#can’t believe 2022 is almost over | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pucksandpower · 4 months ago

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Do-Over

Logan Sargeant x Andretti!Reader

Summary: Logan drowns his sorrows after being dropped by Williams and passes out in 2024 … he wakes up slightly hungover and very much in 2022 (aka the time travel fix-it fic)

Logan’s hands are shaking.

He’s staring at the email on his phone, reading it over for the third time, hoping the words will somehow rearrange themselves into something different. But they don’t. The screen doesn’t lie, and neither does the cold, detached tone of James Vowles.

Logan, I’m sorry to inform you that Williams Racing has decided to terminate your contract effective immediately. Your performance this season has not met the team’s expectations, and the decision has been made to move forward without you for the remaining races. We believe this is in the best interest of the team as a whole. You’ll find the details of the termination and the necessary steps moving forward in the attached document.

His eyes blur, and he forces himself to blink, trying to hold it together. He knows what this means — his F1 career, the thing he’s worked for his entire life, is over. And it’s not ending with a bang, but with a fucking email.

A knock on the door snaps him back to the present. He looks up, swallowing hard as James walks in without waiting for permission, just like he always does.

“Logan,” James begins, his voice calm, almost clinical. “We need to talk.”

“I got the email,” Logan mutters, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Is this really how it’s going to end?”

James’s face is unreadable. “We’ve discussed this at length. The crashes, the lack of progress … it’s just not working out. The engineers and mechanics are frustrated. We’ve been more than patient.”

Logan feels a wave of anger rising in his chest, but he pushes it down. He knows it won’t help. “So that’s it? Nine races left, and you’re just … dropping me?”

“It’s not an easy decision,” James replies, crossing his arms. “But we have to think about the team. We can’t afford any more setbacks.”

“Setbacks,” Logan echoes, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. “That’s all I am to you? A setback?”

James hesitates, his expression softening for just a moment. “Logan, you’re talented, but this sport is ruthless. You know that.”

“Don’t,” Logan snaps, his voice sharp. “Don’t try to soften the blow now. You could’ve at least told me in person, before sending the damn email.”

James sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know it seems cold, but this is the reality of Formula 1. You’ll land on your feet. You’ve got potential.”

“Potential,” Logan mutters under his breath. “That’s not going to get me back in a car, is it?”

There’s a tense silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on both of them. Logan feels like the walls are closing in, the air in the room growing thicker with each passing second.

“I’m sorry,” James says finally, and for the first time, he sounds genuine. “I really am.”

“Yeah,” Logan replies, his voice hollow. “Me too.”

James lingers for a moment, as if searching for something else to say, but there’s nothing that can fix this. Nothing that can make it right. Finally, he nods and leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

Logan stands there, staring at the door, his mind racing. This can’t be happening. It feels like some kind of nightmare, one he can’t wake up from. But the harsh reality is setting in. It’s over. All those years, all that effort, and it’s over just like that.

He sinks down onto the couch, his head in his hands. His chest feels tight, like he can’t get a full breath. He needs to get out of here, but he has no idea where to go. Where do you go when your dreams have just been crushed?

His gaze falls on the bottle of whiskey sitting on the small kitchen counter. He bought it a few years ago, intending to open it after a win that never came. The irony isn’t lost on him.

Logan pushes himself up and walks over to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle and a glass. He hesitates for a moment, then shrugs and puts the glass back. What’s the point of pretending there’s any dignity left in this?

He twists the cap off the bottle and takes a long drink, the burn of the alcohol offering a brief distraction from the pain gnawing at his insides. He leans against the counter, staring out the window at the darkening sky. How the hell did it come to this?

He’s replaying every mistake, every missed opportunity, every race where he could’ve done better. It’s a torturous cycle, one that he can’t escape. He takes another drink, then another, hoping to drown out the thoughts, to numb the ache in his chest.

But it doesn’t work. The alcohol just makes it worse, amplifying the guilt and the regret. He feels like a failure. No, he is a failure. The team didn’t even have the decency to let him finish the season. That’s how little they think of him.

The room starts to blur around the edges as the whiskey takes effect, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. He’s spiraling, and he knows it, but he doesn’t care. This is the only way he knows how to cope, the only way to forget, even if it’s just for a little while.

Hours pass, or maybe minutes — he’s lost track of time. The bottle is nearly empty now, and he’s slumped on the floor, leaning against the kitchen cabinets. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone. What’s the point?

The apartment is silent except for the occasional sound of cars passing by outside. It’s eerie, this quiet, and it makes the emptiness inside him feel even more profound.

Finally, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. The screen is cracked from a previous fall — one of many — but it still works. There are messages from friends, from his family, but he doesn’t open them. He knows what they’ll say. They’ll be supportive, encouraging, but it won’t change anything. They can’t fix this.

Instead, he opens his camera roll and scrolls through the photos. Pictures of him in the car, of the team, of moments that once meant everything to him. Now they’re just reminders of what he’s lost.

He stops on a photo of himself, taken just after he signed with Williams. He looks so damn happy, so full of hope. He barely recognizes that person now.

“What a joke,” he mutters to himself, his voice slurred. “What a fucking joke.”

He takes one last drink from the bottle, then tosses it aside, not caring as it rolls across the floor. He feels the darkness closing in, pulling him under, and for once, he doesn’t fight it. He lets it take him, lets it drown out the pain, the regret, the fear.

And as he finally drifts into unconsciousness, the last thought that crosses his mind is that maybe — just maybe — he deserves this.

***

Logan wakes with a start, his head pounding, the taste of stale whiskey thick on his tongue. He groans, squeezing his eyes shut against the assault of the light streaming through the windows. His whole body feels like it’s been put through a blender — sore, achy, heavy. But it’s not just the hangover, it’s the weight of everything, of what happened yesterday.

He takes a deep breath, bracing himself as he sits up, his hands pressing into the bed beneath him. Except, the texture’s wrong. It’s not the rough fabric of his apartment’s couch or even the smooth, cool sheets he’s used to.

Logan’s eyes snap open, and he looks around, confusion crashing over him like a cold wave. He’s not in his apartment. The walls are different — cleaner, the color a familiar light blue he hasn’t seen in years. The bed is narrow, uncomfortable, with plain white sheets. There’s a desk pushed against the far wall, a locker in the corner with his name printed on it in block letters.

This isn’t his apartment. This is … his driver’s room. The one he used when he was driving for Carlin in Formula 2.

“What the hell …” Logan mutters, running a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of it. He must still be drunk. Or maybe he’s dreaming. But no — he can feel the dull ache in his temples, the dryness in his throat, the uncomfortable press of the mattress beneath him. This is too real to be a dream.

But it doesn’t make any sense. The last thing he remembers is passing out in his apartment after finishing nearly a whole bottle of whiskey. He was a mess. He is a mess. But here he is, waking up in a place he hasn’t seen since 2022, a place that shouldn’t exist in his present reality.

Panic starts to set in. He fumbles for his phone, which is miraculously still in his pocket. The screen lights up, showing the date and time.

September 10th, 2022.

His heart stops. That’s impossible. It’s been two years. Two years since this date. His mind races, trying to piece together what the hell is happening, but nothing fits. He’s not in 2024 anymore. Somehow, he’s back in 2022.

It’s the only explanation, but it’s insane. None of this is possible. It’s not even like those vague dreams where everything’s familiar but distant. This is his life two years ago, down to the worn fabric of the team jacket hanging on the back of the door.

Before he can spiral any further, there’s a sharp knock at the door. Logan barely has time to react before it swings open, and Gary Catt, his manager, strides in with his usual briskness, already talking before the door is fully open.

“Logan, I just got off the phone with Jost Capito,” Gary says, his voice all business, not noticing Logan’s stunned expression. “Williams wants you. They want to lock you in for next season. It’s the best possible scenario. This is it, Logan — this is what we’ve been working toward.”

Logan feels like he’s been hit by a freight train. This conversation — he remembers it. It happened. Gary, standing in this very room, telling him the exact same thing, with the exact same excitement in his voice. The memory is vivid because it changed everything. It was the start of his F1 career. And also … the start of everything that led to that email.

“Logan?” Gary’s voice cuts through the fog in Logan’s mind, pulling him back to the present. “Are you even listening? This is huge, mate. You’re going to be in F1.”

Logan’s throat is dry, his mind racing with possibilities, with consequences. He remembers how he felt the first time he heard these words — pure elation, followed by a rush of nerves. But now, with the knowledge of what’s to come, all he feels is dread.

This is his chance to change things. To make sure it doesn’t end the way it did yesterday. He’s been given a do-over, a second chance, and he can’t afford to mess it up.

Logan takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “Gary,” he says, his voice rough from sleep and the alcohol, “I don’t think I should take the offer.”

Gary stops mid-stride, turning to face Logan with a look of utter disbelief. “What did you just say?”

“I don’t think I should take the offer,” Logan repeats, more firmly this time, even though his heart is pounding in his chest. “It’s too soon.”

“Too soon?” Gary looks at him like he’s just sprouted another head. “Logan, this is Williams. It’s F1. There is no such thing as ‘too soon’ when an opportunity like this comes around. What are you talking about?”

Logan stands up, pacing the small room, trying to gather his thoughts. How does he explain this without sounding completely insane? He can’t tell Gary what he knows — what he’s seen, what’s happened. But he also can’t go down the same path again. Not when he knows where it leads.

“I just … I don’t think I’m ready,” Logan says, finally turning to face Gary. “If I rush into F1 now, it could end badly. I need more time. More experience.”

Gary’s expression shifts from disbelief to concern. “Logan, listen to yourself. You’ve been preparing for this your whole life. You’re as ready as anyone can be. If you pass this up, there’s no guarantee another chance like it will come along. You know that.”

Logan shakes his head. “I know it sounds crazy, but … I have a feeling that if I take this now, it’ll be a mistake. A big one. I’ll end up in a situation where I’m not able to deliver, where the pressure is too much. And that’s not good for anyone — me, the team, my career.”

Gary is silent for a long moment, studying Logan with an intensity that makes him squirm. “Where’s this coming from? You were over the moon about this before. What changed?”

Logan hesitates, searching for the right words. “I just … I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. About what I want my career to look like. And I don’t want to be one of those drivers who gets rushed into F1 and then crashes out because they weren’t ready. I want to do it right. I want to be fully prepared.”

“You don’t get to be fully prepared in this sport,” Gary says, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “This is Formula 1. It’s sink or swim, and you know that. You’re not going to get a better opportunity than this, Logan.”

Logan feels a knot of frustration tightening in his chest. He knows Gary is right, in a way. This is F1. It’s not supposed to be easy. But he also knows that if he takes this offer, if he goes down the same road, it’ll end in disaster.

“I get that,” Logan says, his voice firm. “But I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going to take the seat. Not this time.”

Gary stares at him, his expression a mixture of shock and confusion. “Logan, this could be career suicide. You understand that, right?”

Logan nods, swallowing hard. “I do. But I’d rather take that risk than go into something I know I’m not ready for and crash out in a blaze of failure. I can’t do that. I won’t.”

Gary runs a hand over his face, clearly struggling to comprehend what’s happening. “This isn’t like you. You’re not one to back down from a challenge. Why are you doing this?”

Because I know how it ends, Logan thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud. Instead, he takes a deep breath and says, “Because I want to do this right. I want to have a long career in F1, not a short one that ends in disappointment. And to do that, I need to be smart about the choices I make now.”

Gary lets out a slow breath, clearly conflicted. “This is … I don’t even know what to say, Logan. You’re turning down a seat in F1. That’s not something you do lightly.”

“I’m not doing it lightly,” Logan assures him, though his heart is racing. “I’ve thought about this a lot, and it’s the right decision for me.”

There’s a long silence as Gary processes this. Logan can almost see the gears turning in his head, the calculations, the weighing of options. He knows how hard this must be for Gary to accept — hell, it’s hard for Logan to accept, and he’s the one making the decision. But he has to stick to his guns. He has to believe that this is the right choice.

Finally, Gary lets out a resigned sigh. “Alright, Logan. If this is really what you want, I’ll back you. But you need to understand the risks. This could close doors for you. Big ones.”

Logan nods, his stomach twisting with anxiety. “I know. But I also know that if I take this now, it could end up closing even more doors in the long run.”

Gary studies him for a long moment, then gives a slow nod. “Alright. I’ll let Jost know. But don’t expect him to be happy about it.”

Logan feels a mixture of relief and dread. “I won’t. But thanks, Gary. I know this isn’t easy.”

Gary gives him a tight smile, still clearly grappling with the decision. “No, it’s not. But you’re the one driving the car, Logan. Just make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Logan nods, watching as Gary turns and leaves the room, the door closing softly behind him. He stands there for a moment, taking in the silence, the surrealness of what just happened. He’s just turned down a seat in F1. The one thing he thought he wanted more than anything. But as the anxiety ebbs, a new feeling takes its place — determination.

This time, things are going to be different. He’s going to do it right, even if it means making the hard choices. Logan takes a deep breath, feeling a strange sense of calm settle over him. This is his second chance, and he’s not going to waste it.

***

The 2023 F2 season ends in a flurry of champagne, confetti, and flashing cameras. Logan stands on the top step of the podium, the P1 trophy clutched in his hands, a grin splitting his face. He’s done it. He’s proved to everyone — most of all to himself — that he was ready. This time, he didn’t rush, didn’t let the pressure consume him. And it’s paid off. He’s the Formula 2 Drivers’ Champion.

But as the celebration winds down and reality sets in, Logan faces a new challenge. Despite his victory, the F1 grid is full, and F2 champions can’t return to the series. He could take a reserve role, bide his time, wait for a seat to open up. But that’s not what he wants. He’s not willing to spend another year on the sidelines, waiting for an opportunity that may never come.

So when the offer from IndyCar comes, Logan doesn’t hesitate. He’s heard the stories — about the speed, the fierce competition, the thrill of racing on ovals. It’s not Formula 1, but it’s still racing at the highest level. And right now, that’s what he needs.

The decision surprises everyone. The media buzzes with speculation, but Logan remains focused. He knows what he’s doing. This is a new path, one that he’s chosen for himself, not because it was expected of him. He’s determined to make it work.

A few weeks later, Logan finds himself in the heart of Indianapolis, standing outside the office of Mario Andretti. The legendary name still carries a weight of history and reverence, even in this new world of racing. It feels surreal, like stepping into a different era of motorsport.

Inside the office, Mario is all business. The contract is laid out on the table between them, a simple piece of paper that represents Logan’s future. Mario goes over the details with the kind of thoroughness that only comes from years of experience, but Logan can barely focus. His mind is racing, thoughts darting between the past season, the unknown future, and the thrill of what he’s about to embark on.

“Everything looks good?” Mario asks, breaking Logan from his thoughts.

Logan blinks, then nods, forcing himself to concentrate. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

Mario slides the pen across the table. “Then let’s make it official.”

Logan takes the pen, feeling the weight of the moment as he signs his name at the bottom of the contract. It’s done. He’s an IndyCar driver now.

Mario nods in approval, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile. “Welcome to the team, Logan. We’re excited to have you.”

“Thank you,” Logan says, meaning it. This is a new beginning, and he’s ready for it.

They shake hands, and Mario stands, motioning towards the door. “I’d love to chat more, but I’ve got to head out. My granddaughter’s picking me up for lunch.”

Logan heads out of the office, his mind still reeling from the whirlwind of emotions. He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the person rounding the corner until it’s too late. They collide, and Logan’s first instinct is to reach out, steadying the person as they stumble backward.

“Whoa, I’m so sorry,” he blurts out, his hands gripping her arms as he helps her regain her balance.

“It’s okay,” you reply, laughing softly as you look up at him. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Logan’s breath catches in his throat as he looks down at you, the apology dying on his lips. You’re beautiful — stunning, even — with eyes that seem to sparkle with life and a smile that’s warm and inviting. For a moment, all he can do is stare, struck by how perfect you seem, like someone who’s stepped straight out of a dream.

“You alright?” You ask, tilting your head slightly as you study him.

Logan snaps out of it, quickly releasing his hold on you and stepping back. “Yeah, sorry again. I didn’t see you there.”

The door to Mario’s office opens, and the man himself steps out, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the scene. “Everything okay out here?”

You turn to your grandfather, smiling brightly. “Just a little bump, Grandpa. Nothing to worry about.”

Mario’s expression softens as he looks at you, the sternness replaced by affection. “Good. I don’t want anyone getting hurt before lunch.”

You laugh, the sound light and carefree, and Logan finds himself smiling along, despite the awkwardness of the situation.

“Logan,” Mario says, turning to him, “I’d like you to meet my granddaughter.”

Logan’s heart skips a beat. This is Mario’s granddaughter? Of course, she is. It makes sense now, the confidence in your stance, the way you carry yourself. You’re part of a racing dynasty, just like Mario.

“Logan Sargeant,” Mario continues, introducing him to you. “He’s going to be racing with us next season.”

You offer him your hand, your smile never faltering. “It’s nice to meet you, Logan. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Logan takes your hand, feeling a jolt of electricity as your fingers brush against his. “Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you too.”

You glance at Mario, then back at Logan. “We’re heading out for lunch. You should join us.”

Logan’s mind goes blank for a second, and all he can do is blink at you, trying to process what you just said. “Lunch? With you and … Mr. Andretti?”

You laugh again, and Logan thinks it might be the best sound he has ever heard. “Yeah, with us. Unless you have somewhere else you need to be?”

“No, no,” Logan stammers, trying to regain some composure. “I’d love to join you.”

Mario claps Logan on the shoulder, his laughter booming through the hallway. “Looks like you’ve made an impression already, kid. Come on, let’s get out of here before the press catches wind of this.”

Logan nods, still somewhat dazed as he follows you and Mario out of the building. His mind is a whirlwind of thoughts — about the contract he just signed, the new chapter he’s stepping into, and now, about you. He can’t quite believe his luck. Not only is he starting a new adventure in IndyCar, but he’s also just met someone who, in the span of a few minutes, has completely captivated him.

As they walk to Mario’s car, Logan steals glances at you, trying to be subtle but failing miserably. You seem so at ease, chatting with your grandfather, your laughter punctuating the conversation. There’s a lightness about you, a warmth that’s infectious, and Logan finds himself drawn to it, to you.

“Logan,” you say, turning to him as you reach the car. “So, what made you decide to join IndyCar? It’s not every day an F2 champion makes that leap.”

Logan pauses, caught off guard by the directness of your question. “Well, uh,” he begins, trying to find the right words, “I guess I just wanted something different. F1 wasn’t an option, and I didn’t want to sit around waiting for a seat to open up. IndyCar seemed like the right challenge. Something new, but still competitive.”

You nod, clearly intrigued. “That makes sense. It’s a bold move, but I think it’ll pay off.”

“Bold,” Logan repeats, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” you assure him, your eyes sparkling. “I admire people who take risks. Especially when they’re as calculated as yours seems to be.”

Mario clears his throat, a knowing grin on his face as he watches the two of you. “Alright, kids, enough shop talk. Let’s get some food.”

You and Logan exchange a smile before sliding into the back seat of the car. The conversation flows easily, despite Logan’s initial nerves. You ask him about his time in F2, what it was like racing on the different tracks, how he handled the pressure. Logan finds himself opening up more than he expected, the words coming easily under your encouraging gaze.

Mario chimes in every now and then, adding his own insights, but it’s clear he’s content to let the two of you do most of the talking. He watches with an amused glint in his eye, as if he’s already figured out something that Logan is just beginning to realize.

By the time you reach the restaurant, Logan feels like he’s known you for much longer than the short time you’ve actually spent together. There’s an ease between you that he’s rarely felt with anyone else, a connection that seems to have sparked almost instantly.

Inside the restaurant, Mario insists on taking the head of the table, leaving you and Logan to sit across from each other. As you settle in, you continue to ask Logan questions, but now they’re more personal — what does he do outside of racing? What’s his favorite movie? Does he have any hidden talents?

Logan answers as best he can, though he’s still reeling a bit from how quickly this day has turned into something he never expected. He’s just signed with IndyCar, but more than that, he’s sitting across from someone who makes his heart race faster than any car ever could.

“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Logan,” Mario says suddenly, breaking into the conversation. “I’ve seen a lot of young drivers come and go, but you … you’ve got something special. Just keep your focus, and you’ll go far.”

“Thank you, Mr. Andretti,” Logan says, his voice sincere. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

“Call me Mario,” he replies with a wave of his hand. “We’re family now, after all.”

Logan smiles, feeling a warmth spread through him at the word “family.” It’s strange, how quickly things have shifted, how he’s gone from a solitary driver trying to make his way in the world to someone who might actually belong here, in this new place, with these new people.

As the lunch continues, Logan finds himself growing more comfortable, the initial awkwardness fading away. You keep the conversation lively, sharing stories about your grandfather, about your own life, and Logan can’t help but be drawn to your passion, your intelligence, your warmth. It’s clear that you’re not just Mario Andretti’s granddaughter — you’re your own person, with your own dreams and ambitions.

Eventually, the meal winds down, and Mario excuses himself to take a phone call, leaving you and Logan alone at the table. The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, but charged, filled with the unspoken things neither of you have quite put into words yet.

“So,” you say, leaning forward slightly, a teasing smile on your lips, “what do you think of Indy so far?”

Logan grins, feeling a boldness he didn’t expect. “Well, it just got a whole lot more interesting.”

You laugh, your eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m glad to hear it. I have a feeling you’re going to fit in just fine here.”

“Yeah,” Logan says, his voice softening as he looks at you, really looks at you. “I think I am too.”

You hold his gaze, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing second. For a moment, the world outside seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you, caught in this moment that feels almost like fate.

Before the silence can stretch too long, Mario returns, his phone call finished. He glances between the two of you, his eyes twinkling with a knowing look that makes Logan’s ears burn. “Ready to head out?”

You nod, standing up and giving Logan one last, lingering smile. “It was nice meeting you, Logan. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

Logan stands as well, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. “Definitely. I’m looking forward to it.”

As you and Mario head out of the restaurant, Logan lingers for a moment, watching you go. He can’t quite believe what just happened, but one thing is certain — his life just got a lot more complicated, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

As he walks out into the bright sunlight, Logan can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face. He’s taken a leap into the unknown, and it feels like the start of something incredible.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening, vibrating through the very core of the Speedway as Logan crosses the finish line first. It’s the 107th running of the Indianapolis 500, and he’s just won it. The realization hits him like a tidal wave, almost knocking the breath out of him. He’s an Indy 500 champion. In his rookie season, no less.

The engine growls as he coasts to a stop, and for a moment, all he can do is sit there, hands trembling on the steering wheel. His heart pounds in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he lets out a breathless laugh, disbelief and elation mingling into something indescribable.

“Logan Sargeant wins the Indy 500!” The announcer’s voice echoes through the speakers, barely audible over the cheers of the crowd. He hears it, but it still feels surreal, like something out of a dream.

The pit crew rushes over, the celebration already in full swing as they haul him out of the car. He’s immediately surrounded by a sea of people — team members, media, officials — everyone wanting a piece of this historic moment. But through it all, there’s one thing on his mind. One person.

You.

He’s searching the crowd, trying to spot you among the chaos. His vision is blurred with sweat and tears, but then he sees you — pushing your way through the throng of people, a look of pure joy on your face. You’re clapping, laughing, your eyes shining with pride, and all Logan can think is how he needs to get to you.

But first, there’s tradition to uphold.

One of the crew hands him the iconic bottle of milk, the symbol of victory. Logan takes it, still in a daze, and tilts it back, taking a long swig. The cold liquid is refreshing, cutting through the heat of the moment, and he can’t help but laugh as he lowers the bottle, milk dripping down his chin.

Without hesitation, he lifts the bottle above his head and pours the rest over himself. The milk runs down his face, soaking into his race suit, and the crowd goes wild, the noise level somehow reaching new heights. He feels on top of the world — unstoppable, invincible.

And then he spots you again, closer now, just on the edge of the crowd. Logan doesn’t think, doesn’t pause to consider anything else. He just moves, pushing through the throng of people until he’s standing right in front of you.

You’re smiling up at him, eyes bright with something that makes his heart race faster than it did on the final lap. Before he can stop himself, Logan reaches out, pulls you in, and kisses you.

It’s the kind of kiss that’s been building for months — the culmination of all the moments, all the glances, all the unspoken words between you. You taste like the victory he’s just claimed, like the adrenaline that’s still pumping through his veins, like everything he’s been chasing since he first set foot in this world.

When you finally pull back, you’re both breathless, milk dripping from Logan’s face and onto yours. You laugh, and the sound is the sweetest thing he’s ever heard.

“You’re lucky I’m not lactose intolerant,” you tease, licking the milk from his lips with a grin that’s both playful and suggestive. “But honestly? It’d be worth it even if I was.”

Logan laughs, a deep, full-bodied sound that comes from a place of pure, unfiltered happiness. He feels like he’s floating, like nothing in the world could possibly bring him down from this high. Not now, not ever.

“Best win of my life,” he says, his voice rough with emotion, still holding you close, as if afraid that letting go might make this moment disappear.

You tilt your head, still smiling up at him with those eyes that have captivated him from the start. “I’d hope so,” you say softly. “You just won the Indy 500.”

He shakes his head, a playful grin on his face. “No, I mean this.” He gestures between the two of you, the words hanging in the air, heavy with meaning.

For a second, you just stare at him, the noise of the crowd fading into the background, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. And then you’re laughing, throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

This one is softer, sweeter — less about the heat of the moment and more about the connection between you, the way everything just seems to fit when you’re together. Logan loses himself in it, in you, in this moment that feels like the culmination of everything he’s ever wanted.

When you finally break apart, the noise of the crowd floods back in, the celebration continuing around you. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters except the way you’re looking at him, like he’s the only person in the world.

“Come on,” you say, tugging him towards the podium. “You’ve got a trophy to collect.”

Logan follows, still holding onto your hand, not willing to let you go just yet. The team is waiting, cheering him on, and as they hoist him up onto their shoulders, Logan realizes that this — this moment, this feeling — is what he’s been racing for all along.

Standing on the podium, the trophy in his hands, Logan looks out at the sea of faces, at the fans cheering his name, at the team celebrating their victory. But his eyes find you in the crowd, and that’s where they stay.

You’re smiling up at him, and Logan knows, deep down, that this is just the beginning. The beginning of something incredible, something he never saw coming but can’t imagine living without.

As the anthem plays and the confetti rains down, Logan lifts the trophy high, his heart full to bursting. He’s done it — he’s won the Indy 500. But more than that, he’s found something, someone, who makes all of it mean so much more.

And as he looks down at you, standing there with that bright, beautiful smile, Logan knows that he’s not just a champion. He’s the luckiest guy in the world.

***

The soft hum of the office fills the silence as Logan sits across from Mario, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. The past year has been a whirlwind — plenty of IndyCar wins, that unforgettable victory at the Indy 500, and the life he’s built with you by his side. It’s been everything he didn’t know he needed, but now, as he sits in Mario’s office, there’s an air of something significant, something life-altering in the way Mario looks at him.

Mario clears his throat, leaning forward on his desk, hands clasped. “Logan,” he begins, voice steady, serious. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking — planning, actually — and I need to talk to you about something important.”

Logan’s heart skips a beat, the weight of Mario’s words sinking in. He nods, leaning forward slightly, feeling the anticipation coil tight in his chest. “What is it?” He asks, voice steady despite the flurry of nerves.

Mario takes a deep breath, then looks Logan squarely in the eye. “We’re buying Haas F1 Team. The deal’s already in motion, and we’ll be restructuring everything from the ground up to make our entrance into Formula 1 in 2026.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Logan’s breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, he’s not sure if he’s heard Mario correctly. “Formula 1?” He echoes, almost disbelieving. His mind races, a thousand thoughts colliding at once. “You’re serious?”

“As serious as it gets,” Mario replies, his expression unwavering. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, Logan. And now, with everything coming together, it’s finally happening. But here’s the thing-” he pauses, his gaze locking onto Logan’s with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt, “I can’t think of anyone better suited to lead this team as our driver than you.”

The words hit Logan like a freight train. He stares at Mario, unable to speak, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. Formula 1 has always been the dream, the pinnacle of everything he’s worked for. The chance he thought he’d lost — twice, if he counts the strange twist of fate that had brought him here in the first place.

“Logan, I know this is a lot to take in,” Mario continues, his tone softer now, understanding. “But I believe in you. You’ve proven yourself time and time again, in F2, in IndyCar — hell, you won the Indy 500 in your first season. And I know you still have that fire for F1. This is your shot, kid. And I want you to take it.”

Logan feels the lump in his throat as Mario’s words sink in. The room seems to close in around him, the gravity of the moment pressing down like a physical weight. He’s had a lot of success in IndyCar, more than he ever imagined, and it brought him you — his reason to smile, his anchor in the storm. But Formula 1? That’s the dream he’s never fully let go of, even when he tried to convince himself otherwise.

He swallows hard, forcing the words out past the emotion threatening to choke him. “I-I don’t know what to say,” he admits, his voice thick. “I mean, this is … I didn’t think I’d ever get another chance like this.”

Mario smiles, the kind of smile that’s equal parts pride and encouragement. “I know it’s a lot, Logan. And it’s not an easy decision, especially considering everything you’ve built here in IndyCar. But I have no doubt in my mind that you’re the right person for this. You’ve got what it takes to succeed in F1, and I’m not just talking about talent. You’ve got heart, determination, and the ability to learn from your mistakes. That’s what makes a champion.”

Logan’s mind races, the possibilities spinning out in front of him. He thinks about everything he’s worked for, everything he’s achieved. And then he thinks about you — how you’ve been there with him through it all, supporting him, believing in him even when he doubted himself.

He takes a deep breath, his decision already forming in his mind, solidifying with each passing second. “Okay,” he says, meeting Mario’s gaze head-on. “I’ll do it. I want this, Mario. I want to prove to myself that I can do it right this time.”

Mario’s grin widens, and he stands up, offering Logan his hand. “Welcome to Andretti F1 Team. We’re going to do great things together.”

Logan shakes his hand, the reality of it all starting to settle in. He’s going to be a Formula 1 driver again. It’s terrifying, exhilarating, everything he’s ever wanted all over again. As he stands there, absorbing the magnitude of what’s just happened, he feels a strange mix of emotions — elation, fear, anticipation, and something else that he can’t quite name.

Mario walks him to the door, still talking about the next steps, the plans they have for the team, but Logan’s mind is half-focused on something else, someone else. As the door swings open, the conversation comes to a halt. The sight that greets them both brings a grin to Mario’s face and a burst of laughter from Logan.

You’re standing there, your ear pressed to the door, looking guilty as hell when you realize you’ve been caught. You straighten up quickly, trying to play it off, but the blush spreading across your cheeks gives you away.

