over into a bubbling fury of fire and flames. Your hands are clutched to your side as you walk without a chaperone down a lovely path were the trees haven’t been effect by the sudden cold of the afternoon yet just so you can rant and mumble to you hearts content without your mother hearing.

Wearing a long black warm coat, one you’d normally wear in winter but the dreary weather calls for it, a very fashionable coat to suits the regency times without making you look bulky and wide, you stomp down the pathway leaving imprints of your worn shoes onto the frosted over dirt. The high collar of your coat tickles your rounder face, the warmth it gives no match for the fiery anger that sets you face aflame with warmth.

“How dare he ever contact me with such familiarity, after all he’s done!” you roar on with a hint of sadness cracking in your voice.

The bonnet you wear on top of your head, a quiet plain but big one with a nice yellow lace ribbon holding it on your head, narrows your view to the side so you do not see a carriage riding down a road off onto the path you stand on. The path, really an old dirt road farmers use to traverse between fields, is long and winding however you could see every inch of it if you just turn your head a little to the side and see the many little roads and intersections that connect onto it.

“If I were a man then I’d challenge him to a dual.”

You’re standing well to the side of the road, brambles and old man's beard catching onto your coat along with tiny drops of last night’s rain. Any carriage can get by just fine though you’re so blinded in fury that you do not notice as a carriage pulled by two fair horses traverses by.

The reticule clutched in your left hand swings side to side as you finally see the carriage now just a bit off in the distance, you eyebrows knitting together in slight confusion as you walk on only to see that it has stopped.

You steps are slows as you ascend upon the carriage, the horses huffing out cold foggy air as they patiently wait to trot on.

As you walk up to the side you see that the ruffled thick curtains, often seen in all carriages for privacy and to block out any unwanted sunlight, are open and two faces look out at you.

One face, all happy and puppy like, leans in more his eyes wide with worry despite still having a smile on his handsome face, whilst the other man sits stoic with a look of disdain on his face (though still handsome none the less.)

Of course you know of these men, how could you not, you grew up around them even if you’re not partially good friends with them.

“Mr Bingley, Mr Darcy.” You greet in the most polite way you can.

“Miss (L/n), I beg your pardon, but may I ask why you’re out walking alone on such chilly day?” Mr Bingley asks with the most concerned voice you’ve ever heard from him, gosh, you think you see his bottom lip tremble as he asks you it.

“Just heading home.” you half lie.

Yes, you’ll ultimately have to go home but right now you’re out walking venting out your anger and sadness, it’s better to do that then to brood at home until you explode into an angry fit of hatful, but untrue, words that would hurt the feelings of you dear family.

“Why don’t we give you a lift? It is unwise to leave such kind friend out here alone.”

For a moment you contemplate arguing back to Mr Bingley, make up a proper lie to deter the ball of sunshine from insisting. But you look up into his big round eyes and reconsider, really you do.

“Mr Bingley, that is very kind but…“ you talk before you figure out a good lie to tell him.

“It's unlady like to be out alone.” Mr Darcy pipes up making you turn your head to the shadowy man.

“I think it’s more unlady like to be seen unchaperoned in the carriage of two unmarried men, Mr Darcy.”

Mr Darcy like he always is just looks at you with his long boring gaze, no more words said, only the small door to the ornate carriage opened by his hand. You let out a ghastly ‘gah’ sound mumbling ‘fine!’ to the two men before hauling yourself up into the carriage.

Mr Bingley, ever the gentleman moves over so you can sit next to him for Mr Darcy seems to be frozen in place, his eyes still lingering on you.

With all your might your try to sit closest to the window so not to bump knees or squish thighs with Mr Bingley but after the carriage starts moving again your legs start to ache from being so tensed up that your legs knock with Bingley’s. The awkwardness inside the small quarter is visible like a thick fog in the air as you smooth down your dress over your round tummy. You try to sit up as straight as you can whilst the sharp stare of Mr Darcy still stares on at you.

It takes a good fifteen minutes for a conversation to start.

“I thank you both for this ride.” You say hoping it will clear the air and thankfully it gets Mr Bingley yapping.

