#didn't want to sound sappy on main

[summermints]

NO ONE TOLD ME ONE PIECE EP 1015 WOULD BE THAT BEAUTIFUL. LIKE, LITERALLY BEAUTIFUL. I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY

the storytelling, the animation, everything... beautiful, that's all i have to say

[immoral-stranger]

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐝 // 𝐋𝐒𝟐

Summary: “I’m tired of acting like I’m not in love with you,” — Or, the one where two people are experiencing the worst year of their lives respectively. Falling in love shouldn't be that difficult on top of it all, right?

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x Fem! Reader (team photographer, skater girl™, has tattoos and is vaguely bilingual)

Word count: 23.3k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI ❀ Angst: panic attacks, anxiety, self-deprecation, mention of medication, anxiety disorders and ADHD. Reader has a shitty family as well. Smut: penetrative sex, they're needy as hell, otherwise very vanilla. Fluff: she fell first, he fell harder, a bunch of silent crushing on each other, a very sappy and happy ending. Other: inaccurate timeline and race results.

A/N: I'm back! I planned this before Zandvoort and before Logan got dropped and didn't feel like changing it to fit reality, so Logan gets to finish the season in this fictional universe. He also gets to go to Indycar because I'm sad and maybe delusional. Please tell me what you think ♡

Oxfordshire, UK

The rain drizzled down as you cruised around the almost empty parking lot on your board, the drops making little sounds as they hit the brim of your rain hat. February in England wasn’t that great—no snow, just rain and cold weather. Awful, but doable for someone who had a skateboard stuck to their feet ninety percent of the year. 

You were early, which was uncommon for you. But Angie had told you to come early, and you didn’t want to screw up on what was technically your first day on the job. Having someone you saw as an older sister as your boss had its pros and cons. 

“Should you really be skating in the rain?” Angie called out, standing underneath the awning above the main entrance, shielded from the rain. Her Williams-blue raincoat was pulled up to her chin, and you could see her visibly shiver from the cold. 

You had received a similar jacket, amongst a lot of other team gear, in advance for your first day. It wasn’t exactly your style, but you guessed that wasn’t the point of having team gear in the first place. Or any kind of work uniform, really. The coat kept you warm and dry, that was all that you could ask for. 

“Can’t you see how slow I’m going?” you protested, laughing at her cautiousness. 

You knew what you were doing. It wasn’t advised by anyone to skate when it was raining outside, but casually riding in a flat, empty parking lot at a slow speed, just to not get your shoes wet, wasn’t dangerous. Not for you, at least. You had been skating for close to two decades.

Angie had asked you to take some pictures of the building, and then take pictures of all the team members as they arrived at the factory. 

You had held a camera in your hands for almost as long as your feet had stood on a skateboard. The two interests kind of coexisted and fed off each other as you grew older. Only photography was able to make you money, though. 

You’d read in an article that the Williams factory was supposed to be modest in comparison to McLaren’s or Red bull’s spaceship-like buildings, but this was still huge to you. And you hadn’t even gotten inside the building yet. 

As cars filled the parking lot, you snapped photos of the people going inside. Mechanics, engineers, people on the communications team—it seemed like everyone was present for this pre-season meetup. Maybe it was because it was the last one before the team flew off to Bahrain. 

Some smiled at you as they spotted the big DSLR camera in your hands, others walked right past. Angie seemed to know almost everyone as she greeted them by the entrance. Sure, she was some kind of high-up marketing manager, but recognising so many people seemed excessive. Or maybe just impressive. 

She’d given you a crash course in Formula 1 as she had hired you. You had heard her talk about her job on many occasions, even catching a race or two when it was on television, but you quickly realised that you didn’t know half as much as you probably needed to. 

It was hard for you to even pinpoint who were the Williams’ drivers as they both came walking across the parking lot. Angie’s immediate perked attention and widened smile told you everything you needed to know. You would need to get good photos of them both. 

You tried your best to remember who was who, and when you recalled that one raced under the Thai flag and the other for the US, it was quite easy. 

Alex was tall, and happy. He walked with quick steps to get away from the light rain, greeting Angie with an effortless hug. He had no problem smiling when he saw you with the camera, raising his eyebrows at your stance on the skateboard. 

Logan wasn’t far behind. He looked younger, and less confident in the way he carried himself. His steps were slower as he too made his way under the awning. He reminded you of kids you’d gone to school with, with their boyish charm and cluelessness. He was young, and sweet—maybe even beautiful. 

You could see it all as you lifted your camera to spot him from the viewfinder. His smile didn’t form as easily as Alex’s had done, but when it did, and he flashed you his stupidly perfect and pearly white American teeth, you couldn’t help but feel how the corners of your lips turned upward. This was going to be a difficult year if you already were developing a minor crush on the first cute boy you’d seen. 