“Eavesdropping, huh?” Logan teases, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. There’s a lightness in his voice that wasn’t there moments ago, the news already settling into a place of excitement rather than apprehension.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile, but failing miserably. “I, um … I might have been curious,” you admit, your eyes twinkling with mischief.

Mario chuckles, shaking his head. “Looks like we’ve got a new team spy, Logan. Better watch out.”

Logan can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. He steps out of the office, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “You know, you didn’t have to spy,” he says, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “I would’ve told you everything.”

You look up at him, your smile fading slightly as something more serious takes its place in your eyes. “I just … I wanted to know if it was good news,” you say quietly. “I know how much F1 means to you.”

Logan feels his heart clench at your words, at the sincerity in your voice. You’ve always understood him, always known what drives him, what keeps him going. He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “It’s great news,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m getting a second shot at F1, and I’m not going to mess it up this time.”

Your smile returns, bright and full of the same determination he feels. “I know you won’t,” you say confidently. “You’re going to do amazing things, Logie. And I’ll be right there with you.”

Logan’s chest tightens with emotion, the intensity of the moment overwhelming him. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m so lucky to have you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with gratitude. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You laugh softly, the sound like music to his ears. “Good thing you won’t have to find out,” you reply, your tone teasing but laced with affection.

Logan’s heart swells, and before he can stop himself, he lifts you off your feet, spinning you around in a circle. You yelp in surprise, then burst into laughter, the sound filling the hallway.

He sets you down gently, your laughter fading into a soft smile as you look up at him. There’s a moment of quiet, the world around you fading away as the reality of what’s happening sinks in. Logan leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s both tender and passionate, a promise of what’s to come.

When you finally pull back, breathless and smiling, Logan feels a sense of calm settle over him. Everything is falling into place, and for the first time in a long while, he feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

With you by his side, he knows he can face whatever comes next.

“Ready to take on the world?” You ask, your voice light but your eyes serious.

Logan grins, squeezing your hand. “As long as I’ve got you, I’m ready for anything.”

And with that, he leads you down the hallway, the future stretching out before him, bright and full of promise.

***

The sun is barely up, casting long shadows across the Albert Park Circuit, but the air is already alive with anticipation. It’s the first day of preseason testing for the 2026 Formula 1 season, and the paddock is buzzing with the usual mix of excitement and nerves.

Teams are unpacking crates, engineers are huddled over laptops, and the unmistakable scent of burning rubber is already in the air. But for Logan, walking through the paddock with you on his arm, it feels like stepping into a dream — one he’s worked too damn hard to make a reality.

He adjusts the collar of his Andretti jacket, the weight of the moment not lost on him. This is it. His second chance — though, thanks to the bizarre twist of fate, no one else knows it’s his second. Everyone around him sees a rookie, an American hopeful making his debut with Andretti’s new F1 team. But Logan knows better. He’s here with experience that no one can fathom, and he’s determined not to waste it.

As you walk beside him, your hand resting lightly on his arm, he can’t help but steal a glance at you. There’s a brightness in your eyes, a mix of pride and excitement that mirrors his own. “You okay?” He asks, squeezing your hand gently.

You look up at him and smile, the kind of smile that makes his heart do a little flip. “I’m more than okay,” you reply. “I’m with you, and we’re about to watch you live your dream. What could be better than that?”

Logan grins, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. You’ve been his rock through everything — the highs, the lows, the strange, unexplainable journey that brought him back here. He’s never been more certain that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

As you make your way through the paddock, heads turn. It’s not just because Logan is here with the legendary Andretti team, but because of the woman at his side. He catches a few curious glances, some surprised, others appreciative, and he can’t blame them. You’re a sight to behold, and he’s proud to be walking in with you.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, Logan spots a familiar face. Oscar Piastri, decked out in McLaren colors, is standing near the entrance to the pit lane, chatting with a few team members. It’s been years since they last spoke properly — back when they were both climbing the ranks in the junior series, fighting tooth and nail for every inch of track.

They were close once, but life pulled them in different directions — Oscar to McLaren, Logan to IndyCar. And now, here they are, both in Formula 1, albeit on different paths.

Logan feels a wave of nostalgia, and before he can overthink it, he’s steering you in Oscar’s direction. As you approach, Oscar looks up, and for a split second, there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes before it melts into a wide, genuine smile.

“Logan Sargeant,” Oscar says, his Australian accent as thick as ever. He steps forward, hand outstretched, and Logan takes it, shaking firmly. “I’ll be damned. You actually made it.”

Logan chuckles, the sound more relaxed than he feels. “Yeah, I guess I did. It’s been a long road, but here I am.”

Oscar’s smile widens, his grip on Logan’s hand lingering for just a moment longer. “It’s good to see you, mate. I was wondering when you’d show up in F1. Figured you were having too much fun in IndyCar to come back.”

“There was a lot to love about IndyCar,” Logan admits, glancing at you with a fond smile. “But F1 was always the dream, you know? Couldn’t pass up a chance like this.”

Oscar nods, understanding clear in his expression. “I get it. And with Andretti, no less. That’s a hell of a team to start with. You’re going to shake things up around here, I can tell.”

Logan shrugs, trying to play it cool even as his heart pounds with the reality of it all. “That’s the plan. But enough about me. How’s life at McLaren? You guys ready to give us a run for our money?”

Oscar laughs, the sound light and easy. “Always. McLaren’s been working their asses off, and I’m feeling good about this season. But don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because we’re old friends.”

Logan grins, feeling the competitive spark that’s always driven him reignite. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve gone wheel-to-wheel. I’m looking forward to it.”

Oscar’s gaze shifts to you, his curiosity evident. “And who’s this?” He asks, his tone polite but genuinely interested.

Logan’s grin softens as he looks at you. “This is my better half,” he says, his voice filled with affection. “She’s the one who keeps me sane.”

You smile at Oscar, offering your hand. “It’s great to finally meet you, Oscar. Logan’s told me a lot about you.”

Oscar shakes your hand, his smile warm and welcoming. “All good things, I hope.”

“Mostly,” you tease, throwing Logan a playful glance.

Logan laughs, feeling a lightness in his chest he hasn’t felt in a while. It’s good to be here, good to be surrounded by the familiar banter and camaraderie that he’s missed. He knows the road ahead is going to be tough — F1 is nothing if not ruthless — but with you by his side and old friends welcoming him back, he feels more ready than ever to face whatever comes his way.

Oscar steps back, his gaze shifting between the two of you. “Well, I’d better let you guys get settled in. But hey, we should catch up properly later. Maybe grab a drink after testing?”

Logan nods, appreciating the offer. “Definitely. It’s been too long.”

As Oscar walks away, Logan watches him for a moment, the memories of their shared past mingling with the excitement of the present. It’s surreal, being here again, but this time with the weight of everything he’s learned, everything he’s fought for.

You tug gently on his arm, pulling him out of his thoughts. “What are you thinking about?” You ask, your voice soft and curious.

Logan smiles down at you, squeezing your hand. “Just how different things are now,” he admits. “But in a good way. I’ve got a second shot at this, and I’m not going to waste it.”

You nod, your eyes shining with the same determination he feels. “And I’ll be right there with you, every step of the way.”

Logan feels a swell of emotion, gratitude, and love that he can’t quite put into words. Instead, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The two of you continue walking, the sounds of the paddock fading into the background as you focus on each other. The day ahead is full of unknowns — testing, strategy meetings, the inevitable pressure of proving himself — but with you by his side, Logan feels ready for anything.

As you make your way to the Andretti garage, the team members greet Logan with nods and smiles, and he can see the mix of curiosity and expectation in their eyes. They’re all in this together, building something new, something that has the potential to be great. And Logan is determined to be the driver they need, the one who can lead them to success.

You squeeze his hand, drawing his attention back to you. “You’re going to do amazing, Logan. I can feel it.”

He smiles, the confidence in your voice bolstering his own. “Thanks. I’m just glad you’re here with me.”

“Always,” you reply, your gaze unwavering.

As the day progresses, Logan finds himself falling into the rhythm of the paddock. The familiar sounds of engines roaring to life, the chatter of engineers discussing data, the focused intensity that permeates every corner — it’s like he never left. But this time, there’s a new layer to it all, a sense of belonging that he didn’t fully grasp the first time around.

He exchanges nods and brief conversations with other drivers as they pass by, some offering congratulations, others sizing him up as the new competition. It’s all part of the game, the unspoken dance of respect and rivalry that defines the sport. But through it all, Logan keeps you close, your presence grounding him in the midst of the chaos.

As the day draws to a close, Logan finds himself back in the garage, the car stripped down and the team poring over the data from the day’s sessions. He’s tired, the kind of exhaustion that comes from both physical exertion and mental focus, but it’s the good kind of tired — the kind that tells him he’s exactly where he needs to be.

You’re standing nearby, chatting with one of the engineers, your laughter mingling with the sounds of the garage. Logan watches you for a moment, a smile tugging at his lips. You’ve always had a way of fitting in, of making everyone around you feel at ease, and he’s grateful for that — for you.

As if sensing his gaze, you look over at him and smile, that familiar warmth in your eyes. You make your way over to him, and when you reach him, Logan pulls you into his arms, holding you close. The noise of the garage fades into the background, leaving just the two of you in this moment.

“You did great today,” you say.

Logan holds you a little tighter, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he murmurs.

You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of pride and affection. “You’re the one out there driving, Logan. But I’m glad I can be here for you.”

He smiles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “It means everything to me that you are,” he whispers.

For a moment, the chaos of the garage and the world outside fades, leaving just the two of you standing together, ready to face whatever comes next. Logan knows the road ahead won’t be easy, but with you by his side, he’s more than ready to take on the challenge.

***

The media room is buzzing with the usual pre-race energy, a mix of nerves and excitement crackling in the air as the drivers settle in behind the table. Logan’s seated between Oscar and Charles, the bright lights overhead casting sharp shadows across their faces. The backdrop behind them, plastered with sponsor logos and the official F1 emblem, feels almost like a stage, the press in front of them the audience waiting for their performance.

Logan shifts in his seat, glancing down at the bottled water in front of him. The press conference has been the usual mix of questions so far — how the cars are handling, expectations for the season, the general camaraderie between the drivers. But there’s an undercurrent, a sense that something more pointed is coming.

A journalist from the back finally stands, her voice clear and direct as she catches Logan’s attention. “Logan,” she begins, holding her recorder up, “there’s been some observation that every time you see James Vowles, your expression seems to … change. Almost like you’re not too thrilled to be around him. Any comment on that?”

There’s a moment of silence in the room, a collective breath held. Logan feels the gaze of every person on him, including the drivers beside him. He lets out a quiet laugh, trying to play it cool, but he can’t help the way his mind flashes back to the last time he’d faced Vowles, the man’s condescending tone, the cold dismissal that had sent him spiraling.

Oscar shifts beside him, giving him a sideways glance, probably wondering where this is going. Logan catches the edge of his own reflection in the shiny surface of the table and forces his expression into something neutral, even though the old bitterness is clawing its way up from the pit of his stomach.

“Bad vibes,” Logan says finally, his voice carrying just enough humor to keep it light, though there’s an unmistakable edge to it. “That’s what my girlfriend would say. He just … gives off bad vibes.”

There’s a ripple of laughter through the room, the tension breaking slightly. But the journalist isn’t done yet. “Bad vibes? Care to elaborate on that?”

Logan shrugs, trying to brush it off with a casualness he doesn’t quite feel. “You know, it’s one of those things. Sometimes you just don’t click with someone, right? It’s nothing serious.”

Charles, on his other side, leans into his mic, flashing a grin. “You’re not going to make us all paranoid about our vibes now, are you?”

The room laughs again, and Logan takes the opportunity to sip his water, hoping the moment will pass. But he can feel the weight of the past pressing against him, the memories of how it all went down before he’d found himself in this second chance. He knows better than anyone that this sport is a game of perceptions, of how you carry yourself, and he can’t afford to let the past taint his future.

Another journalist jumps in, steering the conversation toward safer waters — questions about the new car, how he’s adjusting to the Andretti team. Logan answers on autopilot, the usual lines about feeling confident, about how the team has been amazing. But in the back of his mind, he’s still thinking about that flash of disgust he couldn’t hide, the way his skin prickled when he saw Vowles earlier that day.

When the press conference finally wraps up, and the drivers are ushered out of the room, Oscar hangs back, falling into step beside Logan as they head toward the paddock. “So,” Oscar starts, keeping his voice low, “bad vibes, huh?”

Logan lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “You know how it is,” he says, trying to keep it light, though he knows Oscar can see right through him.

Oscar just nods, not pushing any further, and Logan’s grateful for that. They walk in silence for a moment, the din of the paddock growing louder as they approach, engineers and team members bustling around them.

“Honestly, mate,” Oscar says after a beat, “if anyone’s going to bring some good vibes into F1, it’s you. I’m glad you’re here.”

Logan glances over, and there’s sincerity in Oscar’s expression that makes Logan’s chest tighten, the weight of everything he’s carried with him lightening just a bit. “Thanks, Oscar. That means a lot.”

They reach the Andretti motorhome, where you’re waiting for Logan, your eyes lighting up the moment you spot him. He feels a warmth spread through him at the sight, a reminder of what really matters.

You push off the wall you’d been leaning against, falling into step beside him. “So, how’d it go in there?”

Logan smirks, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as they walk. “Let’s just say my reputation for honesty might have gotten a bit more solidified.”

You tilt your head up at him, a teasing glint in your eyes. “That bad, huh?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Not bad, just … honest.”

You glance at Oscar, who’s still walking beside you, and give him a knowing look. “He always has to make things interesting, doesn’t he?”

Oscar grins, nodding in agreement. “Never a dull moment with this one.”

As you make your way back into the motorhome, Logan feels the tension of the day starting to ebb away. The familiar scent of coffee and fuel, the low hum of conversations around him, and the comforting presence of you by his side — it all feels right. Despite everything, he knows this is where he belongs.

Once inside, the motorhome offers a brief respite from the chaotic energy outside. The team is prepping for final checks, and Logan knows he should be focusing on the task ahead, but there’s something nagging at him, a need to explain himself, to make sure you understand.

You catch the way his brows furrow slightly, the way his grip on your shoulder tightens for a moment before he lets go. “What’s up?”

He hesitates, running a hand through his hair, looking for the right words. “I just … I don’t want to come off like I’m carrying a grudge or anything. That comment about Vowles — it probably sounded harsher than I meant it.”

You step closer, your hand finding his, grounding him. “Logan, it’s okay. Everyone has people they don’t vibe with. It doesn’t mean anything more than that.”

He nods, the tightness in his chest loosening as he looks into your eyes, seeing the unwavering support there. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

You smile, squeezing his hand. “It’s a gift. Plus, you make it easy.”

Oscar clears his throat, and both of you look over to see him trying not to grin. “I’m going to leave you two to it. Just don’t forget we have a race to focus on.”

Logan laughs, shaking his head as Oscar heads out. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll be right out.”

When Oscar’s gone, Logan turns back to you, his expression softening. “Thanks for being here. Really.”

You lean up, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Always.”

As you both make your way out to the garage, the sounds of the team preparing for the weekend reach your ears, and Logan feels that familiar rush of adrenaline, the anticipation of what’s to come. The memory of the press conference, of Vowles, fades into the background. What matters now is the race ahead, the chance to prove himself once again, and the knowledge that whatever happens, you’re right there with him.

He glances over at you as they approach the car, and you catch him staring, raising an eyebrow in question. “What?”

Logan just smiles, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

You roll your eyes, though there’s a smile playing on your lips. “You better believe it, Sargeant. Now, go out there and show them what you’ve got.”

He nods, feeling more centered than he has all day. With a final squeeze of your hand, he steps into the garage, ready to take on whatever comes next, knowing that no matter what happens on the track, he’s already won in the ways that truly matter.

***

The roar of the engines reverberates through the paddock, a constant hum that thrums in Logan’s chest as he steps into the Andretti garage. It’s yet another race weekend, and the energy is electric, a mix of anticipation and nerves hanging in the air.

The team is buzzing around him, mechanics fine-tuning the car, engineers buried in data, but Logan’s focus is on the familiar figure leaning casually against the back wall, arms crossed, watching the hustle with an almost serene smile.

Logan stops in his tracks, eyebrows raising in surprise. It’s not that Mario isn’t around — he’s a constant presence in the team, always keeping an eye on things — but he usually doesn’t show up this early in the weekend, and certainly not with that look on his face.

It’s a smile Logan recognizes all too well, a mix of pride and mischief that means only one thing: Mario knows something that everyone else doesn’t, and it’s going to shake things up.

Logan weaves his way through the garage, sidestepping the organized chaos until he’s standing in front of Mario. “You look like you’re up to something,” Logan says, crossing his arms to mirror the older man’s posture. “What’s going on?”

Mario’s smile widens just a fraction, his eyes glinting with a secret. “Now, what makes you think I’m up to anything, kid?”

Logan chuckles, shaking his head. “Because I know that look. You’ve got news.”

Mario doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he pushes off the wall and motions for Logan to follow him to a quieter corner of the garage, away from the prying eyes and ears of the rest of the team. Logan follows, his curiosity piqued. Whatever Mario’s about to tell him, it’s big.

When they’re sufficiently out of earshot, Mario leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You remember how I told you a while back that we were working on something big for the team?”

Logan nods, his interest fully captured. “Yeah. What’s up?”

Mario’s smile turns almost wicked. “Well, it seems that James Vowles and Williams think they’re going to secure Adrian Newey for next season.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly. Newey is a legend in the sport, the kind of designer who can turn a good team into a championship-winning one. If Williams were to get him, it would be a game-changer. “Wait, you said they think they’re going to get him?”

“Exactly.” Mario’s grin is practically gleeful now. “What they don’t know is that Adrian’s already in talks with us. In fact, we’re just about ready to sign the deal.”

Logan lets out a low whistle, the magnitude of the news sinking in. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious. By this time next week, Adrian Newey will be working for Andretti.”

Logan can’t help the wide smile that spreads across his face. This is huge, a move that will send shockwaves through the paddock. With Newey on board, Andretti’s chances of becoming a front-runner in F1 just skyrocketed. “I can’t believe it,” Logan says, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s going to change everything.”

Mario nods, satisfaction evident in his expression. “It’s a big deal, no doubt about it. But we’ve still got work to do. We can’t get complacent, not with what’s at stake. But this … this is a big step in the right direction.”

Logan’s mind is already racing ahead, thinking about what this means for the team, for his own career. The idea of driving a car designed by Newey is almost surreal. “When are you going to announce it?”

“Not until everything’s signed and sealed,” Mario replies. “But once it’s done, we’ll make sure the whole world knows. And Williams … well, they’re in for a nasty surprise.”

Logan laughs, the sound coming out more exhilarated than he intended. The idea of one-upping Vowles, especially after everything that’s happened between them, is deeply satisfying. “I can’t wait to see the look on Vowles’ face when he finds out.”

Mario pats Logan on the shoulder, the gesture filled with a camaraderie that Logan has come to cherish. “Neither can I, kid. Neither can I.”

As they walk back towards the main part of the garage, Logan’s mind is still reeling from the news. He’s been focused on the present, on making sure he performs at his best every time he’s out on the track, but this … this opens up a whole new realm of possibilities. With Newey on board, there’s no telling what they can achieve.

When you spot him from across the garage, the look on his face must give away that something’s up because you immediately make your way over, your expression curious. “What’s going on?” You ask as soon as you’re close enough.

Logan glances around, making sure no one is within earshot, and then leans in, his voice low. “Mario just dropped a bombshell. Andretti’s about to sign Adrian Newey.”

Your eyes widen in shock, and Logan watches as a grin spreads across your face, mirroring his own excitement. “No way. That’s … huge!”

“I know,” Logan says, still barely able to believe it himself. “This changes everything.”

You reach out, placing a hand on his arm, your voice filled with pride. “You’re going to be driving a car designed by Newey. Do you realize how amazing that is?”

Logan nods, the reality of it finally sinking in. “Yeah, I do. It’s … I can’t even put it into words.”

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You don’t have to. I can see it on your face.”

For a moment, Logan just stands there, soaking it all in. The garage is still bustling around them, the team oblivious to the monumental news that’s just been dropped in their laps. But Logan knows that soon enough, everything is going to change. This is the kind of move that can define a career, that can take a team from being contenders to being champions.

But more than that, it’s a chance for redemption. A chance to prove to everyone — including himself — that he belongs here, that he’s capable of more than anyone ever gave him credit for. The past is behind him now, and with you by his side, and Newey in the garage, the future looks brighter than ever.

Logan glances over at you, seeing the pride and excitement in your eyes, and feels a surge of gratitude. For the second chance he’s been given, for the team that believes in him, and for you, the person who’s been there through it all.

“We’re going to do something amazing, you know that?” Logan says, his voice filled with conviction.

You nod, your smile soft but full of certainty. “I know. And I can’t wait to see it.”

Neither can Logan.

***

Logan’s heart is still pounding from the rush of the race as he stands on the podium, feeling the weight of the Miami sun on his shoulders. The crowd roars below him, a sea of red, white, and blue as far as the eye can see, their energy pulsing through his veins. He can hardly believe it. A podium at his home race, in front of a crowd that feels like family, is something he’d dreamed about since he was a kid.

He turns, looking out over the crowd, his eyes scanning for you. You’re there, as you always are, standing with the Andretti team, your smile brighter than the sun. The mechanics are cheering, patting each other on the back, but Logan only has eyes for you. It’s like everything else falls away — the noise, the cameras, the pressure of the season — all of it fades into the background. All that matters is the way you’re looking at him, like he’s your entire world.

He takes a deep breath, the realization of what he’s about to do washing over him. His hands shake, just slightly, as he reaches up and touches the chain around his neck, feeling the weight of the ring that’s been hidden there for weeks, waiting for this moment.

Without another thought, he drops to one knee, right there on the podium. The world seems to stop as he looks up at you, the crowd going silent in his mind. He hears the sharp intake of breath from the Andretti crew, sees the shock on your face as you register what’s happening.

“Hey,” he says, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. “I … I don’t know if I can put into words what you mean to me. You’ve been with me through everything — the wins, the losses, the crazy twists and turns. And I can’t imagine going through any of it without you by my side.” He pauses, the weight of the moment sinking in. “So I guess what I’m trying to say is … will you marry me?”

Your eyes widen, and for a second, you’re frozen in place, staring at him in disbelief. Then, as if breaking free from a spell, you laugh, a sound that’s pure joy, and nod vigorously. The next thing Logan knows, you’re being lifted onto the podium by the mechanics, tears of happiness streaming down your face as you launch yourself into his arms.

“Yes,” you say, your voice trembling with emotion. “Yes, of course, I will!”

The crowd erupts into cheers, the noise deafening as Logan slides the ring onto your finger. He pulls you close, his lips finding yours in a kiss that tastes like victory, love, and everything good in the world. The mechanics are going wild, chanting your names, and someone — Logan thinks it might be Mario — pops open a bottle of champagne, spraying it over everyone.

It’s chaotic, it’s perfect, and it’s a moment that Logan knows he’ll remember for the rest of his life. As he holds you close, feeling the warmth of your body against his, he realizes that this — right here, with you in his arms, and his home crowd cheering around him — is the true victory. The rest is just a bonus.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. “You know,” he says, his voice low so only you can hear, “I always knew I was lucky. But this … this is something else entirely.”

You smile, the kind of smile that makes his heart skip a beat, and lean in to kiss him again. “We’re both lucky, Logan,” you whisper against his lips. “And this is just the beginning.”

***

The paddock is buzzing with activity, the hum of engines and the chatter of mechanics creating a familiar symphony that Logan finds oddly comforting. It’s the start of another race weekend, but this one feels different. There’s an undercurrent of excitement in the air, a mix of nerves and anticipation that has nothing to do with the cars or the track.

Logan slips away from the Andretti garage, his eyes scanning the bustling paddock as he makes his way toward the Williams garage. He’s done his best to stay clear of them ever since re-entering Formula 1, but today is different. Today, he has a reason to be there — a reason that brings a small, almost mischievous smile to his lips.

The Williams garage is a flurry of motion, mechanics and engineers huddled over laptops, surrounded by toolboxes and tires. The sight brings a wave of nostalgia crashing over Logan, but he quickly pushes it aside. He isn’t here for a trip down memory lane.

Spotting Alex Albon near the back, Logan weaves through the chaos, his steps light and easy despite the tension he can feel crawling up his spine. Alex is engrossed in a conversation with his race engineer, but when Logan steps up, he looks up in surprise.

“Logan!” Alex greets, his face splitting into a wide grin. “What are you doing here? Slumming it with the backmarkers?”

“Something like that,” Logan replies, his tone light as he pulls a small, cream-colored envelope from his jacket pocket. He hands it to Alex, who takes it with a curious tilt of his head. “Figured I should deliver this in person.”

Alex flips the envelope over, his eyes widening slightly as he reads the names printed in elegant script on the front — his and Lily’s. He breaks into a grin, already understanding what it is before he even opens it.

“No way,” Alex says, pulling out the invitation and quickly scanning the details. “You’re really doing it, huh? Getting hitched?”

Logan chuckles, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at the thought. “Yeah, we are. And we’d love for you and Lily to be there.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Alex replies, his grin softening into something more sincere. “Congrats, man. You two are great together.”

Logan nods, grateful for the genuine well-wishes. He’s about to say something else when a flicker of movement catches his eye. Glancing up, he sees James Vowles standing a few feet away, his expression unreadable as he watches the exchange between Logan and Alex.

For a brief moment, the past rushes back — the frustration, the disappointment, the sense of being discarded like a broken part. Logan feels a familiar pang of bitterness, but he quickly tamps it down. He isn’t that person anymore. He’s moved on, and he’s got better things — better people — in his life now.

Still, he can’t help himself.

He meets James’ gaze head-on, his smile shifting into something a bit more pointed, more deliberate. “Oh, James?” He says, his voice carrying just enough to be heard over the noise of the garage. “Seems like your invitation must’ve gotten lost in the mail. Real shame.”

James’ eyes narrow slightly, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t respond. The tension between them is almost tangible, thickening the air around them. Logan holds his gaze for a moment longer, then shrugs exaggeratingly before turning his attention back to Alex.

“Anyway, hope to see you there,” Logan says, clapping Alex on the shoulder before stepping back. “Tell Lily we’re looking forward to it.”

“Will do,” Alex replies, still smiling but with a touch of unease as he glances between Logan and James.

Logan doesn’t linger. He turns on his heel and strides back through the garage, the small, satisfied grin still tugging at his lips. He can feel James’ eyes boring into his back, but he doesn’t care. Let him stew, Logan thinks. He’s got more important things on his mind.

As he exits the garage and steps back into the sun-drenched paddock, Logan takes a deep breath, feeling lighter, freer. The thought of the wedding, of you waiting for him back in the Andretti garage, fills him with a sense of contentment that he never thought he’d find in the world of Formula 1.

He spots you before you see him, standing with Mario and a few other Andretti team members, animatedly talking about something. Your laughter rings out over the noise of the paddock, and Logan feels his heart swell with affection.

It’s funny how things work out, he thinks. How life has a way of surprising you, of turning things around when you least expect it. He’s come a long way from that lost, angry kid who thought he’d never get a second chance. And now, here he is, standing on the cusp of a future that’s brighter than anything he could have imagined.

He picks up his pace, eager to get back to you, to tell you about the exchange with Alex and the little jab he couldn’t resist throwing at James. But as he draws closer, you turn and catch sight of him, your face lighting up in a way that makes his breath catch in his throat.

“Hey, you,” you call out, stepping away from the group to meet him halfway. “Did you get it done?”

Logan nods, a grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, I did. Alex and Lily are in.”

“And Vowles?” You ask, a knowing glint in your eyes.

Logan chuckles, slipping an arm around your waist as he leans in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Let’s just say … he didn’t make the cut.”

You laugh, the sound pure and full of joy, and it’s the best thing Logan’s heard all day. “Good. You don’t need that kind of negativity at our wedding.”

“No, I don’t,” Logan agrees, feeling a rush of relief that you’re by his side, making even the most awkward encounters bearable. “And anyway, we’ve got more than enough people who actually care about us.”

You nod, your expression softening as you look up at him. “Yeah, we do. And I can’t wait to celebrate with them — with you.”

Logan feels a warmth spread through him, the same warmth he’s felt ever since the day he realized just how much you meant to him. It’s a feeling that never gets old, no matter how many podiums or victories he racks up. Because at the end of the day, it’s moments like this — simple, shared moments with you — that matter the most.

As the two of you head back toward the Andretti garage, Logan can’t help but think about how far he’s come. From the chaos of that first season in Formula 1, the heartbreak of being dropped, to the wild success of his time in IndyCar, and now, back in the sport he loves, with you by his side.

He knows there will be more challenges ahead — there always are in this world. But for now, he’s content to focus on the here and now, on the love he’s found and the life he’s building with you.

And as you walk together through the paddock, the sun casting long shadows on the ground, Logan can’t help but feel like the luckiest guy in the world. Not because of the cars, or the fame, or even the victories, but because of you — because you’re the one thing in his life that makes all the twists and turns worth it.

And he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening, a wall of sound that crashes against Logan as he stands on top of the podium. His hands grip the trophy tightly, the cold metal grounding him as the reality of it all sinks in. He’s done it. Logan Sargeant, the kid from Florida who almost lost everything, is now the World Drivers’ Champion.

The first American to do so since Mario Andretti himself.

He’s fought hard for this moment, clawed his way back from the brink of obscurity, and now here he is, at the pinnacle of motorsport. The champagne sprays around him, but all Logan can focus on is the sight of you, beaming up at him from the edge of the podium. You’re standing beside Mario, who’s wearing a grin as wide as Logan’s ever seen. You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, hands clasped together, eyes sparkling with a mix of pride and joy.

He barely registers the other drivers beside him, the interviews, or the flashes of cameras. Everything narrows to you and the overwhelming sense of accomplishment swelling in his chest. You’ve been there through it all, from the moment he took that leap of faith into IndyCar, to the sleepless nights before his first season back in Formula 1. Every high and every low has led to this, and you’ve never wavered.

Logan can’t help the way his gaze shifts slightly to the left, where James Vowles stands at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. There’s a tightness to his expression, a bitterness that Logan recognizes all too well.

But as much as he’d love to revel in that small victory, he finds that he doesn’t care. Not really. The vindication is sweet, sure, but it pales in comparison to the sight of you and the emotions radiating from you like the warmest of suns.

You notice him looking at you, and you blow him a kiss, laughing when he pretends to catch it, holding it to his chest. There’s no place he’d rather be than right here, right now, with you by his side.