“No ‘thank you’ needed dear friend-“ there it is again, him calling you his friend, “- I wouldn’t wish anyone to be walking out when it’s so cold out, let alone you Miss (y/n).”

“Well-“ your cheeks warm once more but not with anger, Mr Bingley always knows how to fluster you with his kindness even though you believe he does not realise he’s doing it, “- It is rather nippy out today.”

Before Bingley can speak up once more Mr Darcy speaks up.

“What were you doing out?” for a moment it sounds like Mr Darcy cares for you, his voice wavering just a bit to sound more kind.

“I-well-I-“

Your stutter of a response gets both men looking at you with concern on their faces.

They’re a few years older than you but your mother was always friends with Mr Bingley’s mother so you’ve always known the man, thus also knowing Mr Darcy. With knowing them, with befriending Mr Darcy’s younger sister, you’ve still never really been proper friends with them, not really. But from knowing them, knowing Darcy mostly, you’ve been rolled up in scandal and sadness.

You see when you were younger, more gullible, more effected by bullies who talked about your round body like it was a bad thing, a dashing young man by the name of George Wickham came into your life only to break your heart. Years later he came back but he wasn’t interested in you, no, he was interested in the younger Georgiana Darcy. It still makes you sick to think that you so young fell for him, that you hid away and told no one of the fleeting love only for Georgiana Darcy, a friend and honorary younger sister to you, to get hurt.

Now you sit among Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley angry at the man you haven’t thought about for so long, well until today.

With wobbly hands you dig into your reticule to pull out a letter. You look at Bingley, his face sweet and kind, before shoving the letter into Darcy’s hands.

“I got this. I got it just after luncheon, I have been walking off my disdain ever since.”

Darcy’s gaze on you breaks as he uncrumples the letter which was scrunched up and shoved into you reticule like it was kindle ready for the fire. The paper is flimsy and plain, the seal most gone only leaving a red stain on the folded paper.

Darcy open it and begins to read it to himself.

“To my (Y/n),

I hope that this letter is not too informal for I know we have not spoken in a while.

I regret it, how I lead you on for so long making you think I was to propose, for you were always such a good young girl who followed the men in uniform around so merrily, I never realised the love you had for me. I suppose this letter has come to a surprise, though I had to write it for I do wonder what kind of woman you have become.

I am currently in town and wish to see you again, you and you darling family that is.

If it isn’t too rude I wish to invite you to some afternoon tea, see the address below to send confirmation, which I hope you do.

Your dearest,

George Wickham.”

Mr Darcy’s eyes fill with a rage like no other, the flame only calmed somewhat when they flick up to see your face, to connect with your eyes on the verge of tears.

“I hope Georgiana is safe-” you say weakly, “-I have not seen her in a while.”

When Mr Darcy moved into Pemberley your family had moved into a smaller manor of only five rooms just outside Lambton for your father has long passed and many of your siblings, young and old, have been married off, the money problems rising and the network of close friends also moving with it.

“She is safe (Y/n).” Fitzwilliam Darcy says handing back the letter.

“Good, good good.” your eyes travel from Darcy’s to Bingley’s, his head cocked slightly to the side in a confused look.

“Wickham is back in town.” is all you say to the bright man, his hand goes to yours in which holds the letter but he does not take it from your hand, he rather engulfs your hand with a pleasant warmth, an act to show comfort.

You know this last week has been hard for both men; Mr Bingley having fallen for the eldest Bennet daughter to only find out that she’s been married to her childhood sweetheart for the last year (though the two of them have become fine friends none the less) and Darcy having been snubbed by another Bennet daughter.

Wickham is just the icing on the cake.

The carriage pulls up to your home surrounded by farmers’ fields and small ankle deep rivers.

“Thank you both for the ride home.” you place your free hand, reticule hanging from your wrist by its dainty strap, onto Mr Bingley hand given in to tight squeeze.

“My, (Y/n) must you feel upset again then call for me instead of freezing outside.” Charles Bingley says with a vigour you’ve only seen of love-struck men.

“I will, I will.”

You rise and step out of the carriage not before nodding to Darcy and saying another full ‘goodbye’ to Bingley.

The carriage does not move until you’re safely inside and waving from the front window to the two men.