“Who’s Paddington?” Alex asked Angie after he had greeted her. 

You could overhear him perfectly fine as you pretended to take some photos of the main building. 

“What? Oh, because the red bucket hat?” she chuckled, shaking her head. “That’s our new team photographer.” 

Logan too gave Angie a quick hug. After all, she was one of the more tolerable people forcing them to do social media content. 

He laughed at the nickname Alex gave you. Logan would’ve gone with Tony Hawk over Paddington, but maybe that was because he found the fictional little bear with a red hat and a blue coat to be a very British reference. 

“She looks about twelve,” Alex remarked, watching as you adjusted something on the lens, your movements precise and confident despite your youthful appearance.

Angie laughed again, the sound warm and contagious. “She’s the same age as Logan.” 

Logan playfully pouted at his two colleagues joking. He guessed the both of you looked young. Maybe too young to be in such a professional setting. 

“She’s my best friend’s little sister. I’m mostly being kind by offering her a chance to work with us,” Angie continued to explain, raising her voice slightly to get your attention. 

She didn’t really need to, because you had heard every single word of their conversation. 

“That’s her way of secretly telling you that I’m severely underqualified for this job and I’m using it as an excuse to travel the world,” you said under your breath, your gaze still fixated on the viewfinder as you slowly skated towards them. 

Same, was what Logan immediately wanted to say, but instead he just laughed, unsure of how well his self-deprecating humour would translate.

You stepped off your board, before popping it up with your foot on the tail end to grab it with your hand. You hadn’t expected them to laugh, because it wasn’t exactly a joke. You guessed it kind of came across as one, though.

You told Alex and Logan your name, gently reaching out your hand to shake theirs, but Angie’s hand pulling down the brim of your hat over your eyes stopped you in your tracks. 

“I have a feeling you’re going to be stuck with Paddington around here,” she laughed.  

“The Williams hat you gave me can’t stand the rain,” you argued, fixing the hat back into place. 

It was true. The cotton of the team hat she had given you would’ve been drenched at this point. But you still appreciated her effort because she thought the hat was more your style than the classic baseball cap that most of the other employees sported.

“You’re such a child, you know that, right?” 

That was something you’d heard all your life, because you somehow always turned out to be the youngest one at every family function. You didn’t take it as an insult when Angie said it, though. She had valued what you brought to the table for as long as you could remember. Maybe that was the only child within her showing through. 

“That’s kind of on you, Angie,” you pointed out. “If you hadn’t been mostly kind, I wouldn’t be here to annoy you.” 

You saw how Angie wanted to argue back, but was interrupted by the sound of your ringtone. Teenagers by My Chemical Romance. You had intention behind it when you initially picked it (something about rebellion and fuck the system), but now it was mostly a running joke that you couldn’t let go of, no matter how many times you swapped phones.

You also loved the embarrassment that flashed over Angie’s face as it interrupted her. Alex and Logan couldn’t help but laugh as you excused yourself to answer. 

Logan watched as you slowly cruised over the parking lot, phone up to your ear as you talked to whoever it was over the phone. He heard you raise your voice, speaking in a language he didn’t recognise, or at least didn’t understand.

“Her family sort of… resents her? So, I did what I thought was right.”

Angie felt the need to explain as the three of them heard you start to argue. She knew it had to be your mother calling, because you had given up on arguing with your father already.

“Is she at least a good photographer?” Alex asked with a sigh.

“She’s the best.” 

. . .

Melbourne, Australia

. . .

The season started with a whirlwind. You definitely hadn’t mentally prepared for the challenge it would be to travel nonstop, and even if you had some downtime, the anxiety of always being on the move didn’t leave your body. Before you had the chance to experience a new city, you had to be thinking of when you were going to the next one. 

And you were rusty. You didn’t yet have the right mindset to be in the position you were in, constantly forgetting things and not getting the perfect photos. You’d done sports photography for a long time, but there was a difference in speed between x-games sports and fucking Formula 1. 

That was why you found yourself back at the hotel in Melbourne, riding the lift to your floor to retrieve some equipment you’d forgotten in your room, your body teeming with nerves and embarrassment over what had just transpired. While Formula 1 was a travelling circus with a lot of important and famous people, you hadn’t expected to actually run into anyone that would leave you speechless. You were usually too good at talking. 

As you exited the lift, you spotted Logan in the hallway, looking like he was about to enter his own hotel room. Your speedy steps interrupted his actions, and even if you two hadn’t really had a one-on-one conversation before, you had to tell someone about who you just ran into. 

“I just made a fool out of myself in front of Keegan Palmer,” you exhaled loudly as your steps came to a stop in front of him. 