The ceremony starts to wrap up, and as the photographers move in closer for shots, Logan can see Mario nudging you forward. You’re waving your hands at your grandfather, as if to say no, you’re fine where you are, but Mario’s having none of it. The mechanics and team members part to let you through, and Logan watches with an ever-growing smile as you finally make your way up onto the podium.

When you reach him, Logan pulls you into his arms without hesitation, lifting you off your feet as the crowd goes wild. He spins you around, feeling the way you cling to him, your laughter ringing out in his ear.

“You did it,” you say when he finally sets you down, your voice thick with emotion.

“No,” Logan corrects, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “We did it.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s no hiding the way your eyes glisten. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love me for it,” Logan teases, leaning in to press his forehead against yours.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I really do.”

The moment is interrupted by Mario clearing his throat, and Logan turns to see him holding a bottle of champagne, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Now, are we celebrating or what?”

Logan laughs, grabbing the bottle and popping the cork, spraying the contents over you and Mario, who both shout in surprise. The rest of the team quickly follows suit, and soon, the podium is a chaotic mess of laughter, champagne, and pure, unfiltered joy.

As the celebrations continue around him, Logan takes a step back, watching the scene unfold. His heart swells with a sense of contentment he’s never felt before. He’s always been driven, always had his eyes set on the next goal, the next race, the next win. But standing here, with you by his side, he realizes that he’s found something even more important than all of that.

He’s found a home.

A family.

And he’s never letting go.

The night carries on in a blur of congratulatory hugs, media obligations, and team celebrations. But as the crowd starts to thin and the energy begins to mellow, Logan finds himself sitting on the edge of the podium, his legs dangling off the side. The cool night air brushes against his skin, the sounds of the city in the distance providing a soft backdrop to the dwindling celebrations.

You find him there, sitting in silence, and without a word, you join him. You lean into his side, and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close.

“It’s still sinking in,” Logan admits after a while. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this feeling.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, your eyes filled with warmth. “You’ve earned it, Logan. Every single bit of it. Don’t ever doubt that.”

He nods, resting his chin on top of your head. “It just feels … surreal. Like I’m living in a dream.”

“Well, if this is a dream,” you say, a mischievous smile playing on your lips, “then it’s one I never want to wake up from.”

Logan chuckles softly, his heart swelling with affection. “You and me both.”

The two of you sit there in comfortable silence, watching as the final remnants of the celebration begin to fade. The stadium lights dim, and the night sky takes over, a blanket of stars twinkling above you. It’s peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos of the day, and Logan can’t help but feel grateful for this quiet moment with you.

“I used to think winning was everything,” Logan says after a while, his voice barely above a whisper. “That nothing else mattered as long as I crossed the finish line first.”

“And now?” You ask, your tone gentle, inviting him to continue.

“Now I know that it’s not just about the win,” Logan replies, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “It’s about the journey. The people who stand by you, who lift you up when you’re down, who make the victories sweeter and the losses bearable. It’s about finding something worth fighting for, and never letting go of it.”

You smile, your fingers intertwining with his. “Sounds like you’ve learned a lot.”

Logan nods, turning his head to look at you. “I have. And it’s all because of you.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I think you’re giving me too much credit.”

“Not at all,” Logan says, his voice firm. “You’ve been my rock, my anchor. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

You look at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “Logan …”

“I mean it,” he says, his voice gentle yet unwavering. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You don’t respond with words; instead, you lean in, capturing his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. It’s a kiss filled with promises, with unspoken words, and with a love that has grown stronger with every challenge, every victory, every moment shared.

When you finally pull away, Logan rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his heart full. “I love you,” he whispers, the words carrying the weight of all he feels.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice just as soft, just as full of emotion.

The world fades away as the two of you sit there, wrapped up in each other. Logan knows that there will be more challenges ahead, more races to win, more obstacles to overcome. But as long as he has you by his side, he knows that he can face anything.

Because, in the end, it’s not just about the racing. It’s about the people who make it all worthwhile.

And for Logan Sargeant, that person is you.

As the night deepens and the city quiets, Logan realizes that this is just the beginning. The beginning of a new chapter, a new journey, with you right beside him. And whatever the future holds, he knows one thing for certain:

He’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

And with you, he’s already won.

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silverthehedgehogcharacteristics · 1 month ago

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Silver the Hedgehog Key Characteristics

Strong Sense of Justice: Silver is a righteous hedgehog of justice that is outraged by suffering and devastation. Seeks to settle scores(Sonic Forces, IDW Sonic) to get back for those that have been wronged and make evildoers pay for what they’ve done. Is very confrontational because of this as he has zero tolerance for injustices or things like breaking promises and will quickly take on anyone or anything to right wrongs and help those in need, however “His wish is to maintain peace, not to eradicate evil”(Sonic Channel). Silver wants to become a hero because it means being someone that can “protect smiles”(Sonic & Silver).

Optimism: Silver is an optimist and embodies hope just as Sonic embodies freedom. He always looks to a brighter outcome, does not give into despair no matter how dire the situation and believes “There’s always hope as long as you don’t give it up”(JP Sonic Forces quote). Inspires hope in others during dark times(Sonic 06 last episode, Sonic Forces, helping Elise through her performance anxiety in Otherworld Comedy) and spreads happiness during peaceful times as he is said to engage in Cheerful Activities after the historical change in 06(Sonic & Silver). If he is down it does not take much to bring him back up(Sonic Rivals 2). Silver has a positive way of life that inspires people and makes them want to cheer him on(Sonic Channel).

Kindness: Silver is an Altruist with a strong desire to help others and is always thinking of someone else’s happiness rather than his own(Sonic & Silver). Silver wants to “protect smiles” and make people happy because he grew up in a world filled with despair. His altruism is the source of his mission and the only thing that can make him break from it as he can’t say no to a sad face or ignore those in need. Silver actively does things like serving apple slices(Wallpaper Comedy 2022) and giving gifts as Santa(Sonic Pict) because his greatest joy is seeing smiles. Silver put the spirit of the pilot Renzo to rest by pretending to be an airplane for him in Town Mission 4. Silver is selfless and acts for others, he has no regard for his own safety and is willing to sacrifice himself without even thinking(Sonic Comic Pumpkin Trigger). When Eggman attacks in Sonic Comic Act Final Stage, Silver instantly acts to shield everyone.

Honest: Silver is a pure and genuine person that is very Forthright, Straightforward and Honest to a fault to the point of being blunt. He can’t tell a lie, wears his heart on his sleeve and has an “Honest, unpretentious and kind demeanor”(Sonic Channel Staff Column). Silver is very humble and does not think of himself as a hero(Sonic & Silver). Silver is an Enhancer(someone that is determined and simple, never lies, hides nothing, is straightforward in their actions and thinking, whose words and actions are often dominated by their feelings and is very focused on their goals),

Brash: Silver has a brash and flippant personality that is even more brash than Sonic’s(even Sonic says Silver has an attitude in Sonic Rivals). Silver is so straightforward and honest that he is also rude and blunt. He has no filter and will call you an idiot to your face if he thinks you’re an idiot and is so direct that he can often ignore manners and social customs(06 NPC dialogue, Sonic Rivals series). Silver is very snappy, abrasive and sarcastic, being quick to insult or sneer at any opposition(06, Rivals series, Riders Zero Gravity, Olympic Games, Eggman’s theme park in Colors DS). Has a confident, somewhat smug attitude about his abilities and is very Competitive(almost fights Blaze when they start one-upping each other over who could deal with Orbot and Cubot on their own in Colors DS). Silver is said to have Mischievous Side(Sonic Channel Commemorative Illustration series). Silver is Headstrong(almost fights Blaze when she treats him like an amateur in Otherworld Comedy) and can be quick to start fights for both serious and petty reasons(Colors DS, Rivals series, Jet and Bowser Jr in Mario and Sonic, Infinite in Forces). Silver is very ill-mannered in general which is more apparent in Japanese where he has various informal rude mannerisms including using “Ore”(informal masculine “I”), “Anta”(Impolite “you”) that signifies he speaks bluntly, pointing directly at people he speaks to(confrontational gesture) and crossing his legs while sitting(roughly the Japanese equivalent to putting your feet on a table). Silver is rash and impolite in contrast to Future Trunks. Silver’s blunt rudeness, honesty and overall traits are the complete opposite of Eggman Nega’s over-politeness, deception and overall traits. Despite this however Silver is still outgoing and approachable.

Naive: Silver has a black and white perspective and is innocent in his ideals. Expects people to believe him when he says he’s from the future or explains outlandish situations simply because he knows them to be true(Which causes people to not believe him). Sometimes takes things literally and doesn’t understand jokes but has an angry “What’s so funny” attitude when he doesn’t understand things(Says “Yes, why?” when Espio asks “you want me to believe that?” in Sonic Rivals 2 and “What’s so funny” when he didn’t understand people what people were laughing at in Otherworld Comedy). Silver is young and immature according to Shun Nakamura.

Emotional: Emotionally immature, unregulated and unfiltered. Sometimes Silver tends to deal with things too head-on because of the strength of his feelings, or he tends to take everything on himself, which can make him reckless and rash/impulsive(In the Japanese version of 06 Blaze describes him as running wild rather than insecure). Short-tempered, easily angered and has a wrathful temper like Blaze. Gets indignant when people don’t listen to him(Sonic Channel) and punches things when he is frustrated(06, Mario & Sonic series). Feels joy and rage loudly but sadness and contemplation quietly. Silver is generally High-Spirited, puts his all into what he gets invested in(I’m giving this everything I’ve got!). Can get carried away or needs to be calmed down/held back when he gets riled up. Silver is hot-blooded and rash while Sonic and Shadow are calm and cool(Sonic & Silver Sonic Channel story).

Peace: Silver lives and fights for World Peace. Silver is devoted to peace because he hails from a hellish ruined future that was filled with darkness, devastation and suffering. Silver has great empathy for the state of both people and environments so devastation saddens and upsets him while beauty and prosperity leaves him breathless. Blue Skies and Smiles are especially important to him, blue skies make him feel at peace, and he can’t help but smile when seeing smiling faces. The quills on Silver’s head are patterned in the shape of a Japanese Red Maple Leaf which represents peace and prosperity.

Sentimental: Silver is also very Sentimental. He finds great beauty in nature and serenely appreciates both the wonders of the world and the little things that most people take for granted. Silver enjoys sightseeing and going on journeys(Sonic Colors DS, Olympic Games, Sonic Pict) because of this. Silver relaxes and chats with his friends during downtime(Sonic & Silver). Silver has a somewhat wide-eyed curiosity and likes seeing cool and interesting things(“Interesting”). Silver feels serene and at peace when seeing nature, happiness and prosperity. This side of him ties into his peace themes due to his ability to appreciate beauty and serenity which the Momiji/Japanese Red Maple also represents.

Fighter: Fought and struggled for half his lifetime(possibly since he was Cream’s age) through the disaster future(Sonic & Silver). Silver hails from an extremely hostile environment filled with darkness, large Iblis enemies and constant disasters. He has high aggression because of this and has very intense determined expressions and aggressive body language with constant fists even during competitions or just tasks he's focused on. Silver has angular sharp pointed eyes like Sonic’s other rivals which represent intensity and danger in character design. Shadow describes Silver as a Fighter in Team Sonic Racing. Silver is extremely powerful being able to evenly physically fight Sonic and Shadow to a standstill in 06 and the Rivals series, and repeatedly destroy both the gigantic Iblis and small armies by himself in 06 and Sonic Pict. Silver both Enjoys Fighting and has an Instant fight response when surprised in Sonic Generations. Silver “sometimes calls forth great power without mercy”(Sonic Channel).

Determination: Silver has relentless Determination that allowed him to fight through the apocalyptic future. Doesn’t give up easily(got exact hedgehog apple slices after 40 tries). Has no regard for pain/massive pain tolerance(Kept fighting undeterred after being kicked in the head by Shadow and skipped across the street like a rock by Sonic in Generations and endures excruciating "pain beyond description” caused by his powers in Sonic & Silver). Silver is bold and undeterred by any threat(says “We can take them all on!” when facing Eggman, Knuckles and Rouge in Rivals 2 and “I’ll just destroy him everywhere at once” when facing Solaris in Sonic 06) as he fought against disasters and large Iblis monsters in dark dangerous environments from a very young age and throws himself at every enemy from Iblis to Infinite without hesitation, even if they are stronger than him.

Straight-to-the-point mentality, hates distractions and petty details(Doesn’t care what the plan is called, only that it works in Forces). This can make him impatient towards things that get in his way or waste time. Silver is Goal Focused(even during things like competitions he says the Jade Ghost Wisp is the only item he likes because it lets him disappear and focus on racing in the Team Vector interview). Takes things much more seriously than Sonic and sometimes gets mad at Sonic for not taking things seriously or messing around(JP TSR, Sonic 4 Panel Manga).

Silver is very direct and Proactive as he spent most of his life trying to defeat Iblis and find out how his future came to ruin when no one could tell him how and actively investigated Dodon Pa and Eggman in Team Sonic Racing.

Silver is pragmatic and somewhat ruthless. Opens both his fights with Sonic in 06 by trying to sneak attack and snipe Sonic with psychic energy balls. Has fought dirty by playing possum to hit Sonic in 06, snuck past Soleanna guards to get to Radical Train in 06. Mugs Tails in Sonic Rivals 2(he’s okay with stealing), has no qualms with fighting kids like Tails or Bowser Jr. Leaves his enemies to die even if they beg for life(Sonic Rivals 2/IDW Sonic). Has the “get-it-done” mindset of Future Trunks and will do whatever it takes to save the future.

Challenger: Enjoys challenges and ways to test himself(Sonic Colors DS, Mario & Sonic Series). Makes steady efforts to train and improve offscreen(Sonic Channel Comedy). Silver is a very skilled person that takes offense to being treated like an amateur(Otherworld Comedy) and is able to do various jobs around Soleanna(06 Town Missions), become a delivery boy(Sonic Pict), a butler, a top class ice skater, and a genius skating coach(Sonic Channel) and has sharp shooting among the best in Soleanna’s 1500 year history. One of his catchphrases is “I’ll take you on”.

Intuitive: Silver sometimes deduces things that other people do not and every central game role Silver has from 06 to TSR is about him searching for truth and he has successfully figured out the schemes of Eggman and Eggman Nega before anyone else each time. Silver can be very sharp, perceptive and crafty; he figures out Eggman Nega’s disguises by noticing small details in his mannerisms in Sonic Rivals, intuits Blaze trying to control her great power when seeing it for the first time in Sonic Channel and changes his fight with Sonic into a race to collect Chao instead to advance his mission in Sonic Rivals 2.

Often shown/implied to like Apples(he ate apple flavored calorie bar rations in the 06 Iblis future according to Sonic Channel Sonic Pict) suggesting they are his favorite food. Apples also symbolize sweetness, beauty, and hope for prosperity in Japanese and Jewish culture.

Lives in the good future the same way Blaze lives in the Sol Dimension when not in Sonic’s time(spends most of his time there as he doesn’t get to see Sonic very often according to Team Sonic Racing). Also implied to live in Soleanna(He was originally going to be named Venice simply because he lived there, implied to live there in Sonic & Silver and Otherworld Comedy Act 4 Sonic Channel stories).

#silver the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #sonic channel #sonic 06 #sonic #idw sonic #shadow the hedgehog #sonic colors #sonic rivals 2 #team sonic racing #rough the skunk #blaze the cat

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meazalykov · 16 days ago

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playgirl

lena oberdorf x bayern!reader

part one

summary: why do you treat her the same way as everyone else?

warnings: 18+, reader is flirty with anyone who breathes, no smut in this one but part two does have smut hehe

you’ve always loved the game. if you’re honest though, you love the reactions just as much.

watching how people react to that smile of yours, the wink you’ve perfected, the easy charm that makes your teammates shake their heads with a smirk or roll their eyes but secretly smile, because it’s just so you.

at bayern, you’ve earned yourself quite the reputation for being a flirt, sometimes during inappropriate times.

your teammates have started making bets on how quickly you’ll charm or flirt someone new. it’s become a little tradition—how many days until you get the newbie to blush? your record— ten minutes after the new player arrived to bayern campus for training.

throwback to 2022, when you were first teased by the community for being a flirt. you were in a league match against wolfsburg, and the game was getting intense. it was one of those tough battles where everything counts.

you’re all over the field, slipping in and out of spaces, weaving your way through defenders as a midfielder. you feel eyes on you—the ref’s watching, maybe just to make sure you’re not pushing any boundaries.

and, of course, you decide to push them anyway.

there’s a late tackle; your foot catches the ball just as you catch lena’s ankle shortly before.

you got her the same way she gets your other teammates on the pitch.

lena goes down, nothing too dramatic—just enough to make the point. the ref’s whistle blows, sharp and clear, and you’re up in an instant, wiping at your forehead with the back of your hand, and glancing at the ref with a small, cheeky grin.

you’re almost positive the yellow card is coming out. in fact, she’s already reaching for it.

“oh, come on, audrey,” you say, flashing that practiced smile, all easy charm.

was it inappropriate to call a ref by their name? maybe..

“surely, you don’t want to ruin your record of being my favorite referee?” your voice has that light, teasing lilt, and you can see the ref pause, hand hesitating over the card.

the ref gives you a once-over, a look that says really? but you know she’s flustered, if just a little, and you see her lips twitch. your hand rests on your hips as you smirk at the ref who’s an inch taller than you.

audrey, the ref, chuckles despite herself, then shakes her head, tucking the card back into her pocket.

“fine, you get this one. just this once. that’s your warning.”

you flash her a wink, all sunshine and charm, and mouth a quick,

“thanks, beautiful,” before jogging away. in the crowd, a few fans catch the moment on camera. they catch the smirk on your face, the amused eye-roll from the ref, the way she can’t quite seem to hide the smile.

“what the actual fuck?” lena, who’s still in the green kit, stands up and gives you a questioning look.

you shrug your shoulders at lena, before walking away towards pernille who was too focused to entertain your behaviors.

by the end of the day, the video’s all over social media.

“y/n flirting her way out of another yellow card” reads one tweet with a thousand likes and counting.

can you believe this girl? says another.

tbh i’d do the same thing if i had to ref a bayern game.. another tweet with thousands of likes rolls onto your timeline.

your teammates are sending it in the group chat, poking fun at you, but you just reply with a simple– works every time :) . they know you too well.

then there was that game against hoffenheim shortly after, where a midfielder came in too fast, misjudging her slide tackle. you see her coming but don’t fully dodge her in time, so she clips your leg, and you go down, rolling just a bit to make sure the ref doesn’t miss it.

you’re not one to get worked up or start shouting at opponents, not when there’s a much more fun approach. as soon as the ref blows the whistle, you look up at the opponent with a grin, leaning on your elbow as if you’re lounging, not sprawled on the pitch.

“that wasn’t necessary, memeti.” you say, giving her that half-smile, the one that could make anyone melt a little.

“if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to tackle me.” the ref is already on her way over, but you’re focused on the player in front of you, who’s gone a bit red in the face, trying to play it cool.

��shut up!” she rolled her eyes, but the blush on her face spoke for itself.

“i can, but next time, maybe after the game– just ask for my number?” you tease.

the poor girl stumbles over her words, muttering a flustered apology that’s lost somewhere between a laugh and a mumble.

the ref arrives, giving the hoffenheim player a yellow card with a look that says be more careful, but your focus is still on memeti, who’s looking anywhere but directly at you.

“i’ll let it slide,” you say, standing up and patting her shoulder with a grin,

“just this once.” you jog off while her teammate pulls her up, cheeks still pink, probably regretting the tackle but hopefully not the conversation.

later, that one’s trending too. clips of your cheeky grin as you flirt right in the middle of a serious game have fans in hysterics, filling the comments with laughing emojis, shipping suggestions, and endless comments.

the amount of “potential girlfriends” you have among the woso community couldn’t be counted on one hand. no wonder you had a reputation..

just before the olympics in 2024, you captained your national team against canada. your country’s watching, eyes on you as you step up to the role.

the energy is high, the pressure intense, but you know how to ease the tension in the best way you know how.

yes, you’re going to be serious in the captain role but that doesn’t mean that you couldn’t let go of your happy charm.

jessie fleming is on the opposition captaining canada, and you’ve always liked her style on the pitch—she’s calm, composed, a little serious in her focus, which only makes the idea of teasing her that much more tempting.

you stroll up to midfield for the coin toss, giving her a once-over with an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression. she’s polite, professional, and you know she’s not expecting anything out of the ordinary.

that’s not exactly your brand, is it?

“you know, jessie,” you start, your voice all casual charm,

“if i had known we’d be captains together, i might’ve dressed up a little.” she glances over, a faint smile tugging at her lips, but she’s still playing it cool.

“oh yeah? is this what sophia was telling me about?” she replies, a hint of challenge in her eyes.

you nod, shrugging your shoulders and giving her a once-over, your expression full of playfulness.

“of course. i mean, it’s not every day i get to lead my team and have canada’s captain all to myself for a few seconds.” the ref flips the coin, and jessie calls it, winning the toss. she shakes her head at you, clearly amused but not giving in fully.

“just make sure you don’t get too distracted out there,” she says, raising an eyebrow.

“wouldn’t want to see your team captain lose her focus.”

you flash her a grin.

“oh, don’t worry about me. i’m great at multitasking.”

throughout the game, you keep it going. every now and then, you throw her a little smile when you’re in passing range. you can tell it’s getting to her, in the tiniest way, the slightest hesitation in her reactions, the way she sometimes looks down at the ground with a smile she’s trying to hide.

your national teammates pick up on it too, nudging you, calling you out in the locker room afterward.

“really, y/n? flirting with the captain of the other team?”

“it’s a strategy mal,” you say with a grin, shrugging nonchalantly.

“i’m surprised you haven’t caught feelings for any of these players you flirt with,” one of your teammates wraps their arm around your shoulder as you laugh lightly at their opinion.

“well, its bound to happen someday. until then, just let me fool around—”

later in the month, after the whistle blows in paris. you stood outside of the box with a bright smile on your face.

you’re on cloud nine, body on fire with the energy of a thousand games. the stadium is a whirlwind of noise, the crowd erupting in cheers that roll over you like waves, mixing with the adrenaline that hasn’t faded from those final minutes.

you’re laughing as sophia runs to jump into your arms, practically breathless as the magnitude of what you’ve done settles in. this isn’t just any win—it’s the paris olympics.

i’m a gold medalist! you think, the four words repeating in your head over and over again.

it feels impossibly surreal. there’s a dizzy, euphoric rush pounding in your chest, and every person on the pitch is a part of that ecstasy, celebrating like the world stopped for a moment, just for you and your team.

in the midst of the chaos, you find yourself pulled toward sam coffey, drawn in by that familiar, steady presence. she’s grinning just as hard as you are, a little breathless, her eyes shining with that same disbelief.

though you know sam isn’t interested in you in that way, her friendship means a lot, and in this moment, it feels like she’s the only one who can ground you in the midst of all the noise.

without a second thought, you drape yourself over her shoulders, arms looping around her in an affectionate, nearly crushing hug. you rest your chin on her shoulder, feeling the warmth radiate from both of you, and laugh, the sound muffled against the shoulder of her jersey.

“you were unreal out there, sam,” you say, still half-giddy, voice warm and low.

“i mean it—what would I have done without my defensive midfielder.”

she huffs, amused but still a little embarrassed, nudging you with her shoulder.

“oh, god, stop. i’m already overwhelmed, and now you’re getting all loving on me?” she says, trying to sound exasperated, but her voice is full of affection.

“you and your never-ending charm routine...we won the gold medal, y/n. could you at least give us a break?”

you laugh, that joyful, easy laugh that’s only possible in moments like this, and shake your head, hugging her a little tighter.

“flattering you is a public service, coffey, and i’m just doing my job,” you tease.

“but don’t worry—straight women aren’t my type, anyway.”

for a split second, there’s silence before she bursts into laughter, the kind that’s contagious, her whole body shaking with it. she leans back a little, looking at you with a grin that says she’s torn between wanting to smack you and hug you back.

“you’re actually the worst,” she says, her eyes twinkling with humor.

“i can’t believe they let you near a microphone. you’ll flirt with anything that breathes.”

“hey, that’s not true,” you say, acting mock-offended, raising your hands in defense as you finally pull away, still laughing.

“i’m very discerning.”

before you can respond, you feel a familiar arm drape around your shoulders and turn to see tierna, her own smile as bright as you’ve ever seen it, all warmth and pride as she takes in the absolute chaos around her.

tierna’s always had a grounding presence, and with her, you share something special.. aka the bond of being teammates and being two of the very few openly queer players on the active roster.

that small, shared understanding has always made your friendship feel effortless, a solid foundation that you both lean on in the busyness of national team life.

you turn to her with an affectionate grin, arms wrapping around her in a hug that’s just as warm and joyful as the one you’d given sam.

“tierna, look at us—the open gays on the team winning gold!” you exclaim, laughter bubbling up as you hold her close.

“i mean, seriously, what did we do to deserve this?”

tierna laughs, squeezing you just as tightly, and the two of you sway for a moment, laughing together at the absurdity of it all.

“you know, i ask myself that every day, y/n,” she replies, her voice teasing but her smile soft and genuine.

“but i guess putting up with you for years was our sacrifice to the football gods.”

“oh, come on,” you say, laughing, pulling back to look at her.

“you know you’re lucky to have me. i mean, who else would make it their mission to get under the other team’s skin with a smile and a few praiseful words?”

“you’re ridiculous,” tierna says, shaking her head, but her gaze is fond, and there’s a deep pride in her eyes as she looks back at you. she’s been with you through the highs and lows, knows your quirks, and she understands better than most how much this gold medal means to you, not just for the win itself, but for the journey, for the battles you’ve fought and won just to be here.

coming back to munich after the olympics feels like settling into a warm, familiar hug.

sure, the thrill of that gold medal still makes your heart race, but there’s a quiet kind of joy in returning to your bayern family, where the intensity of international competition eases into something softer, something a little closer to home.

the lounge room is buzzing with familiar faces, and as you pour yourself a coffee, your eyes land on sydney. she’s wrapped in her red hoodie, her bronze medal tucked away somewhere, though you’d seen her flash it around proudly a few times already through the bayern group chats.

you can’t help but grin, the sight of her bringing back memories of watching her team’s fierce fight against spain.

sydney’s just taking a sip when you wander over and, without much thought, place your head on her shoulder, letting out a playful sigh.

“syd,” you say, your voice warm,

“i just have to say this— i’m just so glad i got to watch germany whoop spain’s ass.” you squeeze her shoulder, the cheeky grin tugging at your lips impossible to hide.

sydney’s laugh is immediate, her shoulders shaking as she tries to hide her smile behind her mug.

“don’t word it like that,” she scolds, trying to sound serious, but the sparkle in her eye gives her away.

“we didn’t whoop anyone’s ass.”

you shrug, laughing softly, refusing to back down.

“just calling it like i saw it! i mean, it’s true, and you know it.”

“you’re just saying that because your ex plays for spain!”

“woah woah!! don’t mention her now! take the compliment syd” you laugh as you remember your ex girlfriend, the goalkeeper at madrid who you haven't had contact with in nearly three years.

before syd can respond, her girlfriend sam approaches, catching sight of you draped over sydney. you turn immediately, flashing her a mischievous grin.

“scottish kerr! missed you so much,” you say, drawing out the words with dramatic flair.

“i was lost without my favorite coffee partner. did you miss me at all while we were off with our national teams?”

sam chuckles, raising an eyebrow as she leans against the counter, crossing her arms.

“miss you? please,” she teases, giving you a playful push before dragging your arms back into a hug.

“you were probably too busy charming half the tournament to even notice i was gone. pretty sure the cameras caught you chatting your way towards that gold medal.”

“hey, that’s just part of my play style,” you say with a laugh, shrugging innocently.

“i was still thinking of you the whole time, sammy, i swear.” she rolls her eyes but smiles, reaching out to ruffle your hair.

just then, the door opens, and you glance up to see lea walk in, her eyes lighting up as she spots the group of you.

it’s the person beside her who catches your attention and makes you do a slight double-take—lena, with a brace over her knee and a slightly stiff walk with her crunches.

you remember hearing about her ACL injury over the break, and seeing her now, a mixture of empathy and surprise runs through you.

she meets your gaze, her expression softer than usual, and there’s a faint blush that rises to her cheeks when she notices you looking.

she’s trying to act casual, but there’s a certain vulnerability in her stance that’s new. without a second thought, you straighten up, leaving your coffee to the side as you take a step toward her, a soft smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

“hey, lena,” you say, keeping your voice warm and easy.

“it’s good to see you. how’s the knee holding up?”

lena shrugs, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“it’s… getting there,” she says quietly, the slightest hint of embarrassment flashing across her face.

“just wish i didn’t have to spend my first season with bayern stuck on the sidelines.”

you shake your head, quick to dismiss her worry.

“trust me, you’re exactly where you need to be. and honestly, i can handle getting you whatever you need—coffee, tea, water, a ride home? just sit down and relax that knee; we’ve got you.”

her eyes widen at the offer, surprise flickering across her face, and that faint blush deepens. your seriousness catches everyone by surprise, since you’re known for being silly with your bestfriend sydney.

“oh, uh, thanks,” she stammers, clearly a bit taken aback.

“a water would be nice.”

you flash her a quick smile and head over to the fridge, grabbing a chilled bottle before passing it to her, giving her shoulder a gentle pat.

“it’s all part of the team service, right? you’re with us now, so let me take care of you. no need to be so tough all the time.”

lena ducks her head slightly, clearly trying to hide her smile as she takes the bottle.

“thanks, y/n,” she says, her voice soft, almost shy.

out of the corner of your eye, you notice lea watching the exchange with an amused grin, her eyebrow raising as she shares a knowing look with sydney and sam.

lea has warned lena before that you’re, well, famously flirtatious with just about everyone. the line between your genuine kindness and your endless flirting can be hard to distinguish, and you’re certain she’s wondering if lena realizes this herself.

lena’s still looking at you, her gaze lingering for just a second longer than usual, and for once, you don’t mind letting her believe that maybe, just maybe, this moment was more than your usual personality.

“relax, okay? we’ve got all the time in the world,” you call out, still smiling at her as you handed her the water, the playful sparkle in your eyes softening just a bit as you watch her settle down on the couch.

throwback to the first day of the preseason, before the olympics, the sun hung high above the bayern training complex, casting a warm golden hue over the field that morning.

your eyes caught sight of lena at the far end of the building where the medical rooms are, her hair was neatly pulled back into a ponytail, and she was dressed in the bold red of bayern—a stark contrast to her usual wolfsburg green.

your heart skipped a beat; she looked undeniably hot. honestly, you forgot that she was transferring here. how? you weren’t sure, maybe too caught up into texting all of your contacts back during your free time.

anyways, you smirked at the taller girl and called out,

“wow, ms. oberdorf! look at you in red instead of green. who knew it would suit you so well? red is definitely your color.”

lena turned at the sound of your voice, amusement dancing in her eyes. a soft chuckle escaped her lips, and you couldn’t help but notice how her smile lit up her face.

“thanks, y/n. it’s nice to meet you too. very friendly of you to say,” she replied with a teasing tone, her eyebrows raised conspiratorially.

you shot her a playful glare, barely masking your laughter.

“really? nice to meet you? friendly? come on, we’ve known each other for ages. you don’t need to act like we’re strangers.”

“hey, new season, new beginnings,” she said, shrugging playfully.

“besides, we’ll be seeing each other every day now, so I thought I’d make a good first impression for you.”

“mission accomplished then,” you replied, your heart racing in a mix of flirtation and thrill.

lea rolled her eyes seeing the both of her annoyingly flirtatious friends teasing each other, she might get annoyed by the second day of training!

during the water break after sprinting for medical stuff, you caught sight of lena standing nearby, stretching her legs.

you walked over towards her, noticing that she was sitting alone as most of her german national teammates were completing their own medicals as well.

“you know, your thighs are making me jealous. i mean what the fuck lena? how?” you said, flashing a sly grin.

“i could say a not-so-appropriate thing.. but I have to ask, is it just for show, or is there something else I should know about?”

lena’s laughter rang out, genuinely warm.

“you’ll have to find out for yourself—you might just be joining me in lifting tomorrow,” she shot back, her voice lowering just enough to send your heart racing.

tomorrow came– and you were both outside on the pitch standing in line, your arms brushing against one another. the simple contact sent a wave of electricity through you.

“you ready to get your ass beat?” lena teased, a smirk playing on her lips.

“in your dreams,” you shot back, a competitive glint in your eye as you looked down at the orange pennie you had to wear.

“besides, I’m more worried about you trying to distract me with all that red.”

“i’m taking that as a challenge, y/n,” she replied with a flirtatious wink, her tone playful yet confident.

as the drill began, you found yourselves running side by side. midway through, lena matched your pace, nudging you slightly with her shoulder.

“got to keep up, y/n! I thought you said I looked hot in this color.”

“only because it’s true,” you laughed, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you pushed her back.

in that playful exchange, the world around you faded into a blur.

you joined in the drills, faking a stumble just slightly so you could fall back and end up beside her again.

“you know, a little help wouldn’t hurt,” you said, brushing your arm against hers as you both jogged to the next station.

“holding up okay in that red? it must be heavy from all the eyes looking at you.”

“don’t worry about me. i can handle it,” she shot back with confidence, and just as you turned to meet her gaze, she lightly bumped your shoulder, sending a jolt of warmth through you.

before the national break that led into the olympics, lena and you had fun. obviously, you took training very seriously since you’re both world class players, but the small moments made your day.

even if you didn’t want to admit it out loud..

training wrapped up and now you had to go home and pack for your 5am flight back to your country, play a few friendlies, then go to paris..

“y/n!” georgia called out, her voice teasing.

“we just had to find you. you know, we couldn’t help but notice your little dance with lena during the last few days.”

“what are you talking about?” you replied, feigning innocence.

the smile creeping onto your face betrayed you, and you felt your cheeks flush a little.

“oh, come on!” klara chimed in, stifling a laugh.

“you two were practically vibing the entire time! I’ve never seen you on the receiving end of flirting like that. it was kind of… cute.”

“cute?” you echoed, trying to play it cool.

“you’ve got it all wrong. we were just having fun. she just got here from wolfsburg and i figured she might want another friend who isn’t just lea..”

georgia raised her eyebrows, clearly unconvinced.

“fun? that was more than fun, y/n! you’ve finally met your match.” she smirked, crossing her arms as she leaned closer, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction.

“please, you’re imagining things,” you protested, laughing as you felt your cheeks heat up even more.

“lena and I just have great chemistry on the pitch according to the coach, that’s all.”

klara shook her head, a grin plastered on her face.

“chemistry? or is it more like a connection? because from where we were standing, that looked like flirting at its finest.”

“you’re both ridiculous,” you retorted, trying to hide your embarrassment beneath a playful glare.

“shut up already!”

“make us!” georgia shot back, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“you might want to take a page from lena’s book on how to flirt, because it looked like you were a little bit overwhelmed there,” klara teased, nudging you playfully.

you tried to suppress your laughter but found it impossible.

“okay, okay, you win. I might be a little… flustered, but if you tell the rest of the team that i said that then you’re cooked buhl.” you point at the german with a smirk, your voice a little softer now as you thought back to your exchanges with lena.

“though, it’s not a big deal.”

“it’s totally a big deal!” georgia insisted, her expression serious for a moment before she burst into laughter again.

“just admit it, you’re into her. we’re here for the gossip, y/n!”

rolling your eyes but smiling, you glanced at the duo. you knew they were just teasing, but their encouragement had a way of making you feel both flattered and flustered.

“I’m not giving you any shit,” you said, shaking your head.

“what’s it going to take for you to admit that she’s got you wrapped around her little finger?” klara pressed, both girls leaning in closer, clearly eager for more details.

you threw your hands up in mock surrender.

“fine! I might think she’s interesting, okay? but that doesn’t mean anything!” the laughter that erupted around you made your heart feel light.

“it means everything!” georgia replied victoriously.

back to the present.. the mid-september air signaled the approach of fall, and you found yourself wrapped in the cozy familiarity of bayern's campus. the evening breeze brought with it a sense of transition—not just in the season but in your life as well.

stepping into your kitchen at home, you couldn’t help but smile at the prospect. your love for baking had been a hidden gem among your close peers, a talent and passion you reserved for only those you trusted.

the thought of making banana and pumpkin loafs danced in your mind like autumn leaves caught in a playful wind.

after a few joyful hours in the kitchen alone, you pulled the loaves from the oven.

today was just another training session, but you knew you’d see lena there. she had been working hard to recover from her acl injury. though, you made a mental note—lena had to try your banana and pumpkin loaf like the rest of the girls did when you first came from lyon.

as you arrived at the girls' dressing room, the chatter and laughter of your teammates immediately enveloped you. you placed two trays of beautifully baked loaves on the table, their golden tops glistening invitingly.

the third tray, still covered in plastic, was reserved just for lena but you kept it away from the team’s eyes.

glancing over, you noticed obi seated with lea, deep in conversation. there was something heartwarming about seeing lena smile, even if it was tinged with the exhaustion from her recovery.

you found yourself subtly watching her as she interacted with lea, a pang of curiosity stirring in your chest. surprisingly, your mind wandered to the saran-wrapped tray. you couldn’t shake the intrigue of it—what would lena think? what if she didn’t like bananas.. or pumpkin’s? you were being ridiculous.

as you turned to chat with kathi, who is recovering from her acl injury like lena, you felt a soft flutter of nerves each time you stole a glance at lena.

the moment you leaned in to plant a gentle kiss on kathi's cheek, doing your best to encourage her as she had a moment of weakness about her recovery, you were acutely aware of lena's gaze on you.

as the girls began to filter out of the dressing room after practice, you felt that familiar urgency rising within you. scanning the space, you spotted lena gathering her things.

“hey, lena!” you called out, your voice cheerful amidst the fading sounds of chatter.

“could you wait for me in the hallway for just a sec? i almost forgot something.”

she looked up, a hint of curiosity dancing in her eyes, but you could see a flicker of excitement as well. “sure,” she replied, a soft smile gracing her lips. you grinned back, heart racing, and hurried back into the dressing room to retrieve the tray meant just for her.

with the tray in your hands, you ran back into the hallway where lena was waiting. her eyes lit up when she saw you, and for a brief moment, it felt as if the entire world melted away, leaving just the two of you standing there.

“what’s that?” lena asked, glancing at the tray covered with plastic wrap. you could see the intrigue in her expression, a mixture of curiosity and hunger that made your heart flutter.

“this?” you said, lifting the tray slightly and unveiling it a moment later. “it’s for you.”

her brows knit together in surprise. “for me? really? why?”

“because that’s what friends are for,” you replied, the words spilling out with conviction even though they felt too simple for what you were beginning to feel.

as you handed the loaf to her, you felt a flutter in your chest. lena's fingers brushed against yours, an innocent contact that sent a warm shiver coursing through your body.

this is not normal for someone who flirts with women like its her second job.

“thank you, y/n. this means a lot,” she said, her voice soft and genuine.

“no prob.. i might just be the secret ingredient for your recovery.”

lena laughed lightly, a sound so lovely it played like music in your ears. “you definitely are,” she replied, her tone warm, her eyes sparkling.

“see you tomorrow for practice?” you asked, trying to maintain your composure while dodging the swirling feelings inside you.

“absolutely. you’d better bring more of this deliciousness,” lena replied playfully, hefting the tray as if it were a precious gem.

as you turned to walk away, your mind began to plague. what was this? you had always been a flirt, known in your circles for your charm and charisma, but lena felt different. you couldn’t shake the thought that perhaps this flirtation was unfolding into something else.

part two here

#lena oberdorf #lena oberdorf x reader #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #jessie fleming #uswnt x reader #tierna davidson #sam coffey #klara bühl #georgia stanway

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 11 months ago

Text

Pressing

Jack Daniels x F!Reader, dude ranch AU

A Palomino oneshot, but can be read on its own

{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: Jack marks you as his in an unexpected way.

Warnings: PWP, Jack's belt leaves an impression on reader's skin, unintentional branding, unprotected sex, long-distance relationship, desperate and feral cowboy, no physical descriptions of Reader, very lightly edited, written as part of the Palomino universe, set after the end of the series, but can be read as a oneshot on its own

Word count: 1.4k

Notes: This little story came from an ask sent in by 🐴 anon in December 2022, which I have long lost, about a song that mentions a guy’s belt buckle leaving marks on his girlfriend's inner thigh while fucking. Naturally, they thought of Jack’s belt. 🐴 anon, if you’re still here, thank you for the inspo and for your patience ❤️

Also thank you to @lola-lola-lola for getting me horn knee about our cowboy again 😘 Writing Palomino smut first thing in the year was not on my 2024 bingo card, and I’m not mad about it!

Cutest dividers by @firefly-graphics.

It’s been two and a half months. Week after wretched week of phone calls on stolen time. Day after day of aching to reach through the phone screen and the distance between you to touch him.

It’s hard being hundreds and hundreds of miles apart. It’s even harder on weeks when he’s in the mountains with no reception. Harder to find time to call when you have to work late and he has to get up at dawn.

But you endure it all - for days like this.

It’s a rare weekend off in the high season, with Teak pulling back-to-back pack trips to cover for him, joking that he can’t take all his sighing and pining for his Darlin’ anymore.

Jack takes the last flight out on Friday night, arriving first thing on Saturday morning, before the city - or you - wake up. You’re half-buried under the duvet when the jingle of the key in the door jolts you from shallow slumber.

On unsteady feet, you wobble out into the hallway, crashing into the walls as you go, balance off-kilter from sleep.

But it’s ok - he catches you, all white t-shirt and tight blue jeans. Incognito, if you will, in casual sneakers, but the cowboy hat is on as always. You knock it off post-haste, burying your face in the side of his neck in a desperate need for contact, his warmth seeping into your skin and wrapping you up in the deepest of comforts.

His hair is longer than he usually keeps it, and your fingers twist into his tousled curls when you pull back, taking in the stubble on his sharp jawline, and his tired eyes. But before you can say anything, he leans in and slants his lips over yours.

The taste of airplane coffee is sharp and bitter on his tongue as he kisses you deep and messy. You startle when he suddenly slams the door shut behind him, not realising it was still open, and his beat-up weekend bag is tossed carelessly behind him somewhere in the doorway.

The legs of the kitchen table scrape jarringly against the floor as he crowds you onto it, big hands cupping your ass and pulling you against his straining erection through his jeans.

‘Fuck, it’s been too long, darlin’.’ His voice is gravelly from an apparently sleepless overnight flight, and hearing his voice finally on the shell of your ear has you whimpering needily.

‘Can’t wait any more,’ he growls, desperation thick in his voice.

With a flick of his wrists, he shucks off your ratty sleep shirt, eyes hooded as he gazes down at your tits, like he can’t believe he’s actually touching you. Cupping them, soft and heavy, with reverent, rope-worn palms, he sucks one nipple after the other between his lips, making you squirm against him and leak wet and sticky between your thighs.

Strong hands hold you in place easily as you buck, the scrape of his moustache almost painful on your over-sensitive skin, nerve endings on fire after being deprived for long weeks.

Too impatient to wait, you tug your pyjamas shorts down your hips and kick them off clumsily, panties tangled in your damp folds as you writhe under him.

You feel the breath catch in his broad chest at the peek of your pussy, a rapidly growing damp spot darkening your cotton underwear. Hooking his thumb under the fabric, he tugs it unceremoniously to the side, baring you to him.

‘Look at all this,’ he marvels, tracing the fleshy pad of his thumb through your folds, making you arch clean off the table. ‘So wet for me and you’ve barely woken up.’

‘Been thinking about you the while night,’ you admit, hips twitching as you chase his touch. ‘Couldn’t sleep.’

‘Did you touch yourself, darlin’?’

You shake your head vehemently. ‘No. Wanted your fingers. Your cock.’

His nostrils flare at your answer, unabashedly possessive in the way he looms over you.

‘Good girl,’ he murmurs into your throat, nosing the side of your neck while thick fingers thrum against your clit. ‘I was so hard for you the whole fuckin’ flight.’

As if to prove it to you - not that you need it - he rolls his hips into your inner thigh, the hard bulge undeniable.

You mewl, hooking your ankles around his waist. ‘Fuck me now, Jack - please.’

There’s a wordless fumble for the solid sterling flask bottle of his belt buckle, his usual level-headed composure nowhere to be found as he pushes down his jeans with shaking hands, just enough to pull his cock out of its denim confines -

And then he thrusts home inside you.

After months of only your fingers, it’s a stretch. But what a delicious stretch it is.

You feel him throb deep inside you, feel the thunder of a pained groan in his chest, pressed up against yours. Your cunt is all slick and give to his determined strokes as he begins to move.

There’s no finesse, hardly any awareness, when he fucks frantically into you. His solid weight pins you to the table, and it rattles precariously under your back.

Your legs are splayed obscenely wide and bent at the knees while Jack pounds into your wet heat, eyes wild and mouth hanging open, watching your tits bounce as you take him, your nails digging into the cotton of his white t-shirt. He never did take off your panties, and the fabric rubs your clit just so with every one of his thrusts, rapidly sending you to the edge.

In the back of your mind, you’re aware of the coarse scrape of his jeans against your inner thighs, and something digs hard into the tender skin, the repeated motion dulling the sensation to an almost numb pressure.

When you cum, you’re crying out before your head catches up, your body convulsing with blind bliss as your pussy clenches around him in a hot rush. The blood pounding in your ears is drowned out by your chants of his name, and then his hips start to stutter and his whole body tenses, frantic eyes on yours as he teeters on the edge.

‘Where, darlin’?’

‘Inside me.’

The words have barely left you and he’s coming, broken pants against your lips as he comes and comes and comes - spilling inside you, filling you to the brim until he’s empty, turned inside out.

Slumped, boneless on top of you, humid pants pressed into your shoulder, his fingers tangle with yours, squeezing as if to let you know that he’s here.

You almost doze off, the gradually slowing rise and fall of the cowboy’s broad chest a comforting anchor, when he rouses you with gentle lips along your jaw. You giggle, feeling him softening and sliding out of you, making a mess of your kitchen table.

‘Mornin’ darlin’,’ he says somewhat belatedly, warm eyes crinkling as he smiles at you.

‘Morning,’ you grin back, and when he shifts, you wince at the ache in your joints from being pinned to one spot for this very vigorous wake up call. His hands smooth over your legs in apology, and you jump when his fingertips brush over somewhere at the juncture of your upper thigh that is surprisingly sore.

‘What’s that?’ you ask, puzzled.

Jack doesn’t answer, curiously quiet. You look down to where he’s bracketed between your legs, watching him trace his index finger over the unmistakable imprint of his distinct belt buckle on the inside of your thigh, where it’s been digging into your skin the whole time.

He glances at you. ‘I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?’

‘No, you didn’t,’ you give him a knowing grin. ‘And are you really sorry, cowboy?’

He doesn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. Gently pinching your swollen folds together, he groans when a milky bead of his cum dribbles out of you, running down the inside of your leg and smearing onto the flask-shaped impression.

‘Ain’t sorry about somethin’ that looks this good on you, darlin’.’

‘Could’ve asked me before you branded me, you know,’ you half-joke, running your own finger along the deep lines carved into your skin, for now.

‘Beggin’ your pardon, I tend to forget my manners when I’m balls deep in a pussy as sweet as yours,’ he retorts, one eyebrow arching when he feels you shiver at his words.

You huff in jest, ‘Doesn’t sound like much of an apology if you asked me.’

‘Whatcha want, darlin’? Me on my hands and knees for you?’

Heat flashes under your skin, from your cheeks down to your toes, and Jack’s eyes darken as his tongue wets his bottom lip. ‘Alright. I hear you loud and clear, ma’am.’

Slowly, he sinks onto his knees in front of you, his joints creaking endearingly as he goes, and you can’t help but tease, ‘Easy there, cowboy.’

The wicked tip of his tongue peeks out, and you bite your lip in a moan when it cleverly traces the outline of the belt buckle on your skin, ending in a playful nip that pulls a gasp from you.

With an unapologetically smug grin, Jack winks. ‘I’m only just gettin’ started, darlin’.’

Note: Thank you for reading ❤️ I’ve missed these two, and if you’re new to Palomino, I hope you’ll give the series a chance!

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x fem!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x fem!reader #x reader #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels smut #agent whiskey smut

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purplephantomwolf · 1 month ago

Text

Tethered Time

Logan Sargeant Soulmate AU

Chapter Two

Synopsis: Everyone has a timer on their wrist. It counts down the time until you hear your soulmates voice for the first time. After you hear their voice, it changes to the time until you meet them for the first time.

Note: This is not an accurate portrayal of how the real people in this act. I do not know them personally, so I will not be portraying them accurately.

Warnings for this chapter: None

Previous Chapters: Chapter One

Masterlist

I AM REWRITING THIS FROM AN ORIGINAL CHARACTER SO IF I MISSED ANYTHING I AM SORRY AND PLEASE LET ME KNOW. This is the last chapter as an OC rewrite.

December 25, 2022

10 months 4 days

“We have one last gift for you, Y/n,” your mom says, handing you an envelope. You grab it from her, tearing it open. You look inside and drop it in shock. Multiple paddock passes fall out of it.

“Oh my god! You didn’t!!” You shout, picking them up. You see passes for multiple races.

“Since Logan is in Formula 1 now, we got you two passes for every race in North America but Las Vegas. We figured this would be a Christmas, birthday, and college graduation present all wrapped into one,” my dad says.

��Thank you so much! This, this is amazing,” you grin. You launch yourself at your parents in a hug. They laugh and hug you back. You do a little happy dance, before grabbing the passes. You inspect them, grinning.

“We figured you’d take Tucker to at least one race,” your mom says.

“I will probably take him to every race, considering you guys don’t like watching it,” you shrug. Your parents nod. You set your passes down, grabbing your phone to call Tucker.

“Merry Christmas!” He greets you.

“How would you like to go to four Formula 1 races this year?” You ask, not bothering to greet him. The line goes silent. “Tucker?” You prompt him.

“Are you serious?” He shrieks in your ear. You pull your phone away from your ear, wincing.

“Yes, I’m serious. My parents got me two passes to almost every race in North America this year,” you tell him, grinning.

“Yes! YES! I would love to go!” He yells, causing you to pull your phone away from your ear again. “Where do we sit at each of them?!” He asks, excited.

“They’re paddock passes,” you explain. You pull your phone away again, knowing he’s about to yell again.

“HOLY SHIT, Y/N! TELL YOUR PARENTS I LOVE THEM SO FUCKING MUCH!” He screams. You turn to your parents, and they’re covering their laughter.

“We love you too, Tucker,” your mom calls out to him.

“I’ve got to go now, Y/n, but we will be discussing details of this later,” Tucker says.

“Sounds good. Merry Christmas, Tucker,” you say. He wishes you a merry Christmas before hanging up. You grab the passes to go put them somewhere safe.

You sprint down the stairs to thank your parents again. “Thank you again!” You hug them again.

“Of course, we want you to get every chance you can to meet Logan, so we thought this would be good,” your mom says. Your dad nods in agreement.

You smile at them before starting to mess around with the new camera lens they got you.

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

May 5, 2022

5 months 24 days

“I can’t believe we’re actually in Miami to watch a Formula 1 race,” Tucker says, his head going every which way as we enter the paddock. Your head is also turning every which way, trying to see everything you can.

“I can’t believe it, too. Come on! Let’s go look at the hospitalities!” You grab his arm, dragging him towards where you can see the hospitalities. We spend the next 10 minutes looking into as many hospitality windows as possible. “This is so cool!” You laugh happily.

Tucker sees something and takes off. “Come on, Y/n!” He shouts over his shoulder. We’re in front of the Williams hospitality. You linger, not wanting to leave. You know that there’s still basically 6 months until you meet Logan, but you’re hopeful that you’ll still get a glimpse of him in person before then. “Y/n, let’s go! I want to get some Ferrari merch before it sells out!” Tucker calls out to me.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You say, turning to follow him. You take off after him, not looking back at Williams hospitality. You catch up with him and head towards the area selling merch. “I want to grab some Williams merch,” You say, when you arrive. You split up in the store to go to the different team sections. You grab a Logan hat and a Williams jacket and head towards the check out. Tucker appears behind you, and you laugh when you see his arms loaded with Ferrari merch. “Got enough merch?” You snicker.

“No, I need you to hold these for me,” he says, a serious look on his face. Your jaw drops in shock, before he breaks out in laughter. “I’m kidding, this is everything,” he says. You nod and you check out.

After checking out, you head up to the paddock club. You take a seat just as FP1 starts.

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

Logan’s POV

1 minutes 12 seconds

I glance at my wrist and then around the hospitality. My timer says there’s only a minute left until I hear my soulmate's voice, but everyone around me are people I’ve talked to before. The door at the entrance opens, and I look up hopeful. I sigh in disappointment when James Vowels walks through the door. “I’m coming, I’m coming!” I hear a female’s voice say as the door closes. In an instant, I’m out of my seat, pushing past a confused James. My wrist is burning, but I ignore it. I slam the door open and sprint out. My head is whipping in every direction, trying to find the source of the voice. My face falls when I can’t pinpoint who the owner of the voice is. I glance down at my wrist and my face falls even more when I see 5 months and 24 days.

I head back inside the hospitality. I spot James and Alex standing at the door, watching me. “What’s the matter?” James asks me.

“I heard my soulmate’s voice, but I won't meet her for another 5 months, 24 days, and some hours and minutes,” I sigh. I get looks of pity from both Alex and James. I just shake my head and head downstairs to the garage.

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

Your POV

5 months 22 days

“Man, what a disappointing race for Logan. To finish last at your home race must hurt,” Tucker sighs, as you walk out of the paddock.

“Yeah, I hope he has a good support system of friends to cheer him up,” you nod in agreement.

“If only you two had met before, you’re really good at cheering people up,” Tucker says, bumping shoulders with you. You grin, thanking him.

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

June 18, 2023

Canadian GP

4 months 11 days

“No!” You shout when you see Logan’s car pull over to the side of the track. You groan, my head dropping into my hands.

“His car was giving off a critical error, so it’s good that he stopped,” Tucker shouts over the crowd of the noise and cars. You nod, letting him know you heard him.

“Still sucks though,” you grumble, arms crossed. You sigh and turn your attention back to the race.

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

October 22, 2023

COTA

7 days

“How do you feel knowing you’ve got one week until you meet Logan?” Tucker asks as you lay in your beds at the hotel.

“Nervous, but excited. What if he doesn’t like me?” You turn to look at him.

“He’ll like you, it’s hard not to,” Tucker scoffs. His phone vibrates and he grabs it.

You turn away from him to stare at the ceiling. “Thanks, but can we talk about how amazing he did today?! He finished P12!” You exclaim.

“P10,” Tucker says.

Your head whips toward him, with a confused look on your face. “No, he finished P12.”

“He may have finished P12, but he’s now P10 because Hamilton and Leclerc were just disqualified,” Tucker tells you, staring at his phone. He turns it towards you, and you read the article from Formula 1.

“OH MY GOD LOGAN JUST GOT HIS FIRST POINTS IN FORMULA 1!!!” You screech, flying out of bed. You do a little happy dance around the room. Tucker watches you, laughing. He holds his phone up, recording you. You stick your tongue out at him. “Yeah yeah, you can laugh. You’re just the same way when your boyfriend does something you’re proud of,” you wave your hand.

“I know,” Tucker grins, “This video is going to Carter.”

“Tell him hi for me,” you say, falling onto the bed.

“I will,” Tucker responds, typing away on his phone.

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

Logan’s POV

7 days

“How do you feel about getting your first points?” Alex sits down across from me on the plane.

“Happy, excited,” I respond, grinning. I post the picture I took when learning that I earned points on Instagram. I subconsciously rub my fingers over the timer on my wrist. I notice Alex glancing at it.

“How much time is left?” He asks, leaning forward.

“7 days,” I breathe out.

His eyes widen, “Getting close then. Are you excited?”

“Very, I’ve been waiting for this for years. But I’m also extremely nervous. What if she doesn’t like me? What if she doesn’t like what I do?” I rhetorically ask.

“Well, considering you heard her voice while at the Miami GP, and you meet her during the Mexico GP, I’m going to go with she likes what you do,” he points out.

“Yeah, you’re right. But that still doesn’t mean she’ll like me,” I groan, burying my face in my hands.

“I doubt she’ll dislike you, you’re a likable guy,” Alex says, putting his hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got this. It’ll be okay.”

“Thanks, Alex,” I sigh, looking up at him.

“Of course,” he nods, getting up to go sit with his girlfriend, Lily.

I close my eyes to sleep on the flight to Mexico.

Next Chapter: Chapter Three

#f1 story #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant fanfic #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x y/n #logan sargeant story #logan sargeant #logan sargeant imagines

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jokeringcutio · 2 years ago

Text

DRABBLE/ Insomnia!READER X THE GRABBER

Fandom: Black Phone 2022

Pairing: The Grabber/ Albert Shaw x Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: Kidnapping, Dark!, Non-con/Dub-con, Forced!Blowjob, Smut, Insomnia!Reader, Kidnapped!Reader, Victim!Reader. Implied age gap/ older man/younger woman, somnophilia, use of Little/good Girl.

AN: for @ninakuli How would the Grabber react if the reader couldn’t get to sleep? Well, this might be one of the ways.

“Can’t sleep?”

The rough voice made you look up from your position lying on the moldy mattress. You wondered how anyone could sleep here. A stranger’s house, a damp basement, an unknown environment. The walls were bare except for the painting peeling down. The tiny barred window that let in the only light, whether it was day or night because of the lamp that hung in front of it, was up too high. The walls absorbed any sound. It was a prison made with hellish barriers.

And then there was that stranger who came watching. You never knew when he would be down here. Never knew what he would do next. It had you on edge. How could anyone ever sleep when he was around?

So far, he’d mostly been down to watch you, talk to you, work on your mind until his words confused you and you started to believe you’d ended up here all because of your own doing. That you deserved being here.

But there had been that one time when you had pretended to have been asleep, eyes closed, in hopes he would become bored and turn away. But instead of leaving, you had heard his breathing deepen. And then you had felt his hand between your thighs, fingers pressing deep into your clothed skin until one finger curled against your covered cunt. You could still feel his fingertip press against your sensitive bud. The touch hadn’t lasted long, for you’d shot up instantly and his hand had been back by his side almost just as fast. But you were certain it had not been a dream.

And now you were scared of him. Frightened, that if you were to go to sleep, he might take you in it. That he might claim your body as his own when you could not fight back.

Anxiety ate you, piece by piece until it wrecked your nerves and made you shiver with fearful anticipation. Any sound would trigger a panicked reaction and would have you sit up and open your eyes. Because he is here again, isn’t he? Even when he wasn’t. You were constantly alert, ready to shy away from any advances he might try to make.

And so, you blinked up at him fearfully while you wondered what he would be doing next. He’d commented on your lack of sleep the past few times he’d been down there, annoyed that he couldn’t watch you sleep like he had the others. You didn’t know how many had been here before you, only that he somehow seemed to enjoy observing them when they weren’t awake.

Creep, you thought. You wondered if he got off of it. And why he couldn’t just enjoy you while you were awake?

Perhaps that had been a wrong thought to have, because what he said next made shivers run down your spine.

“I know just the thing.” Just the thing for what? To make you sleepy? You wondered for a moment if he referred to some kind of drug, or if he might just knock you out with one of his fists. But he did neither.

He cocked his head to the side, the mask’s chin pointed at his right shoulder. He was observing you, his stance pensively. What was he thinking? But then you regretted that thought when the man came over to you, coming closer than he had in the past few days.

“An ancient old medicine,” he said, voice low and gruff, while he started to unbuckle his belt. And that was the moment you realized what he might be implying. What he might want from you. He probably had wanted this all along.

Your eyes grew wide with fear as you tried to crawl back on the mattress until your back hit the wall and you couldn’t back away any further. “It has proven to be very effective over time,” his husky voice sounded. Then a chuckle emerged from behind the mask as he pushed his pants and underpants down to reveal an achingly hard cock, pre-cum dripping from the tip and glistening in the faint light that fell in from the window above.

The belt was wrapped around his right fist, the end of it dangling in front of you.

You tried to shield your eyes with your hands. “Please,” you begged when you noticed he’d stepped even closer and completely ignored the fact that you had tried to get away. “No, please,” his hand was upon your wrist, yanking it away to uncover your eyes. You looked up at him, tears glistening in your eyes, while you pleaded for him to spare you. “I’ll go to sleep,” you said, voice choked by tears. “Please, I’ll be good. I’ll go to sleep. You don’t need to do this.”

He paused in his actions and there was that tilt of his head again as he studied you through the hole-eyes of the mask. The belt dropped from his hand and fell to the basement floor with a clank.

His right hand came up to your cheek and you flinched, afraid he might slap you there. But his touch was gentle, his palm lightly upon your skin. You opened your eyes again to look up at him mistrustingly and wished you could tell what kind of expression he held behind that darned mask he was wearing.

You couldn’t tell. All you knew was that he was taking his time, standing there, only inches away from you. He was gently caressing your cheek, his thumb tracing circles. The motion was soothing as if he was trying to comfort you. It worked as well, for you felt your shoulders relax somewhat, despite your brain being on full alert.