“Who?” Logan questioned, holding the door to his room open, a little bit taken aback by your boldness. 

“Olympic skateboarder,” you clarified. “He’s kind of a big deal, and he’s friends with Lando somehow.” 

Logan remembered something about a famous skateboarder in the back of his mind as he let out a short laugh. “So, what did you do? Ask for a selfie?”

“I wish. No, I just ran into them in the lobby and couldn’t form a sentence because I was shocked. I literally froze,” you groaned, rubbing your temples as your emotions started to settle. 

As they did, you took in Logan’s expression. While you hadn’t necessarily talked much before, you had taken a lot of photos of him. He always portrayed a certain charm, even when he was focused on racing or unaware of the camera. He didn’t do that now. Something seemed off with him from his blank stare at you. He was there, able to laugh at your awkward interaction, but he wasn’t present. 

“Shouldn’t you be at the paddock?” Logan asked after a moment of silence. 

“I forgot an SD card in my hotel room,” you explained. “Shouldn’t you be at the paddock?”

His face twisted in disbelief. “You haven’t heard?” 

“Heard what?” 

“I’m not driving,” he answered plainly, but the words landed heavily. “Alex is taking my car because they don’t have a spare chassis to repair the damage from his crash yesterday.” 

You blinked out of confusion as you raised your eyebrows. “Is that even allowed? It’s your car.” 

“I don’t know, but it’s probably for the better,” Logan shrugged with a certain nonchalance. “I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.” 

“You’re paying for a mistake that he made. It is a big deal,” you argued. 

You’d practically ran up to him to talk about your embarrassing moment that you had failed to even acknowledge what kind of mood he was in. That was a bad habit of yours—badly reading people and basically running them over with your talking. 

And here he was, feeling like shit over a decision that no one thought was possible. He probably had no will to talk about some skateboarder with you.  

You noticed the way his hands trembled slightly, holding a tight grip on the door to the point where his knuckles whitened. The realisation hit you at the same time his expression shifted, his bravado cracking under the weight of something much deeper, his breath coming quicker than normal. 

“Mate, are you okay?” you asked him softly. 

“I’m fine,” he muttered, but his wavering voice betrayed him.

Logan wasn’t angry at the team, or at Alex. He knew that it was the right decision because Alex would have a better chance to score points. He probably would’ve made the same decision if he were team principal. 

He knew he wasn’t good enough to deserve a chance.

He knew he wasn’t good enough to argue his case. 

He knew he wasn’t good enough. 

It was killing him inside. Logan wanted to flee the scene. He wished he could rewind time five minutes and just walk into his hotel room instead of stopping when he heard your steps. He wouldn’t have had to explain this to you. He wouldn’t have had to feel this way in front of another person. It had been bad enough when he got the news in a conference room filled with team members. 

This was different, though—you two alone in a hotel corridor. 

He felt like he was choking, like the feelings inside of him wanted to come out but he had no idea how to let them out. He couldn’t get enough air in his lungs, no matter how heavily he breathed. He’d never felt like this before. 

“You’re having a panic attack, dipshit,” you stated. 

It sounded like you were joking, but in reality you were fighting concern with humour. You could see exactly what was happening to him, all too familiar yourself with the overwhelming feeling of when anxiety finally catches up with you.  

Logan looked at you, eyes wide. “N-no, I’m not. I’ve never—” he stammered, shaking his head.

“You haven’t had one before? Oh, fuck.”

It hadn’t even crossed your mind that people in their twenties could’ve gone their entire lives without experiencing an anxiety attack. You could handle them quite well after years of being a miserable child and teen, but Logan didn’t look like he knew what was even going on. The first one wouldn’t always be the worst one, but right now, this would be hard on him. 

You took a step closer, your heart suddenly racing. You didn’t know if he wanted you to touch him, so you acted hesitantly at first. But by his shocked expression and shaking hands, you knew that he needed help calming down. He looked lost, like the ground had suddenly shifted beneath his feet and he didn’t know how to steady himself.

“God, here—” you reached out, grabbing his hand, your fingers firm but gentle. “Just hold my hand.” 

You dragged him into his room, to get privacy if someone entered the floor. He collapsed against the door as soon as it shut, sliding down it to sit on the floor. You crouched in front of him, now holding both of his hands to stop their shaking and to centre his focus. 

“Mimic my breathing, look at my chest,” you instructed, guiding him as you took deep and steady breaths, making sure that he could see the tempo in which they rose and fell. 

Logan couldn’t get any words out, but he tried his best to calm down. He was slowly able to sync his breathing with yours, the tightness in his chest and the pounding in his head easing as he got enough oxygen in his system again. The feeling inside was still foreign to him, like it wasn’t palpable at all. 