His other hand was holding his cock. The aching hard member twitched in his grip as a new spurt of pre-cum droplets emerged from the tip. You tried not to look at it, which was hard as his shaft was on eye-level with you, ready to be brought to your lips.

Would he do it? You wondered how far he would go. He hadn’t touched you before like this. He’d been mostly at a distance. Except for that one time. But it figured he would eventually succumb to these primal desires. Why else had he taken you? If it had been just to kill then he would have done so already. Why keep you alive if not for this?

You whimpered, slightly trembling under his caress. A low hum escaped the masked man, then he stood straight again and you saw him move his upper body. The vest he was wearing fell open, his naked stomach showed. Round, you thought, pudgy. Yet, the muscles that showed on his chest betrayed your kidnapper was a man of strength. A strength that was confirmed almost instantly when he suddenly reached for you.

You felt your head being yanked towards him, and his shaft that had been angled at your lips was now pressed against them, begging you to spread them wide. He kept pushing, roughly, until the meat was between your lips and the head of his cock was upon your tongue. The salty taste of flesh mixed with the bitterness of the pre-cum filled your mouth and you hollowed your cheeks. And then he started to thrust.

You looked up at him, pleading silently for his mercy. But at the sight of your tear-stained eyes, his thrusts grew even fiercer and his grip on your head even tighter. You were left with no alternative but to suck, accepting his cock deep inside your throat.

Low, deep rumbles came from the depth of his chest when you started to cooperate. He was pleased, humming and moaning ‘oh yeah’ and ‘just like that’. Sounds that vibrated through his cock until you felt them in your mouth.

Dirty, your mind provided you while he moved you up and down his shaft. The salty and bitter taste of him filled you completely. The curly hairs around his manhood pressed into your nostrils when he pushed your head forward, blocking off your chance to breathe. You sputtered around him, feeling the tip at the back of your throat, feeling his cock spasm between your lips.

You gurgled and sputtered, trying not to choke. A moment of respite when he slid your head back again and his cock nearly left your lips, but then he pushed forward again until his hips met your cheek and your nose was nestled deep within his pubic hair.

You gasped and tried to claw at his hips, but all you felt was how he kept a tight grip on your head and stilled his movements, leaving his cock deep between your lips, the head pushing the back of your throat.

The process repeated itself a few more times, until his cock finally slipped from your lips and you were left gasping for air. A trail of sperm and saliva dripped from your lips and ran down your chin. You moved your hand up to wipe it away, but he caught your wrist before you could get there.

Staring up at him with wide eyes, you heard a chuckle derive from behind the mask. “Na-ah,” the man tusked, his low gravelly voice making something twist deep inside you. A longing, a tingle that had you squeezing your legs together. A foreboding feeling washed over you, that he wasn’t finished just yet. That this was only the beginning.

“Leave it there,” the man hummed. The pause that followed felt too long, making you writhe uncomfortably while you waited for him to either speak or let go of your hand. In the end, he did both, nearly at the same time. “I think I will have to cover your face in a layer of my spunk next time,” there was that rasp again. You had heard it before, how he could slide from a normal, almost gentle tone, into a demonic rasp that was usually used when he was angry and full of curses. “Paint your face a nice white with my cum,” he clicked his tongue behind the mask. His voice became lighter again.

“But for now, there’s another way I have in mind to tire you.”

You shivered at the promise and tried to back away again. The man in front of you got hold of his throbbing cock, wrapping his left hand around it. You saw how his fingers curled around the glistening shaft, still covered in your saliva, and watched how the veins throbbed when he moved his hand up and down at a firm but gentle pace. The ring on his finger glinted in the weak light, skin rippling as he pumped his hand up and down his throbbing cock. Still hard. Balls underneath heavy with cum.

“Undress, sweetie,” he cooed, voice soft like honey. But when you refused to do as he said, his tone turned drier and more menacing again.

What happened next was much of a blur. He made you undress for him, tweak your nipples for him, rub your hands up and down your bare chest for him while he watched and laughed and licked his tongue past his teeth at the show. His hand never ceased moving up and down slowly, hardening himself underneath his touch until he thought it was enough.

“Spread your legs, sweetheart,” it took only one command and you were back on your back on the mattress. Your bare back scrubbed along the mold. Even covered in the dark shade of the mask, you could see the glistening of his eyes, pupils wide. You hesitatingly spread your legs for him.

He crawled over you, cock still in his hand, and pressed your legs apart to fit himself in between. His right hand was on your thigh, palm pressed against your soft skin. His left hand guided his cock to your quivering cunt until you felt the head kiss your labia. A wet feeling against your pussy lips and you realized he was smearing his pre-cum at your entrance, deliberately rubbing the head of his cock up and down your entrance while some of the pre-cum came seeping out.

Your fingers clawed at his shoulders and your lips parted in a gasp. “Please,” you begged, knowing it to be futile. Then he dipped in, just the head. Careful fingers pressed the tip in. Not enough to hurt yet, just enough to tease.

He paused in his actions just to bend down, his hair brushed against your cheek as he whispered near your face. “That’s my good girl.”

Then he thrust forth without mercy.

You were speared upon his cock that night, in the basement that was your prison. He left you sore and tired as he forced orgasm after orgasm out of your trembling body beneath him.

He’d been right. You closed your eyes and fell into a dreamless slumber afterward, relieved when he finally rose from the bed and left you alone. You were too tired to notice when the Grabber returned for you in the midst of the night to get some more relief. Until you faintly awoke to wet sounds and the odd feeling of something thrusting deep inside you.

“Hush, pretty girl,” the low voice whispered in your ear, hips moving relentlessly while he kept pushing himself inside. One hand was on your breast, squeezing it tightly while he toyed with you. His other arm was around your waist, his knee between your legs as he held you from behind, your cunt squeezing down on his cock which was covered in your mixed juices.

“I’ll make you go to sleep soon, little one. Don’t you worry. I’ll make you sleep real deep.”

#Going real deep here #the grabber x reader #dark smut #grabber x you #albert shaw x reader drabble #drabble fill #prompt fill #insomnia reader dark fic

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hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf · 2 months ago

Text

Kinktober day 1: Body worship with Mingi

Trigger warnings: mc is insecure

Content warnings: names (baby, sweetheart), body worship (duh), mingi’s down horrendous

Summary: Your darling boyfriend wants to make sure you know just how perfect you are.

Word count: 2k

A/N: hi all 🥰 after much consideration, i’ve decided to repost my kinktober 2022 stories. i had a great time writing these a couple years ago and i want to share them again now that it’s been a while and i’ve had time to fall in love with them again. i hope you all enjoy! and by all means send me a message or comment here if you’d like to be part of the new tag list!

Tags: @bahng-chrizz

Smut below the cut

You were about as good as a vending machine trying to accept a wrinkly dollar when it came to compliments. It’s not that you didn’t believe people when they complimented you, you just didn’t know how to handle the attention. Your boyfriend knew this and took every opportunity to make you flush red. He found it cute.

He especially loved doing it in bed, knowing you’d bring your hands up to your face in an attempt to hide despite your moans filling the air as you clenched.

Thus your current predicament.

“Mingi, stop…” you whined, burying your face in his chest as he pulled you onto his lap. You didn’t actually want him to stop, you just hadn’t the slightest clue what to do with yourself.

“But it’s true, baby!” He argued back, his smile evident in his tone. “You’re just so damn cute. I can’t help myself.”

“Maybe so, but you can’t just say stuff like that!” You whined again, your voice raising in defense though you were equally as amused and trying to suppress a laugh.

“And why not? It’s just us here.” He laughed, wrapping his arms around you in a bear hug and burying his face in your neck. He took a deep breath and let out a sigh at your scent.

“Because it’s embarrassing…” you mumbled, the fight already leaving your body as he began to mouth at your skin. “Besides, pussies aren’t even that pretty…”

“We both know that’s a lie, baby. Because yours is fucking perfect.” The argument was about to start over again when a large hand moved to rest on your hip and gave a little squeeze. “I’ll prove it.”

“I should really shower first…”

“You showered this morning.”

“Yeah but-”

“You haven’t done anything today.”

“But-”

“Baby…” he sighed against your skin. You could tell he was about to give up and you certainly didn’t want that. You bit your lip as you relaxed into him, still hiding your face in his neck. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not up for it, you know.”

“It’s not that.” You murmured against his skin and felt him tense. “I’m just…well, you know.” You sighed. The relationship was relatively new, the two of you only meeting less than a year ago, and you were constantly worried about how you presented yourself to him.

He, of course, wasn’t worried about any of it. He didn’t care if you were fresh out of the shower or just back from the gym. He couldn’t contain himself around you. He didn’t want to. “I know.” He hummed and tightened his grip on you, the hand on your hip giving a reassuring squeeze. “I promise nothing is going to make me not want you.” Please don’t worry, he wanted to add.

“I know.”

“Can I show you? Alleviate your fears a little?” You nodded, knowing that by the end of the night all your insecurities would be silenced, at least for a little while. He wordlessly flipped the two of you over, pinning you beneath his large frame with a fond expression. Everything was still and quiet for a moment as he admired you before finally bringing a hand up to brush his knuckles along your jaw. He splayed his hand out on the side of your neck, his thumb still running over your jaw as your face heated up under his touch.

“Mingi-” you were cut off by his lips on yours and relaxed almost instantly, carding your fingers through his shaggy black locks. You let out a tiny sigh when he licked into your mouth and let one hand slide to his bicep, pushing into his touch when his hand slid beneath your shirt to cup your breast.

You shuddered as he lightly pinched your nipple, drinking up the groan he let out against your lips. The kiss was short-lived and you found yourself wanting to pout as he leaned back a bit. “Gorgeous.” Your cheeks heated up and you instinctively brought your hands up to hide your face but he stopped you. “Don’t hide. I wanna see your beautiful face when you fall apart for me.”

Your slight nod earned a soft ‘good girl’ from him and then he was sitting up, leaving you reeling. You didn’t speak as he helped you sit up just enough to remove the oversized tee you were borrowing from him. “You know, one of these days I’m not gonna take the shirt off.”

“Huh?” You finally made eye contact, confused by his words.

“I wanna fuck you while you wear my clothes.” He hummed simply.

“Oh…” You bit your lip as you fought back a shy smile at the thought.

“But right now,” he started, gently laying you back and leaning over you, one hand running down the center of your torso, all the way from between your breasts to the waistband of your panties. “I wanna hear your cute little moans.” His hand slipped past the elastic of your cotton cheeky panties and his long fingers immediately circled your clit as he leaned down to press a kiss to your sternum. “Take my time fucking your pretty pussy open for me…” You wanted to protest his words - pussies weren’t pretty - but could only gasp as he manipulated your body. “Wanna show you just how perfect you are…”

“Mingi, ‘m not perfect, don’t-”

“You are. You’re so perfect, baby.” He forced you to meet his gaze as he lifted his head, a smile playing at the corners of his plump lips. “You’re driving me insane. I just wanna devour you.”

You didn’t respond, simply closed your eyes and allowed yourself to drown in his touch. He knew what you wanted and so he dipped a finger into your soaked cunt, groaning as he lowered his head again and flattened his tongue against one of your nipples. He curled his finger instantly and you bit your lip when he brushed against your most sensitive spot.

You wanted to ask for another but you didn’t get the chance before he was pulling away. Your eyes flew open and you frowned up at him, dismayed at the loss of contact, but he only chuckled. “Up.” He instructed as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties. You gladly did as you were told, legs falling open again as soon as the material was tossed aside.

You averted your gaze and brought the back of your hand up to your lips, feeling small and shy as he stared at you. “Fucking stunning, sweetheart.” He sighed as he moved down the bed, laying on his belly with his head between your legs. “So.” He pressed his lips to your thigh. “Fucking.” He planted another kiss on your skin, higher this time. “Pretty.” His lips were dangerously close to where you wanted him but he didn’t offer any relief, opting instead to kiss the top of your pussy. “And you’re all mine.”

You whimpered at the way his voice dipped before he trapped your clit between his lips and sucked. You clamped your mouth shut as you attempted to stifle a soft moan, wanting to hear his moans instead. He was letting out satisfied groans as his tongue danced over your folds.

He was determined to make you moan though and sped up, slurping sounds filling the room as he lapped at your pussy. You were doing well at staying quiet until two long fingers slipped inside your dripping cunt. Finally, a pathetic moan tumbled from your lips as he immediately curled his fingers. Despite only being together for a few months, he knew your body like the back of his hand and he knew exactly how to get you to the finish line.

Your hands found purchase in his hair and at first you guided him where you wanted him but after a few minutes you were pulling his hair and trying to stop him. “Please just fuck me, Mingi, I can’t wait!” You begged, shuddering when he allowed you to pull him up for a kiss while still working his graceful fingers inside you.

You could taste yourself on his lips and it made you clench around his digits, your tongue eagerly licking into his mouth for more. The sound of your pulse almost drowned out the wet squelching coming from between your legs as your hands slid down to his back and began to pull his shirt up. You hated when you were the only one exposed. You wanted to see him, wanted to feel him.

He let you do as you pleased, pulling away so you could remove his shirt. He stood from the bed and quickly shucked his jeans and boxers, grabbing a condom from the nightstand. You only got a second to admire him before he was leaning back over you, pecking your lips before catching the foil between his teeth and ripping the packet open. You quickly plucked it from his grasp and pulled the condom out. Before he could process what you were doing, you’d pinched the tip and begun to roll the rubber onto his length, taking in his staggered sigh at your touch.

His hand joined yours as you guided him to your entrance and he teased your slit with the tip of his cock before sinking into you. “You feel fucking perfect, baby…” He groaned as he bottomed out. Sloppy kisses were pressed to your feverish skin as he set a slow pace. It was torture to him but slow, precise thrusts got you off the fastest.

But tonight, you didn’t want sweet, gentle lovemaking. You wanted him to fuck your insecurities right out of you. “Please, harder…” You whispered before nipping at his earlobe, causing him to buck his hips.

“You sure, sweetheart?” You nodded and he licked a fat stripe up your neck as he gave a powerful thrust. He waited for your reaction and when he was satisfied with the soft squeak you let out as your jaw hung slack, he slammed into you again. He kept at it like this, snapping his hips and listening for your sounds before repeating his actions until your legs were trembling.

“I’m so close-” You gasped and he pulled his face away from your neck just enough to see you.

“Cum for me. Let me see you fall apart.” His deep voice was strained despite his best efforts to appear composed. He was teetering right on the edge too. That knowledge, paired with his dick splitting you open, was enough to throw you into the fire and your face screwed up with pleasure as a white-hot orgasm wracked your body.

He sped up just a bit as you rode out your orgasm, watching your face as he reduced you to nothing more than a quivering mess. “So fucking pretty when you come undone for me…” He praised, holding off his own orgasm until you were finished.

You watched his face as he stilled his hips, cock twitching inside you as he filled the condom. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you pulled him in for a kiss - if it could even be called that given how uncoordinated and graceless it was. You whined in dismay against his lips when he pulled out but shivered in delight when he began trailing lazy kisses along the entirety of your body, murmuring soft words of praise against your blazing skin.

He was working you up again despite your best efforts to keep calm. Your refractory period was almost nonexistent and he knew this. But it seemed that he wanted to work you up again when he suddenly got up to grab a new condom. “I’m far from done with you, baby. I don’t think I’ve convinced you of your perfection just yet.” You pressed your lips together as you watched him, already aching for more. “I might just have to use the rest of the pack.” He teased, holding up the last three with a grin.

d-2 ->

#kpop smut #ateez #ateez smut #ateez mingi #mingi #mingi smut #ateez song mingi #song mingi #song mingi smut #kinktober #alura’s works

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coochiequeens · 5 months ago

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There's something satisfying about when an abusive man is called out by other men. Or at least one man.

Rest In Infamy, You Haunted Castle

Why I believe the Neil Gaiman accusations

By GRAHAM LINEHAN JUL 19, 2024

I only met Neil Gaiman once, at an upscale dinner party where Derren Brown had been hired to do magic tricks like in the old-timey days. Between astonishments, Gaiman and I withdrew to a quiet corner where I pretended to be pleased that he was giving me a signed copy of ‘Sandman’. One of the unexpected advantages of being cancelled is telling people who took part in my harassment what I really think about their work, but this was a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, so I said the right things and we went back to being bamboozled by Brown’s invisible craft.

To give credit where it’s due, I later read Gaiman’s ‘Coraline’ to my kids which had them simultaneously terrified and hooked, and thanked him for it. Whatever my feelings about his earlier work, he was a real writer, practising his own invisible craft. From the evidence of that book, I thought he was probably a decent person too, an impression that continued until 2022, when we started to get into it over The Issue.

I may have asked why he wasn’t speaking out on behalf of JK Rowling, who was undergoing one of her regular cancellations for refusing to pander to the spoilt brats who loved her books but missed their meaning. A big name like his might have shifted the conversation and given her some much-needed support. He might perhaps have persuaded some of his fans to give the matter another look. This was when I assumed people like him acknowledged biological reality but worried about ‘coming out of the closet’, as it were. It took me years to realise that almost every celebrity mate of mine believed, or was pretending to believe, in the fashionable, American mind-cancer of ’gender’.

But back then, I was still astonished to find that he was a carrier of the virus, the mass delusion that by sheer coincidence, turned up after the arrival of the Internet. Whether it was Bill Bailey or Neil Hannon, Robin Ince or Matt Lucas, Arthur Mathews or Jimmy Mulville, it was always the same story. A sudden cloud of amnesia would form around my celebrity mates, a real peasouper, from which they suddenly could not see why we need female-only spaces, or why unhappy teenage girls will not find a miraculous cure for their woes in a double mastectomy. Far from sharing any of my urgency in the need to stop children from being irreversibly harmed in gender clinics, they instead downplayed, deflected and dismissed. “I never ask you to join in with my animal activism” grumbled Neil Hannon on one of the occasions I begged for his support.

“Couldn’t you pretend women and children are animals?” I thought.

My usual trajectory during these conversations saw me shifting from gobsmacked disbelief to fury and despair. The disloyalty made me angry, but knowing my friends did not care about their own daughters, wives, sisters and mothers was, and continues to be, destabilising in the extreme.

Gaiman went one step further. I can’t find the tweet, so I may be paraphrasing, but he said

"I hope you're kinder if your daughter ever hopes to transition."

I can think of no uglier thing to say to a parent. For girls, ‘transition’ means double mastectomies in their teens, hysterectomies in their mid-twenties, early menopause and a four times greater chance of having a heart attack than males of the same age. To have this decaying goth wish that horror on my daughter was more than I could bear. I wanted to rip his throat out.

Like a pair of grappling cowboys falling off a rooftop, our fight spilled into email. I sent Gaiman this article about the Tavistock. It was clear when he wrote back that he hadn’t absorbed it Like most celebrities in this fight, he appeared to have lost the ability to read.

“As I said before Graham, I hope that you'd be kinder if it was one of your kids who wanted to transition. “

He actually said it again. The piece was right there, detailing exactly what was happening to the children unlucky enough to wander through the Tavistock’s doors, and he chose to repeat that disgusting thing. Why?

That same year, just months before Gaiman was advising me on the value of kindness, a 22-year-old woman (‘Scarlett’ in the podcast) arrived at his Waiheke Island home in New Zealand for a babysitting job. Upon her arrival, she discovered that Gaiman’s wife of the time, Amanda Palmer, had suddenly remembered a sleepover, an appointment the child was apparently eager to attend.

So she and junior drove out of view, leaving the 23 -year-old Scarlett alone with Gaiman for the night. Within a few hours the 61-year-old man, without warning or invitation, appeared fully naked and slipped into the other end of her bath. Scarlett alleges that over the next three weeks, they embarked on a semi-consensual relationship, where Gaiman routinely ignored the boundaries she set. She alleges that he became angry when she would refuse these demands, used a belt to beat her, insisted she call him ‘Master’ and once sexually assaulted her so violently that she lost consciousness.

“… (the sex) was so painful and so violent that I fainted. I passed out, lost consciousness, ringing in the ears, black vision, the pain was celestial, you know, which is a strange word to use, but I couldn't even describe it in language. And when I regained consciousness and I was on the ground, I looked up and he was watching the rehearsals from Scotland of whatever they were filming, I don't fucking know. And he didn't even notice that I was passed out. And you know…there was blood. It was so so, so traumatic, and I asked him to stop. I said it was too much.”

Scarlett is a compelling witness despite, or because of, her contradictions. Certain things paint a picture of consent—she sexted Gaiman, to which he would send careful replies—and she laughs nervously when she talks about the alleged abuse. But when Gaiman’s side of the story is put to her, she turns cold as a knife and shows flashes of fury that she—in her telling—young, inexperienced and dazzled by Palmer and Gaiman’s fame and lifestyle, was used so casually and so brutally.

A few years back, I wrote about becoming a sort of Jessica Fletcher figure on Twitter. ‘Murder, She Wrote” but with paedophiles and predators. “Just as murderers seemed drawn to any location Jessica presented herself, “ I said. “My opining about women's rights and safety on Twitter appeared to attract the kind of men who can't sit still during a spelling bee.”

Among my adversaries was Peter Bright, the Ars Technica writer now doing twelve years for trying to buy two children to abuse. Luckily the children didn’t exist and the parents were actually FBI agents. Our exchange was brief and concerned safeguarding. I’m sure you’re all astonished to discover that he was against it.

Then there was ex-Labour MP Eric Joyce, who argued with me about the safety of mixed-sex loos in schools and was done for possessing the worst kind of child abuse images. More recently, I tangled with ‘Lexi’, who is now serving time for rape.

They all had one thing in common. They couldn’t leave alone those of us who were actively opposing the trans movement's assault on safeguarding, an assault that chimed nicely with their plans for the future. Each was returning to the scene of a crime not yet committed, each picking at a scab on their own character.

In 2018, at the height of #MeToo, Gaiman tweeted “On a day like today it’s worth saying, I believe survivors. Men must not close their eyes and minds to what happens to women in this world. We must fight, alongside them, for them to be believed, at the ballot box, and with art, and by listening, and change this world for the better.”

Well said. I certainly believe the women in ‘Master’. During my Jessica Fletcher period (a period which continues) no-one except Gaiman ever mentioned my kids. I think he knew it would cause me distress, and the second time he said it was just a twisting of the knife. Many of my colleagues in the media joined in with the trashing of my reputation, but Gaiman went that extra mile. I believe this is because he is a sadist. I think he is a man who finds pleasure in the suffering of others, and a man who does not see women and girls as fully human.

This was my final letter to him.

Dear Neil

I notice you’re still pretending you can’t read the Tavistock story. If you ever try and lay that curse on my kids again I will certainly share our exchange. Your privileged beliefs are harming children so to paraphrase Will Smith, keep their names out of your fucking mouth.

Thank you for giving me one last chance to say that JK Rowling will be remembered as a hero and you as a traitor to the kids who loved your books.

Rest in infamy, you haunted castle.

All the best,

Graham.

#Rest In infamy neil gaiman #Graham Lineham is speaking the truth #Neil Hannon commpared campaigning for women's rights to animal activitism #Neil gaiman refused to stand up for JKRowling #Neil gaiman allegedly became angry when the 23 year o.d woman would refuse the demands of the 61 year old #Neil gaiman allegedly used a belt to beat her #Neil gaiman allegedly insisted she call him ‘Master’ and once sexually assaulted her so violently that she lost consciousness.#Peter Bright is the Ars Technica writer now doing twelve years for trying to buy two children to abuse #Ex_Labour MP Eric Joyce who argued with me about the safety of mixed-sex loos in schools possessed the worst kind of child abuse images #Neil Gaiman dragged Linehams kids into their conversations #Neil gaiman used the gender cult for his own image yet attacked two biological women

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justagalwhowrites · 11 months ago

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Halcyon - Ch. 5: I've Never Been a Bad Influence a Day in My Life

You and Joel get closer as you put together your lists. A continuation of Halcyon from the prologue through Ch. 4, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Masturbation, fantasy about P in V sex. Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Length: 5K

AO3 | Main Master List | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

October, 2022

“Why can’t I add to your list?” You pouted a little, can of hard seltzer in your hand as your float drifted to the middle of Joel’s pool.

“Because you’re gonna just use that power for evil, not good,” Joel replied.

“Would not!” You shoved off the side of the pool with your foot, floating back toward the middle of the water.

“Am I allowed to put shit on your list?” He asked, sitting on the edge of the pool, his feet in the water and a beer in his hand.

You scoffed.

“Absolutely not.”

“Well, there you go,” he shrugged. “Goes both ways.”

“You’d be a dick about it!” You kicked the water in his direction but the spray of it fell short and you watched him try to not laugh. “You’d put things on there like ‘buy Joel beer for the rest of his life’ or ‘speak in a bad British accent for a week…’”

“Can you do a good British accent?” He asked, brows raised.

“That is beside the point.”

“What are you gonna add to my list, hm?” There was a teasing edge in his voice as he took a sip of beer. “Get a new wardrobe? Get Sarah a dog?”

“OK, both of those are good additions,” you said, defensive. “But no, not what I was thinking.”

“Then what, Goldie?”

“Put in a hot tub,” you said, chin raised.

He barked a laugh.

“A hot tub?”

“A hot tub,” you nodded. “How can I come over to your house and float in the water if it’s too cold to go in the pool? Which it will be in like… a few weeks. You need a hot tub.”

“It’s already too cold,” he said. “That water’s below 70 degrees, couldn’t pay me to get in there now. Lucky I’m in this far as it is.”

“See?” You said. “Hot tub.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he shook his head.

“If your list is shitty can I add to it?”

“If you actually think my list is shitty we can discuss it,” he said. Your float drifted close to him and you were afraid, for a moment, that he was going to splash you. Instead, he just pushed the edge of it with his foot, sending you drifting back toward the middle of the water. “Still down to compare tomorrow night?”

“Think so,” you said, taking a sip of your seltzer. “As long as you don’t mock me relentlessly for it.”

“When do I not mock you relentlessly?”

“Excellent point,” you said. “I should get better friends.”

“Probably so.”

“At least now you come with Sarah,” you sighed dramatically. “So I guess I’ll keep bugging you…”

“God, you two are gonna kill me,” he said, trying to look serious but a hint of a smile on his lips. “Worst idea I ever had, lettin’ you two get to know each other…”

You giggled a little at that. You and Sarah had become thick as thieves since you and Joel had reconnected now two weeks ago.

It was hard to believe that he’d only been back in your life less than a month. But then, it was hard to believe he’d ever been out of your life at all. You’d only gone a few days without seeing him since that night at the bar and, on those days, the two of you were almost constantly texting. It was the most natural thing in the world, having your life fall into step alongside Joel’s. It reminded you so much of high school even though you were in your 30s now, your lives moving in parallel until they collided at the end of the day and you came over for dinner or went and cheered on Sarah at her soccer game or Joel showed up at your door with beer. Even after all this time, he just knew you and you just knew him. You could read his posture as easily as a book, instantly knowing the kind of day he had by the way he opened the door or flopped on your couch. He seemed to be able to peer inside your mind on command, just a raised eyebrow or a sigh telling him everything he needed to know about how you were feeling and how to make it better.

There was one day where you hadn’t intended to see him at all but it’d turned shitty and he just somehow picked up on it from the tone of your texts. New paperwork had come over from Gale’s attorney and you resigned yourself to spending the evening picking over the bones of your marriage with a bottle of wine and a wilted salad - because you definitely didn’t have the emotional energy to go by the grocery store - when Joel texted. It was a meme that you responded to with just an lol before going back to the paperwork. He FaceTimed just 30 seconds later and you frowned, answering it.

“Hi?” You said brows raised.

He nodded sagely.

“What I thought,” he said. “You look like shit.”

“Gee thanks.”

He rolled his eyes.

“For you you look like shit. What’s wrong.”

You narrowed your eyes and he laughed.

“What?” He asked

“How can you just tell?” You replied. “It’s weird.”

“Come over,” he said instead of answering. He flipped his camera around and Sarah made a face, sticking her tongue out, her hair in two springy buns on the top of her head.

You frowned.

“Where are you?”

He turned the camera back around.

“Picking up pizza,” he said. “I’ll grab an extra cheese bread, come over.”

“I’ve been drinking…”

“We’ll pick you up,” he said. “Come over.”

“Please?” Sarah jumped to try to get in the frame and Joel laughed, tilting the camera so she was visible. “It’ll be fun! OH! Spend the night! Come sleep over again, please?”

Joel tilted the camera so he was back in the frame.

“You really wanna disappoint my kid?” He asked. “C’mon.”

“Yeah!” Sarah said, bouncing just out of frame again, just a bit of her bun appearing in the bottom corner as she jumped. “Don’t let down the kid, that’s just shitty.”

“Hey,” Joel said but you could tell he was trying not to smile. She stopped bouncing. “Language.”

“Sorry.”

He turned his attention back to you.

“Be there in 10,” he said. “Can’t let you just sit and wallow. Need pizza for that.”

He and Sarah picked you up and Sarah insisted on cranking Taylor Swift in the car, signing Look What You Made Me Do into her water bottle in the back seat while you balanced warm pizza boxes on your lap, trying not to laugh when you and Joel exchanged glances at red lights.

At dinner, you pulled a pepperoni off your slice of pizza and stuck it on the end of your nose and held very serious eye contact with Joel and Sarah as they spoke, nodding along carefully so as to not disturb the topping dangling from your face. Sarah tried very hard not to laugh and did a pretty good job of it until you made a face at her from across the table when Joel’s back was turned and she cackled, laughing so hard she almost knocked over her soda can.

“You bein’ a bad influence on my kid?” He asked when he handed you the paper towel you’d requested.

“Joel,” you said, deathly serious, pepperoni slice still on the tip of your nose. “I’ve never been a bad influence a day in my life.”

After dinner, as Joel did the dishes, you sat on the couch with Sarah and listened as she told you about one of her friends at school who hadn’t been as kind lately. You nodded along until Sarah seemed to run out of steam, slumping down against the cushion with a slightly tired look on her face.

“Well,” you said. “Have you told her that you’ve been feeling hurt by how she’s been treating you lately?”

She scrunched her face a little.

“No,” she said. “But I thought that’d be pretty obvious…”

You shrugged.

“Sometimes it’s not. She may not even know she’s doing it. If I were you, I’d tell her that you’ve been feeling hurt and ask if she’s doing OK because it sounds like this is a change for her. If she’s hurting you that might be because her feelings are getting hurt somewhere else.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she nodded a little. “That’s a good idea.”

“I do have those occasionally,” you said and she smiled a little at you.

The three of you watched part of a movie before Sarah went to get ready for bed and you eavesdropped from the living room as Joel read to her in her room, the door opened just enough to hear when his voice changed with the characters.

“Peeta sighs,” Joel said like Joel before his voice shifted to something that sounded more boyish but still strong and deep, almost what you remembered from when you first met him. You smiled. “'Well, there is this one girl. I’ve had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I’m pretty sure she didn’t know I was alive until the reaping…’”

Joel flopped next to you on the couch when he was done and you held out your glass of wine. He took it, taking a big sip before handing it back.

“You look tired,” you said, holding the glass.

He shrugged.

“No days off from this whole dad thing. Don’t really want a day off but still… get tired after a bit.” He looked over at you and smiled a little. “Thanks for talking with her. Think she needs someone like you around.”

“Oh, someone who managed to tank her relationship and got stuck starting over in her 30s?” You asked. “That kind of someone?”

He rolled his eyes.

“A woman…”

“Oh, is that all?”

He glared at you.

“A woman,” he said again. “But one who’s lived some life, knows how to navigate the hard shit. One who’s willing to listen to her problems. She’s got me and Tommy for that but can’t help but feel like I’ve let her down by not giving her some kind of… I don’t fuckin’ know, feminine influence.”

“Ahh yes, the mysterious feminine,” you nodded sagely. Joel picked up a pillow and smacked you in the stomach with it, making you laugh as you caught it and held it to yourself. “Joel, you’re doing great with her.”

“Yeah?” He asked, serious now.

“Yeah,” you said, serious, too. “You really are. She’s so lucky to have you, Joel. You have no idea.”

“I’m lucky to have her,” he said, looking toward Sarah’s room for a moment before turning back to you. “So, you have the kind of bad day that you want to talk about it or the kind of bad day that you want to get fucked up about it?”

“The latter.”

“Then chug that wine,” he said, shoving himself off the couch. “And maybe change into your pajamas, I’m getting the tequila.”

You swapped numbers with Sarah at breakfast the next day. You and Joel were both hung over and trying to pretend like you hadn’t been up until 2:30 on a work night getting hammered until you passed out in a heap on his couch only to be roused by a groggy Sarah at 7 in the morning.

She’d taken to texting you then, sometimes just silly selfies, sometimes memes you didn’t really get, sometimes with questions about friends at school. You were pretty sure your heart melted the first time she called you Aunt Goldie, a sense of belonging wrapping around you that you’d never really known before.

“We still on for tomorrow?” Joel asked, eyes following the slow, lazy path your float was making across his pool. “Make a night out of this whole project, kick things off right.”

“Hell yeah,” you said, drifting back to Joel. He didn’t shove you back out to the water this time. “Did I tell you I’m seeing Anna for lunch? I cannot just go into that blind, I’ll need an out…”

“She’s doin’ that well, huh?” Joel asked.

“I don’t know,” you sighed. “She’s supposedly sticking with her program but… I feel like I should be a better sister and try to check in more but then it just feels like babysitting and that doesn’t seem right, either.”

“At a certain point, she’s gotta do it on her own,” Joel said. “You’re her sister, not her mom.”

“I know,” you nodded. “But I feel like I should have checked in on her more after our mom died. She was a teenager and I just left her alone…”

“You were 20 years old,” Joel said gently. “Not like you were equipped for that shit.”

You shrugged and took another drink.

“Hey,” he said, nudging your float gently, just enough to make you look up at him. “Don’t be hard on yourself for that. You were handed a shit situation and you did what you could with it. Trust me, I know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Ended up in a similar boat with Tommy. Spent years - literal years - bailing his ass out of jail and begging him to get his shit together. Eventually he did a stint in the army and got it figured out. At least a bit. She’ll get there. But it’s not your job to get her there.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “You’re probably right.”

“Who, me?” He asked, mocking. “Right? Never thought I’d see the day…”

“Shove it,” you splashed at him, the water dripping down his face and soaking his t-shirt. You snorted as you watched him fight the urge to laugh.

“Gonna pay for that,” he said, setting his beer down on the side of the pool and grabbing your float as you tried to paddle away.

“No!” You shrieked and laughed, shoving your seltzer into the cupholder as more of you ended up in the cold pool water than you really wanted in your rush to escape.

“You started it!” Joel was leaning precariously over the water now, trying to splash you again while keeping you from retreating. “Shoulda just kept those little hands to yourself…”

“They’re not little!”

He yanked your float back toward the side of the pool and nodded down at one of your hands.

“Freakishly small…”

“Yours are just freakishly big you mutant!” You grabbed a fistful of his shirt and watched as he realized a second too late what was about to happen.

“Oh shit,” his eyes went wide and you laughed in victory before you pulled him all the way into the pool, jeans and all. He brought you down as he went, the float capsizing and sending you and your mostly empty drink can into the cold water with a sharp yelp.

You went under, the chlorine stinging your eyes as you twisted and tried to right yourself below the water. You and Joel surfaced at the same time, not even a foot apart and gasping for breath, laughing as you tried to brush your soaked hair back from your face.

“It’s so cold!” You shivered and splashed at him before crossing your arms tightly over yourself.

“Why are you complainin’ to me?” He shivered back. “You’re the one who wanted to be in the damn pool…”

“In the floatie!” You said. “I was mostly dry until you got involved!”

“Got justice you mean,” he said, reaching for your can and pulling it out of the water, dumping it out before setting it on the side of the pool. “You’re the one who put us in here…”

“You’re the one who was being mean,” you said, reaching out for him and pressing your cold fingers to his chest, the heat of him still apparent even in the water. You sighed contentedly. “That’s better…”

“Jesus, what are you, ice?” He griped, tugging you against him with a little yelp. “Gonna fuckin’ freeze to death if you’re not careful… ridiculous…”

You giggled once but pressed yourself closer to him, soaking up his heat and pressing your cold fingers to his exposed skin.

“OK, you could be less mean about it,” he said, pulling back from you just enough to scowl down at you. “Frozen fuckin’ hands…”

You laughed and realized, very suddenly, how close you were to him. You weren’t sure the last time you’d been quite this close to him, the last time you could feel every line of him through his clothes, the last time his mouth had been that close to your own. Your heart sped up. His eyes searched yours and you could feel his breath on your skin and suddenly, you weren’t close enough to him. Not close enough at all.

“Dad?” Sarah’s groggy voice called from the sliding glass door, making you jump, both of your heads turning toward her. Her face was scrunched and a curl had broken free of its braid, sticking straight out from the side of her head. “Is everything OK?”

“Course it is, baby girl,” Joel frowned. “Why wouldn’t it be? What are you doin’ out of bed?”

“You’re being loud,” she groaned. “You’re never loud.”

“M’sorry kiddo,” Joel said, separating from you and working his way to the edge of the pool, pulling himself out of the water and dripping on the stone edge. “Gimme just a second to get Goldie out of the water before she freezes to death and dry her off, I’ll come tuck you in again in just a minute…”

“Can I get another chapter?” She said it fast, the words all strung together, her eyes big. “Please? They just got into the arena and…”

“We’ll see,” he said. “But only because it’s Friday and you’re sleeping over at Emma’s tomorrow so you won’t get one then. Inside, go on.”

He watched her go and then went to the lounge chair at the side of the pool, getting the only towel he’d brought outside and holding it away from his body, spread open wide.

“Hurry up, before I change my mind,” he said.

“Such a gentleman,” you said, trying not to let your teeth chatter and trying to shove the ache that was still growing all hollow and wanting inside you down deep. You got out of the water and he wrapped you tightly in the towel, his arms going tightly around you.

“Not really,” he said, pulling you back against his broad chest and squeezing you so the water from him soaked into the towel before he shook his shaggy curls over you so drops of water got all over your face as you laughed. “There, cured you of THAT notion…”

“Thanks so much,” you said wryly as he released you. You turned to face him as he ran his fingers through his soaked hair and his shirt pulled up just enough that you caught a glimpse of the smooth flesh around his hips and you found yourself drifting closer to him again before you stopped yourself. Joel put his arms down and seemed to notice exactly where you were, just looking at you for a moment before he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I should go tuck Sarah back in,” he said. “Get into something dry so I don’t get her all soaked…”

“Right,” you said, stepping back from him. “Sorry we woke your kid up because you just couldn’t leave well enough alone…”

“I will throw your ass back in that pool,” he said, going to open the door for you. “Don’t try me.”

“Oh don’t worry Miller,” you teased. “I know just what you’re capable of.”

He started toward the stairs, a little trail of water in his wake as he went, and you watched the pull of the wet fabric of his shirt over his shoulders. You swallowed, hard.

“I’m just going to head out,” you said and he stopped, turning to frown at you.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Really should go wash this chlorine out of my hair. But see you tomorrow?”

“With the list?” Joel asked.

“With the list,” you answered.

“Lookin’ forward to it,” he said, turning to go up the stairs again before looking back over his shoulder. “Drive safe, Goldie.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just heading for his room.

Your heart was still racing.

You left the towel draped over the banister and just pulled on the oversized t-shirt you’d put in your bag before going to your car.

You tried not to think about Joel as you drove home.

It didn’t do you any good to think about him that way. It was Joel. He didn’t see you that way, drifting in that direction was what had ruined things so many years before. You’d just gotten him back, things were so good again, you felt like you belonged again, you couldn’t fuck that up, not because you’d never been able to move past a school girl crush.

But you wanted to kiss him. Fuck, you wanted to kiss him.

You tried not to think about kissing him. You tried not to think about what happened after the last time you’d kissed him. How quickly everything had dissolved, how you’d gone from picturing a future with Joel - a different one than you’d held in your mind outside of fantasy before - to running as far and as fast as you could in a matter of hours.

It’s Goldie, he’d said then. It’s the worst thing that could happen, I wish it was anybody else…

You flinched at the memory, shoving it away. No, you didn’t think about that, not when you could help it. Just like you didn’t think about the way Joel’s lips felt against your skin, how his fingers - warm and think - had traced over you, how he made you feel so clearly seen and adored in a way that no one else had before, in a way your husband had never really seemed to. How he still made you feel that way.

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself as you parked, dropping your head to your steering wheel with a groan before you went in your house, closing your car door with a little too much force.

You showered and forced yourself to keep your hands away from your aching slit. You were not going to fuck yourself in your bathroom to the idea of sleeping with your best friend. You weren’t. You weren’t a teenager anymore and you weren’t going to act like one. You were better than this.

Your hair was still damp when you gave up on getting any writing or grading done and went to bed, an almost frustrating, throbbing ache between your thighs. You stared at the ceiling in the dark for a while before you all but threw the covers off and rifled through your nightstand for the discreet little pink vibrator you’d bought years ago when you’d first figured out that, while your husband had many talents, making you come wasn’t one of them.

You went to your usual fallback for porn but didn’t find anything that was really working for you, the ache of longing just getting worse as you gently toyed with your clit under the covers in the dark. Your cunt was slick, your wetness seeping down to your nightie and coating your fingers. It felt like forever that you’d been touching yourself and getting nowhere when the batteries on your vibrator died and you whimpered, kicking your legs down into your mattress in frustration.

“Goddammit,” you moaned into your pillow, tossing your phone and vibrator aside, the ache in you worse than you’d ever really remembered it being before. There was no way you were going to be able to sleep like this, your whole body drawn tight and needy. You fumbled in your drawer for the charging cable and plugged the vibrator in before sighing and staring up at the ceiling again.

Your thoughts drifted to Joel again. You couldn’t help it, he’d felt so good against you in the pool. He knew you so well, even after all this time. He kept your favorite snacks at his house and draped a blanket over you when you started getting cold when watching a movie. He was so funny and so handsome it hurt to look at him and he’d felt so fucking good.

Your fingers slipped between your legs again without really thinking about it, brushing against your swollen, sensitive clit. You resisted it for a moment, the idea of falling into the fantasy of you with Joel, but the need drawing everything inside you all tight and molten won.

It swallowed you quickly once you gave in.

The memory of him was there at the fore so fast, the way his lips had felt on you so many years ago. How you thought they’d feel against you now. His hands ranged over you, around your waist, down to your hips, his fingers twisting and knotting in the fabric there as he bunched it up to hold you firmer, reach you better. You moaned and rocked into your hand, sliding lower, your palm pressed against your sensitive nub as you slipped a finger inside yourself with a moan. You worked yourself open slowly, your slick making easy work of it, as you imagined it was his hand between your legs, his fingers sinking into you. How he’d take your swimsuit off and line his cock up with your entrance and push inside of you as he moaned your name. How his fingers would grip your flesh, prying at you as though he was trying to take you apart to keep pieces of you for himself. How he’d work himself so deep into you that you were certain no one else had ever come quite so close to climbing into another person’s skin before.

You rocked your hips against your hand to the thought of him, not sure where memory ended and fantasy began, the fingers not plunging needily into your hole finding their way to your breast, grasping at the soft swell there, your own hand so unsatisfyingly small compared to his. You remembered the way his voice trembled as he breathed your name - his mouth against the tender skin at the base of your ear - as his cock filled you, the whole of him buried inside like he belonged there as he came.

“Joel!” You gasped as your own orgasm hit, tight channel throbbing around the three fingers you’d managed to fit inside yourself, slick pooling in your palm and your tit filling your other hand.

You came harder than you had in years, let alone from only using your hand and not your toy. It took you a few minutes to come down from the high of it, indulging in the fantasy of him in a way you hadn’t done since your freshman year of college. He last time you gave into it was back when you’d first started dating Gale but you’d felt so desperately alone, like no one had ever bothered to learn you at all. So you’d let yourself pretend that your best friend was still your best friend, that he loved you the way you loved him and that fucking you hadn’t been some mistake he’d made on prom night. It had seemed the most supreme extravagance, pretending that Joel would have wanted you to come like that with him. It still did.

You put a stop to all that when Gale proposed, solidifying your relationship in an entirely new way. You tucked the memory of Joel and his body on and within yours away then. You’d never intended to think about him that way again. But then, you’d never intended to get divorced, either.

“Fuck,” you sighed, shoving yourself out of bed to pee and clean up the mess you’d made of yourself. Before you lay back down, you opened the golden notebook on your bedside table and found the page with the list. You went to the bottom and tried to add another line but the pen in the elastic loop wouldn’t write. You groaned before fishing out the red pen you’d left in your nightstand from a night you were editing in bed from the top drawer. You added two words to the bottom of your list - trying to ignore the way the diamond of your engagement ring caught the light from your lamp, casting little rainbows on the paper - and circled them, pressing the pen into the paper harder than you really needed to.

“There,” you said, capping the pen and dropping it on the notebook you hadn’t bothered to close. The pen rolled until it came to a stop, the red cap almost pointing to the newly added words as though they needed any more attention.

That, you thought, was the solution. If you could just figure out how to accomplish that, you could put Joel back in that little box and keep this stupid crush from blowing up your whole life a second time, as long as you weren’t an idiot about it.

You switched off the lamp and pulled your blankets tightly around yourself, trying to ignore the feeling that the words were glaring at you from their perch on your night stand. They blinked at you like neon behind your eyelids and you tried not to see them in the same way you tried not to think about Joel’s body on yours in the pool as you drifted off to sleep.

Get laid.

Next Chapter

A/N: I just adore these two. Honestly, they keep getting away from me, their conversations are so fun to write and explore that I get lost in what I'm trying to accomplish with a chapter. But that's OK! The ride is the point of this whole fic thing, right?

Thank you for being patient with this chapter! I got a bit sidetracked with another project but I think I'm in a good place to get back to my once a week updates here for a while. I hope it was at least somewhat worth the wait!

Thank you for being here! Love you!!

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #halcyon

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buckybarnesthehotshot · 9 months ago

Text

Francis Forever (CS55 x Reader)

|ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ|

summary: words unsaid keep him up at night after y/n loses her f1 seat (inspired by Francis Forever by Mitski)

word count: 4117

warnings: angst not proofread, swearing maybe, y/n is essentially daniel from the 2022-2023 season

December 19, 2022 (Spain)

He was lost in the 2022 season. Red Bull had a different dominance to them, and Ferrari could not seem to keep up with the absolute rocket ship of a car Red Bull had. In the end, his thoughts only drifted back to her. They both struggled greatly in the season. The season was over, and so were they.

It was three in the morning in Spain—he’d spent the night tossing and turning in bed, seeking warmth his blankets could not provide him—when the news stumbled onto his social media. Multiple accounts across multiple platforms announced y/n to be Red Bull’s third driver for the 2023 season. He even went on Red Bull’s account to verify the news.

He sighed. He believed she would have taken a break from Formula 1 in the time she wasn’t going to be driving. Instead, he was mortified to learn his ex girlfriend would only be a few garages up the pitlane. How couldn’t she? With the love Red Bull always had for her, it was never going to come into question that they would have bailed her out of the situation she found herself in for the season.

Despite Red Bull’s history with its drivers, his heart lit up with joy knowing they would have taken care of her. After all, her time with Red Bull was preferable to the time she spent with McLaren. He was almost in a daze, caught up in the moment when he found himself scrolling through his phone’s contacts, his heart skipping a beat as his gaze landed upon the familiar contact; her number saved under the name “Mi Amor”.

“Saw the news, amor! Congratulations, I can’t wait to see you again on race weekends” he typed up before mentally kicking himself when a moment of logic washed over him. Though the message was plain, it was far too sentimental for his liking. Far too sentimental for what they were now.

“Congratulations. See you!” he made a attempt to revise the message. He sighed, repeatedly tapping on his phone’s backspace key until not a single trace of the message existed. No message. It’s what he had settled on instead that night.

March 3, 2023 (Bahrain)

It was time for the first race of the 2023 season. Walking through the paddock, he saw her. She smiled as she walked past reporters and photographers, clad in her team’s dark blue t-shirt as she made her way over to the Red Bull garage. He stood still, watching her from meters away as she disappeared behind the motorhome’s walls. He could not bring himself to move closer to her, unsure of whether or not he still had the right to do so after their breakup.

Back then, race weekends were not so awkward. They used to be fine. Perfectly fine, and so perfectly enamored with each other. Their eyes used to light up so clearly when they spotted each other from across the paddock walking into their respective motorhomes. It was never this messy between them.

August 27, 2022 (Belgium)

The 2022 season was exhausting for the pair. y/n had just announced she was parting ways with McLaren and that made it all real. And though Carlos wanted to be there to support her, he had his work to do with Ferrari. After the announcement, she was working to prove herself to other teams, fighting to make the improvements she needed to. The pair hardly found much time for each other.

A few garages distance had never felt so far.

“So, Red Bull wants to give me a third driver seat,” she spoke as they jogged side-by-side on the hotel gym’s treadmills. Her e/c eyes scanned his face for a reaction, frowning when she got none. It took her waving her hand in front of his face for him to finally rid himself of his earphones.

“Sorry, amor, were you saying something?” he questioned cluelessly, an expectant look on his face. She frowned.

“Never mind. I haven’t signed anything yet,” she shook away the thought of letting him in on the news this early.

“Why? Are you getting offers already?” he questioned almost absentmindedly, gaze fixed on the view outside the glass windows the treadmills were situated in front of.

“Kind of? Not really, though. It’s complicated and the driver market is insanely complicated this year,” she shook off the thought. Mercedes had offered her a role as a reserve driver, and Haas offered her a seat she had no plans of taking. She didn’t know how well those teams would have fared for her and her career.

“Let me know when you have a seat, yeah? We can go out and celebrate,” he smiled proudly before making a suggestion, “If you can’t find one, maybe I can put in a good word for you in Ferrari for a reserve driver seat or something.”

She grimaced at the thought. There was nothing wrong with it. She knew he was trying to help in a way he knew how. Still, it felt as though he were implying she needed him in order to stay in F1. Him leaving McLaren was what led her into the team in the first place. To many, it seemed like Carlos was responsible for the opportunities she was given in her career in recent years. It wasn’t fair for her achievements to be diminished by the fact that her career was waning, incomparable to the way her boyfriend’s career shone.

“I don’t need it,” she responded, her tone clipped, “I’ve got opportunities. Plenty of them. I’ll find a seat next year on the grid, and if I have to wait for somebody else’s contract to end, I’ll do it.”

“Maybe you can try a different racing series?” he suggested, “Le Mans could be interesting for you, no? Maybe even rally cars like we did with papa that one time.”

“And what about us? Would we be able to take it? Traveling to different places in the world at different times, our schedules almost never lining up?”

“I think we can handle it,” he nodded, interlacing their fingers, “I have trust in our relationship. I know we can make it through anything.”

“Well, I’d like to stay in F1. Maybe I can take a short break before I get a seat back. I’m sure I’m not leaving Formula 1, though.”

November 22, 2022, Monaco

“You know, I think you’re taking this a bit extreme now,” Carlos sighed, watching her race on her racing simulator set up in their apartment.

“I have to do this, Carlos,” she insisted, “I have to prove I’ve still got it.”

“And who are you trying to prove it to? It’s just you and me here, y/n,” he reminded her, unplugging the simulator and wrapping his arms around her, “It’s going to be okay. Take a moment to rest.”

“Okay,” she nodded, giving into his request and following him to the living room. She let out a sigh, “It’s weird for me to think I won’t be racing next season after all these years. I thought I had my contract sealed for next year. I thought I would have had time to redeem myself at McLaren instead of having them buy me out.”

“I know, Amor,” he sighed into her hair as he held her in a comforting embrace, “I’m going out with some of the other drivers later. Do you want to go?”

“I think I’ll stay here first,” she shook him off, “You have fun though. Don’t get too drunk, yeah?”

“I’ll try,” Carlos winked.

Later that night, he found himself on a quiet rooftop bar with George, Lando, Charles, and Max.

“I found her on the simulator earlier,” he admitted to his friends under the influence of a few tequila shots, “I mean, she seemed so rough earlier. I worry for her, you know? She’s so stressed out with everything that I feel bad because I have a seat and she doesn’t.”

“Don’t you think it might hurt her if she has to keep traveling with you for F1?” Lando chimed in as the topic of y/n’s career came up. It was inevitable for them to end up talking. They were drivers, and y/n was Lando’s teammate. One way or another, it would have come up in conversation.

“And what makes you think that?” Carlos quirked a brow at Lando’s remark.

“Does she have any plans outside F1? I heard Nicky’s going back to uni with Logan replacing him,” George explained, taking a sip from his beer, “If not, maybe it will take some getting used to for her if she’s going to follow you around on races.”

“Well, not that I know of right now—”

“Does she have a confirmed seat anywhere? Maybe even a reserve driver seat?”

“We haven’t talked about it yet,” the Spaniard shook his head at the thought, only vaguely being able to recall their conversation on the treadmills in Belgium.

“If she doesn’t have one, then yeah, I think it would suck for her to do all this F1 stuff with you. Especially with where her career is right now,” George sighed, rubbing his cheeks as though mentally putting himself in y/n’s shoes.

“But wouldn’t it be good for her to stay within F1? That way, she stays in conversations when the driver market opens up again?” Max suggested. Carlos was tipsy at that point, not too sure about what they were discussing in that moment. The driver market got complicated at times; the tequila made it difficult for his comprehension.

“Maybe she needs a break from F1 if it’s making her as stressed out as Carlos is saying it is,” Charles chimed in, “There are plenty of teams outside F1 as well who would love to have her as their driver. Maybe she’s insisting on F1 because Carlos is in F1?”

Carlos’ thick brows furrowed at those words. Was it true? That she was only insisting on staying in F1 for him? That he was the one holding her back from jumping to other divisions of racing liek Charles was insinuating?

He sat deep in thought that night as the conversation shifted to other topics his fellow drivers wished to talk about. He stumbled into their apartment that night, a frown in his face as he knew what he was about to do.

“Fun night out?” she questioned, a warm smile on her face as Carlos entered the apartment. He was going to miss that smile.

“I think we need to break up,” he blurted out. Her eyes grew wide, the smile slipping off her face as she stared at him in disbelief. Chuckling as though she just misheard him.

“What?”

“It’s for your future, Amor. I know you love all things motorsports, and you told me how you would have gone for Indycar if you didn’t get into F1,” Carlos began to ramble, unable to sort through his drunken thoughts in a way that would have made sense to his sober girlfriend.

“What does that have to do with anything?” she demanded, her voice cracking upon the realization that he was serious about his words.

“It would be easier for you to leave if I wasn’t making you stay,” his voice broke.

“But you aren’t making me stay, Carlos. I’m choosing to stay,” she shook off his words, “Darling, you’re drunk. Surely, this is just a big misunderstanding. We can talk about this in the morning.”

“No. No. I have to leave now, you understand?” he sounded desperate as he rushed into their shared room to start packing.

“Carlos, darling, come on. We can have this discussion in the morning. You aren’t thinking straight,” she pleaded with him, “Carlos, let’s just go to bed, please?”

“Okay,” he nodded, following her into bed. When she had woken up, he was gone. Most of his things as well. He meant what he said that night, it seemed.

July 11, 2023 (Great Britain)

y/n wasn’t there for every Grand Prix that year. He found his eyes going to the Red Bull garage every chance he could, hoping he’d be able to catch a glimpse of her. Disappointment set in whenever he couldn’t find her, or whenever he learned she wasn’t going to attend the weekend at all. He went from seeing her daily to doing his best to steal glimpses of her.

Carlos Sainz was subscribed to the Oracle Red Bull Racing team’s YouTube channel. Though he was ashamed to admit it, he would have videos of her on the channel on replay constantly whenever he missed her. It was the only place he could catch her smiling and laughing nowadays. He wasn’t sure if her smiles were genuine. Part of him wished upon her the same hurt. Just to see that their relationship meant something to her. That he broke her heart as much as he did his own that day.

And though she did not see him often on race weekends she did attend, he was there. Hell, he was present at Silverstone, watching on as she did the tire tests for Pirelli, clad in a Red Bull racing suit as she drove a Red Bull car around the track. She looked amazing in the suit, driving around like she was still doing it every weekend.

Three in the morning again. He spent the night tossing and turning in the cold hotel bed thinking of her that day. She drove the car amazingly, with such ferocity. With a renewed vigor as she made her way through every corner, perfectly in sync with the car. He missed being with her on the track. He missed seeing her in the car, so perfectly in her element. He was a fool to think she would have walked away from Formula 1 that easily.

“Everyone’s talking about how amazing you did in the tire tests, amor. You did amazing. I would love to see you with a permanent seat in Red Bull. You were so happy there.”

He deleted the message again, unwilling to send it. Besides, after the day she had, she was likely asleep. His eyes grew wide at the notifications on his phone that popped up immediately after he erased his message.

A press release came out saying she was replacing Nyck De Vries in Alpha Tauri. She was back in a Formula 1 car. This is what she was working towards since the news broke form McLaren. He regretted parting ways with her now more than ever.

Had they still been together, he would have been the first person she told about the contract. He would have smiled proudly, excitement evident on his face as he took her out to dinner in celebration of her. Instead, there he was, stuck staring at his phone, trying to think about whether or not he wanted to send her a message.

What was there to say? What words were enough to make up for what he’d done to her. Would he tell her he was sorry? That he wanted her back? That he’d made a mistake in doing what his drunken self believed was best for her?

She knew exactly what she was doing in her career. He was stupid to think she wasn’t going to be back in a seat by the 2023 season.

“You’re back on the grid! Excited to see you with your foot back in the competition. The fans missed you as well, you should see the support they give you online. I missed you”

Deleted again.

August 25, 2023 (The Netherlands)

Grand Prix weekends grew difficult for Carlos following the announcement. He had to see her more and more now. The media was saturated with reports about her, their focus heavy on her. Many eyes watched her, just to see if she was as promising as they said she would be. To see if she was worth sacking De Vries for.

Her face was everywhere on his social media. Her name slipped through everyone’s lips in gossip. The one time he wasn’t hearing about her, he found himself stuck in a press conference with her.

She sat herself on the furthest end of the couch, away from him. She acted as though there was no history between them. Though they knew, the drivers knew, the fans knew. They were together for years, back when she was in Red Bull with Sebastian himself. She put on an act of aloofness toward him every time he would look at her, plastering on a smile for the reporters who asked her questions.

It was evident she was excited for the weekend. Carlos knew he was what stood between her and actually enjoying the press conference.

“How are you feeling entering the race weekend?” one of the reporters directed the question to her.

“I’m very excited,” she announced with a smile, “I’ve been in the car for two Grand Prix, I’m still trying to get the hang of it and get in sync with it. I’m looking forward to being able to do more with the car than I was able to. I’m still getting used to the car in terms of race pace and all. I’m hoping for a few points this weekend.”

“She’ll be on the podium in no time when she gets the hang of the car,” Carlos chimed in awkwardly, eyes wandering over to y/n.

“I hope so,” she shrugged, a tense smile on her face, “I’ve got a ridiculous amount of competition for that, though.”

“You’ll do great,” Carlos spoke again. y/n looked over at him, nodding awkwardly before settling back into the couch.

Unfortunately, her race weekend was cut short when she hit the tire barriers in the second practice session of the weekend. The yellow flags came out and Carlos frowned as he saw her car in the tire barrier next to Oscar Piastri’s McLaren.

The news about her condition came later upon finding out her injury was worse than they initially thought. Her wrist was fractured. She was not going to be able to race that weekend. His heart felt for her as he recalled how excited she was in that press conference.

He continued on with the weekend, relying on announcements from social media regarding her condition. He finished fifth that weekend.

September 17, 2023 (Singapore)

He knew she was in the paddock that weekend. He was made aware of it on social media when the Alpha Tauri social media account posted about it to their feed. It was a photo of her in the Alpha Tauri pit wall, a smile on her face despite the fact she was not going to be racing that weekend.

The car had pace that weekend. The practice sessions proved that. However, he wasn’t sure if it was going to transmute to Qualifying positions. However, he was certain he was going to do his best because this time, there was hope for another win. And it was going to be in Singapore with y/n watching.

He pushed himself to his best during Qualifying. He was going for pole position and nobody was going to get in the way of that. With the Red Bulls out in Q2, Pole position was up for grabs. He was going to make sure he was the driver to get it.

He drove the quickest lap possible at that circuit, pushing his red Ferrari to its limit, pulling momentum into every turn he took, crossing the line with the quickest lap time. He’d done it. He was starting from Pole in Singapore.

That night, it wasn’t him with his eyes glued to his phone screen at 3 in the morning. No. That night, it had been y/n with her phone stuck in her hands, staring at his contact saved to her phone. Cameras caught her watching the qualifying session, a video circulating of the way her eyes lit up when Carlos set his time.

He didn’t see that, though. Not when he was in the car, celebrating getting pole position.

Still, she hesitated to click on his contact. Was it right for her to send him a message? He broke up with her. She had gone through a whirlwind that season and she didn’t hear a single word from Carlos. A sharp pain struck her injured wrist, the one she held her phone with, resulting in the block of glass and metal to hit her square in the face.

“Good job today, darling. Wishing you luck for tomorrow’s racefhkwe”

Her eyes widened, mortified. The message was sent. She sighed, typing up another message, deciding there was no better time to say the words.

“I miss you.”

She spent the rest of the night in a dreamless sleep, awaiting a response to her message. Though, she knew Carlos well enough to know he kept his phone usage to a minimum on Grand Prix days.

Before the Grand Prix started, he pulled out his phone, killing time in the minutes before he had to enter his car. It was then he saw the message she sent him at 3 in the morning. His eyes grew wide, reading the three words over and over again.

“Carlos!” his race engineer called out to him, “The driver parade’s about to start.”

He had no time to reply y/n’s message before he was pulled in all sorts of directions for Grand Prix duties. Soon enough, he was in the car, still not having been able to reply to her message. He was determined to get the whole race over with, eager to finally reply to her. It paid off in his favor. He crossed the line first. When the celebrations with the team at parc ferme were through, he made his way into the cooldown room in preparation for the podium ceremony.

He’d gotten so used to looking for her over the race weekends that he was sure he could spot her in any crowd. This time, his eyes grew wide as he climbed onto the top step of the podium. He blinked, believing his eyes were deceiving him. In the red sea of Ferrari, McLaren, and Mercedes staff, she stood out, clad in her Red Bull team shirt. She cheered excitedly with the crowd, despite the sling her arm was in.

Despite her injury, there she was, joining the crowd to celebrate a podium ceremony Red Bull took no part in. He didn’t think he was going to see her anytime soon after her injury. Nothing was going to keep her from Formula 1. He was certain of that now.

It was unmistakable, the glimmer in her eyes as she cheered along. The joy that was painted on her features as she gazed up at the top three finishers of the Grand Prix. A part of him hoped that gaze was meant for him.

When the ceremony ended, the team, including him gathered in the garage for celebratory pictures. To his surprise, there she was.

“y/n, what are you doing here?” he questioned, shock evident in his expression as he wiped the champagne away from his face.

“The team invited me after the podium ceremony,” she explained bashfully, her arms wrapping around her torso, unsure of what to do with her hands, “You never replied to my message.”

“I wanted to,” he breathed out, relieved she was finally talking to him, “I saw it right before the driver’s parade started. I wasn’t able to reply. If it’s any consolation, I miss you too.”

“We can talk about this later if you want to, yeah?” she smiled up at him, that twinkle in her eyes returning, “Go celebrate your win with the team.”

“No. No,” he shook his head, unwilling to put the conversation off any longer, “I made a mistake that night in Monaco. I thought, I thought that whatever I was doing was better for you. I thought it would have helped you shift your focus to other options in racing. I was an idiot.”

“Yeah. You were,” she gave a small smile.

“I’m sorry, y/n. Really, I’m sorry,” he frowned, “I know it will take time for you to forgive me, but I want you to know that I’m proud of you and I still love you. I was too guilty to tell you then, but I was so happy, seeing you make your way back to the grid this season, and—”

“I forgive you,” she cut him off, tears in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his tall frame, “I love you too, Carlos.

December 19, 2022 (Spain)

March 3, 2023 (Bahrain)

August 27, 2022 (Belgium)

A few garages distance had never felt so far.

“Sorry, amor, were you saying something?” he questioned cluelessly, an expectant look on his face. She frowned.

“Never mind. I haven’t signed anything yet,” she shook away the thought of letting him in on the news this early.

“Why? Are you getting offers already?” he questioned almost absentmindedly, gaze fixed on the view outside the glass windows the treadmills were situated in front of.

“Maybe you can try a different racing series?” he suggested, “Le Mans could be interesting for you, no? Maybe even rally cars like we did with papa that one time.”

“And what about us? Would we be able to take it? Traveling to different places in the world at different times, our schedules almost never lining up?”

“I think we can handle it,” he nodded, interlacing their fingers, “I have trust in our relationship. I know we can make it through anything.”

“Well, I’d like to stay in F1. Maybe I can take a short break before I get a seat back. I’m sure I’m not leaving Formula 1, though.”

November 22, 2022, Monaco

“You know, I think you’re taking this a bit extreme now,” Carlos sighed, watching her race on her racing simulator set up in their apartment.

“I have to do this, Carlos,” she insisted, “I have to prove I’ve still got it.”

“I know, Amor,” he sighed into her hair as he held her in a comforting embrace, “I’m going out with some of the other drivers later. Do you want to go?”

“I think I’ll stay here first,” she shook him off, “You have fun though. Don’t get too drunk, yeah?”

“I’ll try,” Carlos winked.

Later that night, he found himself on a quiet rooftop bar with George, Lando, Charles, and Max.

“And what makes you think that?” Carlos quirked a brow at Lando’s remark.

“Well, not that I know of right now—”

“Does she have a confirmed seat anywhere? Maybe even a reserve driver seat?”

“We haven’t talked about it yet,” the Spaniard shook his head at the thought, only vaguely being able to recall their conversation on the treadmills in Belgium.

“Fun night out?” she questioned, a warm smile on her face as Carlos entered the apartment. He was going to miss that smile.

“I think we need to break up,” he blurted out. Her eyes grew wide, the smile slipping off her face as she stared at him in disbelief. Chuckling as though she just misheard him.

“What?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” she demanded, her voice cracking upon the realization that he was serious about his words.

“It would be easier for you to leave if I wasn’t making you stay,” his voice broke.

“No. No. I have to leave now, you understand?” he sounded desperate as he rushed into their shared room to start packing.

“Carlos, darling, come on. We can have this discussion in the morning. You aren’t thinking straight,” she pleaded with him, “Carlos, let’s just go to bed, please?”

“Okay,” he nodded, following her into bed. When she had woken up, he was gone. Most of his things as well. He meant what he said that night, it seemed.

July 11, 2023 (Great Britain)

“Everyone’s talking about how amazing you did in the tire tests, amor. You did amazing. I would love to see you with a permanent seat in Red Bull. You were so happy there.”

She knew exactly what she was doing in her career. He was stupid to think she wasn’t going to be back in a seat by the 2023 season.

“You’re back on the grid! Excited to see you with your foot back in the competition. The fans missed you as well, you should see the support they give you online. I missed you”

Deleted again.

August 25, 2023 (The Netherlands)

Her face was everywhere on his social media. Her name slipped through everyone’s lips in gossip. The one time he wasn’t hearing about her, he found himself stuck in a press conference with her.

It was evident she was excited for the weekend. Carlos knew he was what stood between her and actually enjoying the press conference.

“How are you feeling entering the race weekend?” one of the reporters directed the question to her.

“She’ll be on the podium in no time when she gets the hang of the car,” Carlos chimed in awkwardly, eyes wandering over to y/n.

“I hope so,” she shrugged, a tense smile on her face, “I’ve got a ridiculous amount of competition for that, though.”

“You’ll do great,” Carlos spoke again. y/n looked over at him, nodding awkwardly before settling back into the couch.

He continued on with the weekend, relying on announcements from social media regarding her condition. He finished fifth that weekend.

September 17, 2023 (Singapore)

He didn’t see that, though. Not when he was in the car, celebrating getting pole position.

“Good job today, darling. Wishing you luck for tomorrow’s racefhkwe”

Her eyes widened, mortified. The message was sent. She sighed, typing up another message, deciding there was no better time to say the words.

“I miss you.”

She spent the rest of the night in a dreamless sleep, awaiting a response to her message. Though, she knew Carlos well enough to know he kept his phone usage to a minimum on Grand Prix days.

“Carlos!” his race engineer called out to him, “The driver parade’s about to start.”

When the ceremony ended, the team, including him gathered in the garage for celebratory pictures. To his surprise, there she was.

“y/n, what are you doing here?” he questioned, shock evident in his expression as he wiped the champagne away from his face.

“The team invited me after the podium ceremony,” she explained bashfully, her arms wrapping around her torso, unsure of what to do with her hands, “You never replied to my message.”

“We can talk about this later if you want to, yeah?” she smiled up at him, that twinkle in her eyes returning, “Go celebrate your win with the team.”

“Yeah. You were,” she gave a small smile.

“I forgive you,” she cut him off, tears in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his tall frame, “I love you too, Carlos.

a/n: this was a draft i found from last year and decided to fix up today, my writing's hella rustayyyy 😭

F1 TAGS: @errrrrat / @ricsaigaslec / @veronicapaula / @buendiabebeta / @abditory-77 / @navia3000 / @revengze / @love4lando / @princessria127 /

CS55 TAGS: (OPEN)

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr x reader #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz fanfiction #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz imagine #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

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callmewrinkles3 · 2 years ago

Text

All Too Well - DR3 x Fem!OC

Summary: Saying goodbye is hard. Saying goodbye to your family without telling them it’s a final goodbye is even harder. But Em has come to terms that Dan doesn’t love her the same way she loves him, and leaving on her own terms will hurt less than being told he’s ending things. March 2022.

Word Count: 12.3k

Warnings: fighting, all the angst this bad boy can carry, lil bit of a dickhead!Dan, running away from your friends, mentions of death, mentions of motorsport crashes and deaths, moving without telling anyone, lying to family, talk of medical procedures, frank talks about what people want to happen if they can’t decide.

A/N: We’ve kept you waiting, but we hope this was worth the wait! This part of our story is what started us on this madcap adventure together, and it’s a lot of what makes our beloved Em Em. Thank you in advance!

Em stared at the two boarding passes in front of her as she sat in the fancy Heathrow lounge, a caramel latte beside them. Heathrow to Dubai, Dubai to Melbourne. More than twenty hours spent on planes to get to Melbourne, to jump into work and get stuck in at the Australian Grand Prix. And it was the last thing she wanted to do.

She should be excited. She should be so happy because she was about to see the boys after over a week apart, she was about to see Dan. She was finally going to get to see the Ricciardos after almost two years apart. But she was dreading it, the memories from Saudi filling her head as she thought. Em forced her attention to the laptop sitting on her knees, emails up and the one she never thought she’d write sitting in the middle of the screen.

SUB: Resignation Letter

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Dear Blake,

Please use this email as my official resignation, effective immediately. I’m sorry that I can’t offer any more notice.

Working with you has been fantastic, and I appreciate everything we’ve gotten to do over the past three years.

Kind regards,

Emma.

Signing it Emma felt wrong. Emma was for Zak Brown and Andreas Sidle. Christian Horner had used it the one time she was introduced to him at Red Bull. She was always Em or Ems now. Except for Dan, she was his Emmy. But that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Or ever again. If he called her that she thought she might lose the last grip she had on her composure and break.

The email was scheduled and sitting in her outbox to send after the race, and the last thing she did before boarding was reschedule her flight home. Instead of leaving Monday morning with the boys, she was going on Sunday evening. She’d be somewhere over Queensland by the time Blake received the email and the boys would be at least twelve hours behind her. It was enough time to make sure she could be well ahead of them and get away.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be smiling and laughing, and she was supposed to be in Perth right now cuddling her niblings and laughing with Grace and Joe. Learning to cook yet another family recipe and insisting that she and Dan were just friends. She couldn’t even answer the question honestly if they were friends now.

He’d sent her away. The one thing she begged him not to do, the pinkie promise she’d made him give. The only promise she had ever asked him to keep. Not to stay safe while driving, not to do anything else. Not to leave her alone. The near screaming match they’d had in his drivers room that Blake and Michael had to break up. The way he didn’t even look at her but told Blake to “take Ems to the hotel”. How she had tears streaming down her face as she was escorted through the paddock like she wasn’t supposed to be there.

She still didn’t fully believe that she’d dropped her phone in the car. Em shouldn’t even have been in the car alone with Blake, but Dan insisted she went to the hotel room so she went. She was left there alone in Saudi Arabia, where Dan knew she couldn’t leave the hotel. She stared out the window at the smoke from the rockets, completely alone all night until Michael knocked on her door the following morning and she had to pretend everything was fine.

She’d worked from hospitality and as soon as the race finished she changed her flights to go back to London instead of Perth, making up an excuse. And Dan bought that she was going back for her parents.

“Family stuff.” She’d said when he asked.

“Em, you don’t talk to your family much.” She was folding clothes into her case, the one she’d brought that had her Australia clothes already standing fully packed.

“Yeah, but it’s family. My parents have their thirty fifth wedding anniversary in a few weeks, I’m helping plan it.” Only the last part of her words were a lie and she bit her tongue.

“Everyone wants to see you, they all miss you and they keep asking when you’ll be over. The kids miss you.”

“I’ll see them in Melbourne, Dan. You go, enjoy your time at home with them.”

She’d gotten a car to bring her to the airport and Dan hadn’t even asked a question, just a “text me when you land”. There was no hug, no even quick hand squeeze like they usually did in the Middle East. That’s when she knew whatever they were doing. The nearly four years of sleeping together and pretending they weren’t, of the media wondering who she was and why she was always there, was over.

She’d promised herself that she wasn’t going to catch feelings, that it was just sex. That she could do it. That every time she told Dan “y’know, right?” it was purely platonic. That the slow sex was just them wanting to take their time, nothing else. That she hadn’t murmured to Dan to make love to her in Bahrain when they shouldn’t have even been sharing a room after Grosjean’s crash, when he kissed her and held onto her and whispered that he loved her as he entered her.

Because that was sixteen months ago and nothing had changed. It was never going to change between them. Their fight in Saudi had proven it, and now she had to pretend that everything was fine before she said goodbye to the people she loved for the last time.

She couldn’t keep working with Dan when not sleeping with him. She couldn’t watch him fall for another woman, couldn’t get introduced to more people as “Em, my best friend” anymore. She was his Emmy. He was her Danny. And not getting to love him and be loved by him how she wanted to was going to kill her.

The flights were what she expected, Dan had upgraded her tickets to first class like he always did and she wanted to kill him like she always did. She spent the flights and the layovers organising his calendar for the next three months, tracking his flights and cross checking the sponsor events that had been filled in. Everything up to Hungary was booked and ready to go. She checked her watch when she was halfway to Melbourne, realising that he’d be at the Optus event she was usually on his arm for. She was supposed to be there this year, but she told him to take Michelle instead. All the events around the Australian GP that she always went as his plus one, wearing the star necklace he’d gotten her for her birthday, and the matching earrings that were her Christmas present the same year. Her outfit was usually one he’d bought for her against her protests because “let me spoil you” was how he showed that he cared, and she always wore the gold moon ring on her thumb that matched the sun one she’d bought him for his little finger. Most of her wardrobe and all of her everyday jewellery were presents from Dan. Her life was completely entwined with his, and untangling it all was going to hurt.

Her flight got in at god-awful o’clock that Wednesday morning, she’d lost a full day having left London on the Monday evening, but she walked through Melbourne customs with her suitcase glad to just be through. She’d told everyone she’d get an Uber to the hotel and meet them for breakfast, but instead as soon as she appeared in front of the glowing Melbourne sign two small figures ran to her yelling.

“AUNTIE EMMY YOU’RE HERE YOU’RE HERE!” Em dropped her bags and fell to her knees, arms wide open to pull Isaac and Isabella into her and pressing so many kisses to their curly heads.

“I’m here, I’m here. I missed you both so much. So, so much. I’m so sorry I couldn’t see you, I wanted to see you sooner.” Stupid Western Australia and closed borders and not letting people through. Her eyes began shining as she took in the difference in the two kids, Isaac at least a foot taller and losing the childlike way he’d spoken. Isabella had doubled in size, long hair and a child instead of a toddler the last time she’d seen her in person.

“It’s ok, you’re here now! Nana said you’ll sit with us for ev’rything ‘cept the race? Cause we’ve got two years of birthday and Christmas pressies for you!” Isaac looked so proud, grinning as he took her wheeled carry on and pulled it.

“I can’t wait. Who’re you here with?”

“Grandad Joe! He has our sign, Uncle Mike and Uncle Blake told us we had to use all the glitter. We were gonna wait, but I saw you and I wanted a hug. Is that ok?” He looked almost worried of her response, but she ruffled his hair.

“It’s more than ok. All I wanted was hugs from the two of you.”

Isabella clung to her waist, Em lifting her up with one arm and mentally thanking Michael for the strength training that let her carry the girl and pull her suitcase with her. She looked around to see Joe holding a giant piece of bright orange card, Auntie Emmy written on it in blue and silver glitter. It was the shiniest thing she’d ever seen in her life, and it was coming home with her even with the craft herpes that would infest her suitcase. Joe pulled her into a one armed hug on the side his granddaughter wasn’t monopolising, pushing a kiss to the side of her forehead that made her want to cry.

“We missed you, kiddo. Grace wanted to be here but we couldn’t fit her in the car too, and Dan’s doing media today. You cut it tight to get in.”

“It’s my parents wedding anniversary next week, I’ve been helping. I have to fly out after the race on Sunday.” It was Wednesday, and she could see his face fall as he realised how little time they’d have together.

“We’re spending as much time with you as we can until you go. Those boys get you all year round, we get you for this weekend.”

“That sounds perfect.”

When they made it to the hotel Em was greeted with yet more hugs from Grace, Michelle, and Michelle’s husband Adam. There were tears in everyone’s eyes at the reunion, and the long hug from Grace was the best thing ever and broke her heart at the same time. It was so restorative, so good, but she wasn’t going to get many more of them.

“Dan checked you in, here’s your key. He’s got the room on the other side of you, Blake’s on the other wall, we’re most of our corridor. Do you want to get some sleep and we’ll call you at noon?”

The first thing Em noticed about her room was the adjoining door between her room and Dan’s. She closed the lock gently to make sure she was completely alone. After that she napped fitfully, waking up to knocks on the door and yet more hugs. The day was spent going to the zoo, kids hanging out of her as she swung them around and gave piggybacks, feeling exactly like part of the family. Blake told her to take the day off for jet lag, and she wasn’t complaining.

That evening was filled with fun as the kids clung to her while she pulled out the first of so many presents. Chocolate first so she could see their faces eating proper chocolate rather than the Australian stuff that didn’t melt in the heat. The bag of duty free was quickly eaten between everyone, a movie on tv as she filled everyone in on what she had been doing. It wasn’t until after eight that Dan appeared wearing a suit.

“Ems! I thought you were coming with me tonight?” She looked up from where she’d been half dozing with Isabella curled up against her, taking in her best friend wearing a navy blue suit and white shirt.

“Coming to what? I’m taking today for jet lag. What’s tonight?”

“The AusGP reception. You always come!” Confusion was written all over his face and Em swallowed once, looking at him carefully.

“I said I wasn’t doing anything this year. I have to leave pretty much straight after the race, I don’t have time.”

“Emmy, please.” She hated that she couldn’t resist him when he did that, when her name curled around his accent like that.

“I don’t have anything to wear.” This was the closest they’d ever come to an argument in front of his family. Their eyes were going between them as if watching a tennis match.

“I got you something.”

“Dan, you can’t do that.” It was pointless to argue but she had to try make her point. She couldn’t just do everything because he wanted her to.

“I did. C’mon, it’s three hours and some schmoozing and we can come back so you can go to bed. He did his best impression of puppy dog eyes, lifting Isabella from her. “You want to see Auntie Emmy all glam and pretty, right Is?”

“Yeah! She’s always pretty.”

“You’re very right. I left the dress in your room, Ems. Please?”

“Fine.”

She said her goodbyes and went into her room, making sure the adjoining door was locked before going into shower and change. As she walked into the bathroom she thought she heard the door rattle but ignored it, forcing herself to take time to put herself together.

Years travelling around the world had taught her how to make herself look presentable in very little time, forcing her to learn how to do a blow dry with a hotel hairdryer. It took less than an hour to have hair and makeup perfectly done, a wrap around her shoulders and a pair of heels on her feet. The dress Dan had picked was perfect for her. It was lavender, knee length with a corset top, and her jewellery worked perfectly with it. He had taste when it wasn’t about party shirts. Once she was ready she picked up a clutch and knocked on Dan’s door. He opened the door confused, but ready to go.

“I thought you’d use the adjoining door? It’s why I got us these rooms.”

“I’m tired, Dan. Can we just get this over with?”

The launch was like anything else, an event to deal with. There were speeches and then wandering around the room, Dan’s hand hovering at her lower back but not quite touching her. She smiled as she was introduced as “meet Ems, she’s my best friend and my manager’s assistant who keeps my life on track”, even while her heart was breaking. But she kept her cool, finally managing to break away from Dan for a few minutes to chat to Ted and Natalie from Sky while Dan did the rounds.

“I didn’t know if you’d be here. I was talking to Michael yesterday, he said you weren’t in Perth with them,” Ted remarked as Em looked at the almost empty glass of champagne in his hand.

“Is this going to end up as gossip on the notebook if we talk?” Nat nearly snorted with laughter, Ted shaking his head with a chuckle.

“Nope. I’m drinking so I’m officially off work duties. Unless you have any gossip about things? Anything that I can attribute to an unnamed McLaren source?”

“I don’t work for McLaren, thankfully Zak doesn’t sign my paycheque. But no, I’ve got no gossip. There’s some family stuff happening so I have to head home pretty much as soon as the race is over. But I needed to see everyone, it’s been almost two years and I missed them.”

“Fair.” They chatted about the season so far, studiously ignoring the controversy around the last race, until Dan arrived back to make excuses and get them to leave the party.

“Back to the hotel?”

“You read my mind.”

The car ride back was the most awkward one the two of them had ever done and Em didn’t know what to do. Usually if they were in a car alone together they’d be curled into each other or at least holding hands. But she was on her side of the SUV, Dan was on his, and the hand she’d stretched into the middle as a peace offering was ignored. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do with that. Didn’t want to know, really. All his actions did was solidify that the painful decision she’d reached was the right one. Just because things could be easy didn’t mean they were right.

When they reached their floor in the hotel Dan stopped outside her hotel room as Em waved the keycard at the lock.

“Night, Dan.”

“But I thought…”

“What?” She was sharper than she should have been, but she was jet lagged and tired and heart sore.

“I thought we’d be sharing a room.”

“Your family are two doors down and the kids are here. The chances of at least one of them knocking on my door before I want to get up in the morning are high, and I don’t want to have to explain why we share a bed when we’re not married. Do you?”

“Not particularly.”

“Exactly. I’ll see you in the morning.”

As soon as the hallway door closed behind her she double checked the lock on the adjoining door before flipping over the door lock. If she’d looked out the peephole she would have seen a confused and disappointed Dan standing in the hallway.

The next few days passed in a haze of having the kids around, working, and ignoring Zak. She knew he was the original source of the rumours the year before, he was the one who got Mazepin to start spreading that she was sleeping with all three of her boys. It was her greatest pleasure to get to tell him no, and she did it with joy.

But in between finalising as much as she could before her resignation was sent she had time to wander Melbourne alone. She loved the city. It had always welcomed her in, it was Dan’s home race and the place where she knew everyone adored him. Em wandered around a craft market, finding a jewellery maker who made gold charms and engraved them on the spot. It took her all of ten seconds to buy two and get them put on different coloured leather cords, one each for Isaac and Isabella. The front had a pair of angel wings for each of her angel kids, and the engraving on the back read love you forever, Auntie Emmy.

Leaving her family behind was going to be the hardest part of this, and she needed to make sure that they knew just how much she loved them. Em was so aware that she was about to be the first adult to choose to walk out of their lives, and she didn’t want to do that. She didn’t want to break their hearts the way hers would break too. She just hoped that when they realised she wasn’t coming back they’d know she wanted to tell them how much she loved them.

Practice and qualifying were shit and she felt her dislike of the team growing even stronger. She didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to deal with the stupid orange team and the way that they were favouring Lando already. Dan was the one who won a race last year, not Lando. He was the one who had proven himself with podiums galore. But they didn’t care.

That night she left the door between their rooms unlocked. Her bags were half packed, her resignation email was scheduled to send and she’d triple checked the timezone on it. Em had spent the last two days hugging everyone as much as she could, surprising Chloe by popping into the Aston garage before a practice and waving to Lance and Seb as she pulled Chloe into a giant hug. Scotty got one too, trying to put the love and care she had for her best friends outside her boys into a hug. There were waves to the people she couldn’t hug because rumours would start, giving Susie a recommendation for the restaurant they all ate at the night before so she and Toto could have a family meal with Jack in privacy. The small things to make sure everyone knew she thought about them and loved them.

Em couldn’t sleep straight away. Nights before races were hard, the crashes she’d watched with her own two eyes usually playing in her head. Dan in Anthoine’s car, Dan in Grosjean’s. Dan in Lewis’s place the year before with no halo. Dan in the rain and a tractor on track. All the ways she knew people had died racing she thought about and she couldn’t deal. Her fear every time Dan slid into his seat in the car was all encompassing but racing was his first love and she could never ask him to stop.

She was about to get up and go down to Michael’s room to ask for some melatonin, but the doorknob between the two rooms rattled and clicked open quietly. Em stayed still as she was, breathing in and out steadily.

Dan slipped into the other side of the bed. If she just opened her eyes she’d be able to see him. If she reached her fingers out slightly she could touch him. It was the first time they’d shared a bed since Bahrain and being just over covid and she wanted him to hold her. Her body was screaming to curl into him and tell him she loves him and she’s his and she doesn’t want him to fall in love with anyone else because she wants him to love her. To choose her over all the models in the world he could have.

She didn’t sleep that night, too aware of his presence in the bed. She could hear his snores but she didn’t dare look up at him, didn’t dare move in case she disturbed him. He needed his sleep the night before a race.

As the morning dawned through crappy hotel curtains she could feel the vibrations from the alarm on his watch, the one he always used to try let her get some extra sleep when he needed to be up early.

Please kiss my forehead. Please, Dan. Please just give me any sign you want me to stay. Don’t leave me again.

Every morning was the same when they shared a bed. He’d delay until the very last minute to stay in the warmth and then kiss her forehead in goodbye. And then he’d leave, not content to get out from there until he made sure she knew he said goodbye.

This time he slid out of the bed without touching her, padding across the still room and going back into his. Em heard the lock slide shut on his side and rolled over, tears filling her eyes.

It hurt so much already, how was she supposed to pretend that everything was fine? How was she supposed to act normal around everyone when she wanted to scream that they were over and nothing would ever be the same again? How could she be okay when she felt like this?

He’d left her alone. Again. He hadn’t even touched her but he’d slept in her bed and she never thought Dan could be so cruel. She never thought he’d leave her with the barest hint of his scent, that if she hadn’t been awake she wouldn’t have known he was there. The ache spread through her chest and she tried to quiet her sobs but it hurt. It hurt so, so badly.

A cold shower soothed her puffy face, getting rid of some of the usual redness while makeup did the rest. She was dressed in her usual race day gear of shorts, vans, a McLaren polo, and a Dan hat on her head by the time there was a knock on her door, Michael standing there.

“Hey, I’m heading in with Dan and Blake now. He said you’re going in with his family in an hour?” Another cut in her heart. More space between them. But she schooled her face into a smile, hoping Michael would believe everything was fine.

“Yeah. I said I wanted as much time with the kids as possible, it’s fine. See you there?”

“See you there.”

Michael was a couple of metres away from her when she stepped into the hall, grabbing her room key from the slot just inside the door.

“Michael?” He turned and she half jogged, pulling him into a tight hug.

“What’s this for?”

“Haven’t seen you as much. You know you’re my brother, right? How lucky I am to have you as my family?”

“You’re the most annoying little sister Ems, but you’re my little sister. I’ve missed having you around.”

“Miss you too.”

She watched him walk away as step one of her goodbyes was done. The next was to go to breakfast with everyone and pretend that things were normal for the next few hours until the race was over. She could do it. She had to.

Breakfast with the extended Ricciardo clan was fun, Isabella still clinging to her and Isaac insisting on sitting beside her. She soaked up every moment she got with them, walking out to the car Dan had arranged holding Isabella on her hip.

“That’ll be you in a few years,” Michelle commented as Em struggled with the car seat buckle before getting it right. “The mother, not the cool aunt. We can swap places.”

Another stab to her already mangled heart. “I dunno. Wait and see, but I’m not sure that’s on the cards any time soon.” Considering the only man she wanted to have a child with didn’t want to be with her, it was a no.

You’ll be a good mother, Em. Plus you’ll have loads of family around.” She wanted to scream that she was leaving her family behind for good this afternoon but instead she just smiled tightly. It was too close to home. She couldn’t keep this conversation going. It hurt.

The race matched her mood. The strategy wasn’t good, the car was a tractor, and the oblique team orders to not let Dan try overtake Lando made her want to scream. The team points would be the same, but no. Not for his home race even. The crowd were amazing and let out loud cheers every time the orange car made its way around the circuit, but it wasn’t enough and Em knew it. It hurt. Her last time at a Grand Prix, her last time cheering for the man she was so deeply in love with, and the team and car had let him down again.

The plan was already to delay debrief till Monday so Dan got to spend time with his family, and Em decided to head to the airport nearly immediately. She couldn’t stay any longer. She couldn’t deal with any more hints from Michelle about a niece or nephew in the future, couldn’t listen to Grace or Joe talking about how much they’d missed her. She couldn’t spend more time with Blake and Michael without wanting to break down and tell them that they had changed her life and she wouldn’t make them choose between her and Dan.

Because that was what it came down to. She was the last one in this group that was all united by their love of Daniel Ricciardo. She was the one who loved him so deeply it hurt, the one who loved every single member of the group to the moon and to Saturn. And she loved them so much she couldn’t bear to have them walk away from her. Because that was what would happen.

Her own blood family didn’t choose her. They saw her as a disgrace, as a failure because she was thirty one years old, unmarried and without kids. They didn’t realise that she was the one who kept Dan on schedule, who organised sponsor events and filtered out the crap he and Blake didn’t need to know about. She stopped the balls from falling out of the sky. Because she was just an assistant.

And if the people who gave birth to her wouldn’t choose her, she knew the family she’d built wouldn’t either. She was never the one who was chosen, and she didn’t blame them. She was just Emma. Danny was Dan. She knew who she’d pick if given a quarter of a chance.

She’d just finished packing when the adjoining door opened, Dan walking in already speaking but stopping when he saw the case by the door, her carry on full with the edge of the orange poster getting folded in.

“Where are you going?” His tone was accusatory and she steeled herself for the argument.

“Home.”

“Emmy…”

“Don’t Emmy me, Daniel! You know I have to go back for the anniversary.” She turned to look at him, watching as confusion turned to anger.

“And I also know that’s bullshit. I’ve known you for how many years, Em? You’ve visited your parents twice. Michael was with you one of those times, the visit lasted twenty minutes and even he didn’t have anything nice to say about it. Michael. Who has a good thing to say about almost everyone. So tell me the truth, why are you leaving now? Why not get on the flight with us tomorrow?”

“Because I have to go back.”

“Don’t lie to me Em!” He raised his voice and Em gave as good as she got, staring back at him.

“You want the truth, Dan? All of it?”

“Yes! That’s all I want, it’s all I’ve ever wanted with you.”

She took a deep breath, staring into his brown eyes for the last time, soaking in that even so angry he was so beautiful. She’d had the privilege of sleeping with him for nearly four years, of loving him for three. Whoever got to do that next would be so incredibly lucky.

“You left me alone. The one thing I ever asked of you, the only thing I ever asked you to promise me was to never leave me alone. I begged you. Whatever was going on, whatever was happening with us, please don’t leave me alone. And then there were bombs flying and I watched one explode and you made me get into a car and leave. You made me stay alone, and you didn’t come back to me that night. I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know if you were even alive because I didn’t have my fucking phone until the next morning and all the news was in Arabic. You were gone to the track before I knew what had happened. You left. You broke your promise, Daniel.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” It was the worst thing he could have said.

“But Blake and Michael got to stay. Angela stayed with Lewis, don’t try to lie to me and tell me she didn’t. Britta stayed with Seb. You sent me away, Dan. I was sobbing and begging you to stay and you made Blake drive me away. You made me leave when I was scared.” She let her words sink into him fully. “Just leave. Get out of this room and leave.”

“Emmy…” His voice was soft and she blinked back the tears she knew she wanted to cry. Not until the airport. Not until then.

“GET OUT DAN!” She yelled at him for the first time, shock on his face. “JUST LEAVE! It’s what you’ve been doing this whole weekend, just leave.”

“Fine. Fine. If that’s what you want, I’m fucking gone. I’m done here, I’m gone. I’ll be downstairs in five for you to say goodbye to everyone.” She watched him walk through the adjoining door and lock it as Em’s heart completely broke in two. She’d ruined it. He was done. He was gone. He was leaving and she was going and she would never speak to him again because her Daniel wasn’t hers anymore. One person down, eight to go.

She brought her bags down to the lobby alone, everyone standing there waiting to say goodbye. Michael got a hug, she’d said everything she needed to earlier that day. Blake was beside him, wrapping her in a full body giant one and holding her tight.

“You know I love you, don’t you? I really love you.” Blake grinned and pulled her close again.

“Love you too, Ems. Moving beside you was the best decision I ever made.”

Saying goodbye to Michelle and Adam was hugs and whispers of seeing them for Christmas when she knew it was a lie. Grace pulled her into a hug that only a mother figure could, whispering in her ear.

“We’re coming over for Silverstone and yours and Dan’s birthdays, so we’ll see you then. We love you Em. If you need anything I’m only a FaceTime away. Don’t let them get you down when you’re with your family.”

“I love you too, Grace.”

Joe got a hug and a murmured love you, his hand patting her back soothingly. The kids were last, sulking as Em squatted down in front of them.

“So I got my angels a present to say goodbye, cause I know I didn’t get to see you lots. Want to see them?” There were identical nods and Em strapped the bracelets on, Isaac’s on a black cord and Isabella’s on a purple one.

“It matches the one I made you and Uncle Dan,” Isabella murmured as Em pulled her into a tight hug.

“It does. It’s a reminder that I love you both so very, very much. No matter how far away we are, I’m always going to love you, okay? Don’t ever, ever forget that. Pinkie promise me?” She held out her little fingers, laughing as they both enthusiastically took part in the ritual. She pulled them in for a final hug, pressing kisses to both of their heads.

“See you on winter break!” Isaac grinned as he spoke, Em putting a tight smile on her face.

“We call it summer break, but I’ll see what we have to do then buddy.”

“Do you want a lift to the airport? I’ve got the rental?” Joe asked but Em shook her head.

“Nah, I’m good. I’ve got an Uber coming, I just want to get on the road. It’s hard enough to say goodbye to everyone I can’t drag it out much longer.”

“Fair. Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too, Joe.” Her phone buzzed with the notification that her driver was there and she started towards the door. Dan still hadn’t come down and that was it. He didn’t love her. He didn’t feel anything like how she did because no matter what he’d said, he’d never make her leave. But she made him leave. He was gone.

She was almost at the door when an oh too familiar voice called across the lobby, running up to them.

“I didn’t think you’d be leaving already.”

“My Uber’s outside, I need to leave.”

“Oh.” There was none of their usual hugs, none of the subtle kisses he pushed to the top of her head when they were separated. He didn’t even squeeze her fingers. It was like they were strangers. “Send a text when you get to London?”

“Yeah, sure.”

She turned to get her luggage into the car, shielding her face from everyone with her hair. The driver lifted it in and she was soon safely ensconced in the back seat, tears falling down her cheeks as she waved goodbye behind partially tinted glass.

“Was that Daniel Ricciardo?” The driver asked, Em forcing a smile.

“Yeah, I work with him.” It was true for another five hours at least.

“He seems like a good guy.”

“He’s one of the best.”

Tears streamed down Em’s cheeks the entire way to the airport, through the fancy check in area and security, and following her into her first class pod. She mostly ignored the staff apart from nodding at them, continuing to cry and wipe her eyes on tissues. The tears barely stopped until Dubai, only aided by Blake’s near constant texts as soon as her email sent.

She knew when she arrived in London that she had about twelve hours before the boys landed, Blake texting even while he was on his flights. She sent a I got back safely, receiving another flurry of responses.

Em, what’s this email about?

What’s going on?

Tell me you didn’t mean to send this

Is it the travel? Do you want to slow down? Why?

Ems we need you. How am I supposed to tell everyone you’re not coming with us anymore? Did you meet someone? Did something happen?

We’re about to land in Heathrow. Dan’s going to his place and looks miserable. I’ll be at your door in less than two hours.

When she got the final text Em grabbed the bags she’d hastily packed with clothes and the things she needed for the next eight days until the boys had left London for Imola. The address of the last minute airbnb was in her email, getting an Uber to it handy. She was long gone by the time Blake arrived, sitting in her temporary home for the next while and planning what she had to do. They’d leave England on the Wednesday, she had five days to empty her flat.

It started with an email to her landlord to give up the lease. Her family reasons excuse was accepted quickly, the landlord told she had to leave London and the apartment would be vacant from the end of the month. After that she had to start planning on where to go to.

There were too many memories in London. Nearly every street reminded her of Dan, of days walking around hand in hand to show him her London, not the tourist one he knew. The city she’d moved to at eighteen with a dream and a student loan and where she’d discovered who she was. Dan was everywhere in the city for her - memories of their first kiss in the pub she’d spent too many hours in, museums she’d dragged him to, streets he’d stolen a kiss from her at with a grin and a chuckle when they were waiting to cross the road. The cafes and greasy spoons she’d brought him to with the promise of not telling Michael. She couldn’t stay there, it was too much.

But everywhere she thought of had memories of him. Filthy weekends away when they were at home because of covid, eating out to help out and driving to Manchester or Glasgow to spend time together and have hotel sex. The midlands were completely out because of Silverstone, of memories of Enstone and the Renault factory, of Milton Keynes and his goodbye from Red Bull.

The only big city she could think of without a memory of Dan - with only one memory of her boys - was Liverpool. Which meant her parents. Which meant a conversation she never wanted to have. Calling her mother wasn’t like calling Grace. But she didn’t have Grace in her life anymore, so she had to do it.

“Emma, what country do you deign to call us from today?” Her mother answered the phone, disdain dripping from every word.

“Good morning, Mother. I’m in England. I was calling because I need to ask for a favour from you.”

“Yes?”

Em swallowed, teeing up words on her too thick tongue. “I had to leave my job, they didn’t have the funding to keep me on. I was wondering if I could move home for a few weeks while I’m applying for new jobs. I want to leave motorsports, there’s too much travelling and I want to settle down.” She hit every keyword that her mother had as she checked her bank account balance, spotting her final pay deposited in the account. It was more than healthy thanks to travelling so much for work and Dan covering that under work expenses. But she needed to be sensible, and renting somewhere without a job would be a mistake.

“You can. You will need to pay rent while you’re here.”

“Of course. Just let me know how much. It wont be for long, it’s just a few weeks. It’ll be like I won’t even be there, if I’m not interviewing I’ll be in my bedroom.”

“Fine. Let me know when you plan to arrive.” She sounded bored of the conversation already.

“I’ll be back April twenty fourth. I can send you the train details then.

“See you then.”

The difference between the call with her mother and a call with Grace just cut the wound in her chest even harder. Grace never let a call end without a million “I love you”s between them. She made sure that Em spoke to everyone in the family, and if Joe was out at the garage she took a message and told Em that he loved her. Instead her mother hadn’t even asked if Em wanted to leave a message for her father.

It felt so, so wrong.

The list of things she had to do before the boys left for Italy was beginning to shrink, but there was still so much to do. She ignored Blake and Michael’s texts, refusing to even open them. The chats were archived so the red dots didn’t irritate her. Dan didn’t send her anything at all, yet more proof that he meant everything he said in Melbourne. He was done with her. She didn’t realise that emotional pain could hurt this much. She’d never believed in soulmates, never believed in fate. She always thought that if a relationship ended she’d get through it. But now? This not quite a relationship over? It ached to her core.

Friday morning she had an appointment with a solicitor, walking in with a tear stained sheet of what she wanted to leave to different people. She’d always fought with Dan about being prepared if something happened to him, not wanting to know what he left her. She was one of the two people who could decide what medical treatment he got if he couldn’t consent. She’d cried when he told her that day in Spa when they got that tragic news what he wanted if he was in a crash like that. That he trusted her to not let him stay on machines. Some of her nightmares included his plaintive “I don’t want false hope” that made her ache.

She didn’t trust her parents to not do the same for her. They’d keep her hooked up to machines for as long as possible, they’d insist it was for “hope”. Em didn’t know what hope, but she knew them. They’d barely spoken for five years apart from occasional texts and birthday cards, they didn’t have the right to decide what happened to her.

It was a blustery Friday morning when she walked into that office and signed the papers to say Daniel Ricciardo, Blake Friend, and Michael Italiano were the people who decided what would happen if she couldn’t make her own medical decisions. She gave the lawyer the makeshift will that was handwritten and tearstained. It was simple - her cookbooks and exercise equipment to Michael because he was always trying to adapt her recipes. All but one piece of her furniture to Blake. Her CDs and DVDs to Dan, along with the coffee table he kept falling over. Her collection of Dan’s raceworn helmets to Isaac and Isabella. Dan, Grace, and Michelle were to divide her jewellery between them based on who wanted what. The rest of her belongings were to be sold and the money put in Isaac and Isabella’s college funds. It was too easy.

Even after everything that had happened, even after walking away, she trusted her boys more than she trusted anyone else in the world.

After all of that her final task was to organise her storage unit and movers. That was easiest of all if Em was honest. A call to a moving company who agreed to put everything in the unit without her there, and walking into a storage company. She signed a two year contract and paid the full rent then and there, surprising the man at the counter. Now she was able to disappear.

The texts kept coming from Blake and Michael. WhatsApp and iMessage, even a signal account she’d forgotten she had on her phone. Michael sent her instagram DMs so she deleted the app instead of trying to avoid reading them and appearing online. But finally it was Wednesday and she knew exactly when the boys were flying out of London City Airport. She’d organised the private flight for them, booked the plane and made sure the flight was as clean as possible. As soon as they’d take off her plan could start.

Walking back into her apartment felt too normal, just checking her post and finding it mostly full of letters from Blake. Get in touch, we’re worried, we miss you. Sentiments she knew he’d share but it would be easy for him to forget about her. The letters went out in recycling and she began to pack up her life.

The boxes were settled easily. Storage, donating, and Dan’s stuff. The ones for him filled quickly, clothes and accessories and things he’d left lying around the apartment that had become theirs instead of just hers. It took three boxes to get rid of the sense of him.

The storage boxes were easier, but the final thing she had to do at four that Sunday morning was decide what to do with her helmet wall. Ever since Monaco and his win, Dan had given her his race worn helmet for any new race design. She could name which race each of them was from, and in the middle was her Monza win one. McLaren had wanted it for the MTC but Dan refused to give it over, insisting it was his and he was keeping it. They got the trophy so he got the helmet. And then he put it in the middle of the IKEA shelves that they’d spent a weekend putting together and laughing.

Part of her - a large part if she was truly honest - wanted to donate them. Get rid of them for the clean break she insisted she needed. But she couldn’t. They were the good parts of the last four years, the best part of her life and the reminder that for years she got to love Daniel Ricciardo and travel the world with her best friends. Once she was settled somewhere she’d put them all back up to get her and explain to whoever asked that she was a part of Formula One for a short while, and it meant so much to her.

It took longer than she expected to get them wrapped carefully and boxed away. Two just about fit in one box, but they were light at least. When they were carefully labelled with the races, a tear falling from her eye when she wrote Monaco 2018 on a box in looping letters, she sat down to write notes to her boys. They deserved more than a resignation email and leaving without saying goodbye but if she saw them in person she wouldn’t walk away. She was barely strong enough to do that the first time. Em couldn’t do it again.

Dan’s took the longest. It started with anger. How could you make me love you when you didn’t love me back scrawled angrily, tears staining the lined pages as she wrote everything. But she couldn’t give it to him how she’d written it. She couldn’t deliberately hurt him. It wasn’t Dan’s fault that she’d fallen in love with a man who couldn’t love her back the way she wanted him to love her. It was her fifth draft, still tear stained, that was the one she was giving him.

Danny,

I’m sorry I didn’t say this in person but I couldn’t do it. We both know that things between us haven’t been working for a while. It’s nobody’s fault. I guess we just wanted different things. It happens to us all. But we’re both done and writing this is easier than another long conversation and another fight.

Go be happy. I’ll cheer you on from wherever I end up, no matter what. You’ve changed so many lives, mine included. Thank you for the amazing years and experiences. You let me do things that so few people ever get to do and I can’t thank you enough for that.

Emma

Michael and Blake’s were harder and easier. She only needed one attempt at them, trying to wipe the tears before they fell.

Blakey,

I’m sorry for leaving like this. I’m sorry for leaving you in the lurch, but I made sure that everything logistically is booked until the summer break. Just get him where he needs to be on time, you were always better at that than me.

I love you. You’re my big brother and i wasn’t going to make you choose between me and Dan, that was never going to be fair. I’ll be happy and I want you to be happy too. Find a girl and settle down or bring her around the world. I’m rooting for you the entire time.

Will you make sure everyone in the paddock knows I love them? Tell Chloe and Scotty to get their wedding planned. Chloe will be the most beautiful bride and I’m so sorry I won’t get to see her in person. Scotty will look ok, I guess.

Thank you for everything.

Love,

Ems

PS - the extra key is for my storage unit. A1 Storage in Wimbledon. Figured you’d be a good person to have it.

She folded Blake’s letter into an envelope and labelled it before writing the last one. Somehow this was the hardest, having to ask Michael to do what she couldn’t.

Mike,

I’m sorry for leaving and I’m sorry for asking you to pass a message on but I know you will. I love you so much. You made lockdown bearable even when I was being a bitch, and you made me actually enjoy exercising you cruel man.

Tell everyone that I love them and I’m sorry? You let me know exactly what a family is and how I deserve to be loved and that’s something I can never thank you enough for. Ever. I can’t make people decide between me and Dan. He wins every time and that’s how it’s supposed to be. It’s easier if I just leave.

Tell Grace and Joe I love them and I will forever be grateful for their love and support. Let Michelle know that she’s the best big sister ever. Please make sure that Isaac and Isabella know that I love them no matter what. It’s not their fault I left and I will always love them. Whoever gets to be their auntie is the luckiest person in the world and I wish it got to be me.

Tell all your family I love them, and ti voglio bene to Nadia and your Nana. I love you all so much, and I’m cheering you all on from wherever I end up.

Love,

When the movers came she handed them the key to the storage unit, letting them know what to do. Everything was out of the apartment in a few moments and Em took a last look around her almost empty apartment. The memories were suffocating. Dan tripping over the coffee table, the London lockdown when they got back from Australia and they lied to Michael about what the yoga mat’s primary purpose was. The way Dan danced with her in the dark kitchen, distracting her from finding food for them in the fridge and getting them to sway in the silence. The kisses and living together like he loved her the same way she loved him.

He’d been blowing up her voicemail since Wednesday and she deleted them I listened to. The first “Emmy” hurt her too much, so she decided to practice self preservation for once. As soon as her voicemail said “you have an unlistened to voicemail from Dan” it was deleted. The same with Blake and Michael. She couldn’t do it.

Finally it was time to leave, and she carried Dan’s boxes one at a time into Blake’s apartment. The three were stacked one atop the other, the letters on top of them. Em stared at her thumb, at the moon ring that had been there since Dan bought it for her calling her his moon on dark nights. She couldn’t bear to take off the three necklace hanging on her chest, but this she had to leave behind. She wasn’t his moon, and he was too bright to be her sun.

She slipped it off and rubbed her finger against the warm gold, pushing a kiss to it before stepping back. The final thing she needed to do was leave the envelope with her medical power papers and will on Blake’s coffee table before she locked the front door and slipped his keys in his post box. It was done. She was gone.

The tube to Euston was quicker than expected and she joined the trek to the Liverpool train, settling into her seat a few minutes before they were due to pull out. Her phone lit up with a notification that the race was about to start, illuminating the photo from lockdown of her and Dan holding Isaac and Isabella. They looked like a family. Em unlocked her phone and pushed her thumb firmly down on the F1 app to delete it. A clean break.

The train pulled off exactly at two, her mind echoing Crofty’s “lights out and away we go”. Dan was in the car and racing and all she wanted was a good points finish for him. But she couldn’t check. She couldn’t let herself find out what he was doing.

Her tears fell harder as the train pulled into Milton Keynes, the memories of the last time she’d done this train journey as Dan’s plus one. His leaving Red Bull party, staying in a hotel with him the week before they flew to Perth for Christmas. It was the only time she’d gotten to visit the impressive Red Bull factory. Meeting Max properly, Christian cornering her with his wife - and keeping her cool around Geri fucking Halliwell - to ask if she could convince Dan to come back. Getting whisked away from Helmut quickly when he tried to speak to her, meeting the mechanics and team that she’d seen at several races properly for once. Yet another place she could never visit again because all she’d think about was Dan.

Em made herself stop crying shortly after, pushing a cold bottle of water to her eyes. She couldn’t be red eyed or puffy seeing her parents. It was bad enough returning with her tail between her legs. She didn’t know if she’d survive the I told you so.

When Dan got out of the car in Imola he knew what he had to do. His first stop was being weighed and getting his slip, Mike pushing one of those AG1 drinks into his hand to down to get electrolytes and water back into him. After that it was media rounds, apologising to Carlos, and doing media. Once the debrief was finished it was London. He needed to get to Emmy. For the second time he’d gotten on a plane when he should have been with her and he needed to apologise. Needed to make things right.

“The jet will be ready when we finish? I need to get back to London tonight.” Michael handed him a McLaren branded shirt and pair of skinny jeans to put on once he was out of the shower.

“It’ll be ready. Mate, you need to know that she might not want—“

“She’ll see me. It’s Em. She’s my Emmy. She’s going to see me and I’m going to tell her everything. I can’t do this without her. I can’t. I dunno how I did it before.”

“Ok. Go shower and head out.”

The debrief was painful. Lando on the fucking podium, Dan last. They wrote off his technical debrief after the collision. It was clear Dan couldn’t have done anything, and the rest of his race was nothing to write home about. He should have just retired. It was shit and he just had to listen to how Lando had a flawless race and was extracting the most out of the tractor McLaren had built. He had to wait until it was over, half listening and taking notes while stewing.

All he could think about was Emmy. He hadn’t reached out because he thought she needed space, wanted time. He’d had the fucking ring in his pocket in the hotel room and then they’d fought and he couldn’t exactly get on one knee and ask her to marry him after that. But now she was gone and she’d been gone for weeks and he didn’t know. He needed her to be ok. He needed to go home and see her on the couch and beg for her forgiveness because he was hers. His apartment was so fucking lonely, driving in and out of the factory without seeing her. Without going to sleep curled up beside her and waking up with the fairy lights glowing as she read whatever dog eared book she was rereading that month.

The voicemails were being listened to. Her inbox went from full to empty and he kept texting, determined to get through to her. Needing her to talk to him. To say anything at all. People kept asking where she was, he laughed it off and gave the excuse of family stuff. Natalie had nodded and said she hoped Em would be back soon. Chloe had looked at him oddly when she heard the excuse but he shrugged and moved on. The elder Stroll could be terrifying and he didn’t want to get on her bad side. Not even Scotty could save him from that.

There was nothing he could do but wait to be freed. The moment they were able to break - after Dan apologised to the mechanics for the job they’d have to do on the car - he was on his way to the driver room. Blake and Michael were already there with bags packed and ready to go.

It was a two hour flight to London and they landed at nine. After forcing their way through traffic in a black cab it was after nine thirty by the time they arrived at Blake and Em’s building. Dan stepped out of the car and grabbed his bags, heading straight upstairs to the two identical doors. He didn’t realise when it became more normal to stand in front of Em’s door than Blakes, but it had years before. He knocked twice to no response.

“Em? I’ve got my key, I’m coming in.”

The lock turned easily with the familiar key and Dan set his bags down to flick the light switch. What he saw terrified him.

The room was empty. The couch that killed his back, the coffee table his shins hated, gone. The bookshelves and the kitchen table they’d spent a lockdown day building, gone. Her helmet collection was missing. Em had once told him that if the building went on fire she would save whichever helmets she could. If they were gone, she was gone.

He ran to her bedroom but everything was missing. The fairy lights they’d taped up with double sided tape. Her bed. The throw cushions he laughed about. Even the case at the bottom of her wardrobe with the lingerie he’d bought her was gone. Her pink boots weren't there. It was like nobody had lived there for years. He couldn’t even smell her perfume in the air.

“Dan?” He hadn’t realised tears were streaming down his face when he turned to see his best mates standing in the doorway. “Mate, you need to see this.”

He followed them back to Blakes, pausing to lock Emmy’s front door. She had to come back. The idea that she wouldn’t come back was impossible.

Until he saw the boxes.

Three of them, neatly stacked almost up to Blake’s chest. There were three envelopes on them, and a glint of gold on top of one. He nearly ran to it, ignoring the post race soreness going through his body to see the ring he’d given her sitting on top of the one neatly labelled Daniel.

She’d used his first name. Emmy never used his first name unless something was wrong. He’d fucked up so badly that he didn’t want to open it.

Instead he held the ring firmly in his palm, the metal cold against his hand. She was there. She had been there and now she was gone and he didn’t know what to do. But instead he followed what Blake and Michael had done and opened his letter.

It was how impersonal it was that killed him. Em was done. She’d be fine. Thanking him for bringing her around the world and letting her work with him. She didn’t want another fight and she thought he was done with her.

She didn’t love him like he loved her and for a brief moment that made him want to die. The moments they’d shared, the times they’d said they loved each other. The times he’d held her and traced I love you down her back or against her clit when he was eating her out, desperate for her to know but too afraid to say it. The 'y’know, right?'. Everything from the last nearly four years. None of it had ever mattered because she wouldn’t have married him. He had her ring in his fucking ever present backpack and thank God he hadn’t tried to propose because she’d have said no and he’d have been humiliated.

“I guess you were right. Buying the ring was a mistake.”

His choked voice broke the silence, but it was Michael who got the next sentence in, cutting off Blake’s question about the ring.

“Mate, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“She doesn’t love me like I love her. I was wrong. I just got my heart broken so please, don’t rub it in right now?”

“Did you read any of what she wrote?”

“Yeah. She’s done. She thanked me for letting her travel with us. Like she didn’t earn her place. She signed it Emma. I was wrong, ok? I was wrong and I can’t take you rubbing it the fuck in when I think Im gonna break.”

“What happened? Because the two of you were fine in Bahrain, and then after Saudi she disappeared and skipped Perth, and she was barely in Melbourne. What happened with you?” Blake was the one who asked, Dan flopping on the couch beside him. He held out his much shorter letter for them to read.

“Things were weird when we got back after Christmas. Then we had covid and got through it. And Saudi fucking happened. With everything going on and keeping her safe I didn’t see her till after the race and she was already leaving. And in Melbourne we… We had a fight.” The memories of what he’d said were circling again, the anger between them, Em telling him to leave again. Him walking away.

“We thought that much. You didn’t even hug her goodbye.”

“She told me to leave!”

“In self preservation.” Michael’s voice was low and Dan was almost afraid of his best friend. “She said she didn’t want to make us choose between you and her, that she knew we’d pick you. So she left. I have to tell your fucking family she’s gone, by the way. She asked me to. So you’re going to tell me everything that’s happened between the two of you and we’re going to fix this. What the fuck did you do?”

He wanted to be annoyed that he was being blamed but he couldn’t blame the boys. So he let everything out.

He told them about wanting to kiss her in Blake’s that first night, of Monaco and their agreement that it was over once she left Monaco. Coffee and Silverstone and her birthday drinks. Spa and I love you when they were faced with the reality of what could happen with his job again. Em begging him to never leave her behind, that no matter what he wouldn’t leave her alone. Her dick of an ex who’d destroyed her self-esteem and meant she lost her friends. The meaning of 'Y’know, right?', the phrase that had been their mantra since 2019. That he hadn’t slept with anyone else since he’d met her because he just knew she was supposed to be his. That he’d bought the ring when they spent Christmas 2020 together but was just waiting for the right moment. And then in Saudi she’d been sobbing and he sent her away. He made Blake take her away from him. From them. He’d broken his fucking promise and again in Australia he walked away when he should have stayed in that room.

She’d picked the fight. She’d picked it so she’d be left alone and leave and the realisation of how well she fucking knew him hurt so much. She knew him like the palm of her hand and for a minute he forgot about it.

“Let me get this straight. You’ve known just how shit her family is for longer than any of us, and I’m the only one who’s actually met them. She asked for exactly one thing from you which was don’t leave her alone. And in Saudi, one of the countries she’s most scared of being away from us for any length of time, you made her go back to the hotel and stay there on her own. She begged you to stay and was sobbing and you left her to cry when she asked you to stay? I could fucking punch you right now.” He nodded at Michael’s words, shame filling every cell in his body.

“You made us leave her alone.” Blake spoke and Dan thought he was going to be sick. “In Melbourne. The morning of the race. 'Em’s going with my parents. She wants family time.' She didn’t know she was going with them, did she? Why?”

“She… I… No. We weren’t ok. I didn’t know if I could be in the car with her. Not after that night.”

“What happened?”

“I… Fuck. She kept the door between our rooms locked that whole week. But Saturday night it wasn’t locked. I had a habit of just trying it, just in case. It was open and I went in. I just lay down on the edge of the bed and watched her sleep for a while before falling asleep. I left before she woke up. She didn’t know, she was asleep the whole time.”

“You think our Ems was asleep for a full night before a fucking race? Are you an idiot? Did you get brain damage in that crash today? She doesn’t fucking sleep! You slept in the same bed as her for four fucking years and you don't know that? She’s into me for melatonin every damn night because she can’t sleep worrying about you. She was awake that entire night and you left her without saying a goddamn word and then you abandoned her again. Again, Dan. Don’t tell me you did something stupid and cheated on her like her fucking ex.”

“I never cheated. I haven’t touched another woman.” The thought made him sick. “I’m not that asshole. You know I’m not.”

“I don’t mean to be funny Dan. She lived beside me for nearly five years. She’s my friend. And now her apartment is for rent, your shit is here, and she’s told us all goodbye and to give messages to the people she loves. So you might not have cheated on her, but you broke her. It took us four years to help Em feel like herself again and put her pieces back together and you broke her.” Blake was opening another envelope mixed in with the post on his coffee table that Em had left in as he spoke, eyes widening slightly. Before he could get the words out Michael had to.

“You’re telling your family, by the way.” His voice was solid, a way Dan had never heard before. “She asked me to tell them but I can’t. I can’t break those kids hearts and tell them their auntie Emmy loves them forever but she can’t see them again. I can’t tell your sister that she’s lost a sister, and I can’t tell your parents that you ran off the woman they want you to marry. That the woman your mum teaches family recipes to had to leave, because you fucked up that much. You know she’s their second daughter, right? Even before whatever the fuck you’ve been doing started they adored her. From Monaco. Em’s lost the only decent mother she’s ever had because of you. She didn’t want to make us choose but if she was here right now I’d choose her over you any day.”

“If you think she doesn’t love you, read this.” Blake held out a package of papers, Dan skimming them.

Everyone in his line of work was familiar with leaving a will behind. The fucking academies basically demanded it at this point. He’d put Emmy on his own medical power of attorney form after Spa, told her what he was leaving her when she was ready for that conversation after Roman nearly died in Bahrain.

But Emma wasn't racing cars every weekend, so she didn't need the papers she signed. She didn't need to leave a will behind, but his name was there to make decisions for Em. She’d left him specific things. The cold fear snaked up his spine, tightening around his lungs and making it hard to breathe.

“She wouldn’t. She won’t do anything stupid. It’s Em, she wouldn’t.” The words came out as a rush but certain. She wouldn’t hurt herself. God, he couldn’t live with himself if she did.

“It’s probably just a precaution. But Jesus Christ, Dan. She’s gone. We have no idea where she is, we don’t even know what country she’s in. We don’t know what kind of head start she has and with the amount of frequent flier miles she has she could be anywhere. We can probably cross off here and Australia, but that doesn’t take away much.”

“I need to leave.” Dan turned to see Michael pick up his bag. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk. I’ll email you workout plans. She’s my fucking sister, Dan. She’s my little sister and I trusted you knew what you were doing with her. She said goodbye to me and I didn’t even know. You… I can’t look at you right now. I’m this close to quitting too because I don’t know you anymore. The Dan I grew up with? He would have said something. He wouldn’t make the woman he kept saying he was going to make his wife run away. He wouldn’t make her feel unloved. Just work out what you’re going to do. I’ll be on the plane to Miami but I don’t know if I’ll see you before then.” Dan watched as his oldest friend, the man he’d known since primary school, who’d supported him through thick and thin, walked out of the apartment into the London night.

“She’s gone. She’s really gone and she’s not coming back. I… I have to find her, Blake. I can’t do this without her.”

“You need to work out what you’re doing. You need to tell your family she’s gone. You need to do your job. We’re all hurting right now and yeah your heart is breaking. But its my job to do tough love and tell you that you need to work first and then think about her.” He stared at Blake in shock. “I’m pissed. But work first. Em somehow managed to take everything off my plate when she was leaving, because she didn’t want to make things hard on me. Go home, Dan. I have to call Chloe Stroll and tell her Em’s not coming back.”

“Not yet. Please. Let me f—“

“I’m telling her. You can hide it from the media, from your family, whatever. Chloe is Em’s best friend outside us. Do you really think she hasn’t tried calling Em already? Really?” Dan nodded once. “Go home. Your place, not the empty apartment next door you called home. Go home and get your shit together. Em would kill you if you fucked up a race over her.”

Dan got an Uber on his phone, taking his bags downstairs along with his letter from Em. He slipped the moon ring onto his little finger, settling it just above the sun. He needed her back. He just didn’t know how to find her.

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