He realised he was crying when he felt a cold tear slide down his cheek. He wasn’t sure when was the last time he had cried in front of someone, but he was past the point of embarrassment. 

You didn’t seem to care about it anyway. You had a kindness in your eyes that was unexplainable to him, and he wondered how you knew how to deal with this so well. 

“See?” you whispered after a moment. “You’re okay. Just keep breathing with me.”

Logan closed his eyes for a second, feeling his wet eyelashes hit his cheeks. Your voice grounded him and he couldn’t think of anything else in the moment. He couldn’t think of racing. He couldn’t think of Alex. 

He thought of your unwavering grip on both his hands, sending a calm feeling through his body. He thought of the sound of your steady breathing, making it easy for him to follow. 

He slowly opened his eyes to look down at your intertwined fingers, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hand. Logan had seen that you had tattoos before, but now was the first time he was close enough to distinguish them.

Like patchwork, they lined both of your arms, getting cut off by the hem of your Williams t-shirt right before your shoulder. They looked like doodles. There was a disco ball, and flowers, and a stamp from your home country. As his eyes trailed further, he could see a few on your legs as well, revealed because you were wearing shorts. You had a tattooed band-aid on your knee and a ghost on skateboard on your lower thigh. He assumed they had a connection. 

“I like your tattoos,” Logan heard himself say, voice thick from the tears.

You glanced at him, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. The tenseness of your body softened, relieved that he seemed to be coming back to himself. “You do? You don’t seem like the type.” 

Logan shook his head, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Oh, I’m not—but I like them on you.”

He grabbed your hand again afterwards, unsure of why but relieved that you just continued rubbing absentminded circles. You flexed your arm slightly, turning it so that Logan could get a better look of the inked designs. 

“What are the paw prints for?” he asked, genuinely curious now that his mind had space for other thoughts. You had four little black paw prints on the inside of your arm. 

“My parents dog,” you said, warmth filling your voice. “A golden retriever named Tater Tot.”

He chuckled, a sound that felt foreign after the weight of his emotions. “They have tater tots outside of America?”

“Barely,” you replied. “Which is a shame because I love them. We went to Florida on vacation when I was a kid, and I think I ate about a thousand tater tots from the hotel buffet.”

“Florida?” Logan dared to look at your face fully now, intrigued. “I’m from Florida.

“I know, Logan.” 

You laughed gently. His Americanness didn’t go unnoticed by anyone in a place like this, where most of the team members were European. It was also one of the few things that had stuck with you from Angie’s rambling about her job—that she had to work with an actual Florida man, like they were mythological creatures. 

“We went to Orlando. Disney World and all that, y’know?”  

“Yeah, the classic American pilgrimage,” he smiled, then hesitated. “Have you been back? To America, I mean.”

You shrugged, your expression shifting to something more neutral, as if you were weighing the pros and cons in your mind. “No, it’s not really… something I want to do? With war criminals as presidents, and guns at grocery stores—oh, and no butter on your sandwiches?” You shook your head dramatically. “That’s my personal hell.”

Logan laughed again, feeling a slight stinging pain in his chest that he decided to disregard. If he kept on breathing deeper, he knew that it would go away on its own. 

You watched as he winced, even if he tried to hide it from you. You took a moment to breathe with him again before continuing. “I have a friend who moved to San Francisco, though. She lives with this skateboarding collective and uh, it seems really nice.”

That was maybe the only reason you would go to the US, for more than the American grands prix of course. It was an old university friend who skated competitively. Even if you weren’t on the same level, you still felt like a month or two on the west coast could do your head and mental health a favour. 

“That might be a bucket list thing for me,” you explained, at which Logan smiled. 

You observed his face, glossy blue eyes from tears and messy blond hair from the chaos he had just experienced. A certain hopelessness lingering in the air that you tried to not think about too much. It was still too early to tell how the season would end. 

“I feel a lot calmer now, uh… so thank you for all that,” he said, showing gratitude. He didn’t know how you’d known exactly what to say, but you had pulled him back from the edge, and that mattered more than anything.

“Yeah, distraction tends to work quite well,” you replied, giving him a knowing look. “You should maybe talk to someone if this becomes a reoccurring thing.” 

His smile faded, but he nodded. Logan didn’t know now what this could lead to, but maybe he needed to prepare himself for feeling like this. He kind of wanted to talk to you about it, making a mental reminder to ask if panic attacks were common for you. 

“We should probably get back to the paddock,” he murmured as realisation hit him. 

He would have to face a lot of questions, and he was destined to put on a brave face, showing that this wasn’t something that had bothered him. 

“Only if you feel like it. I don’t care if we get in trouble,” you said, reassuring him. 

He shook his head, dropping the hold he had of your hands as he stood up and smoothed out his shorts. 

“I’ll be alright, I think.” 

. . .

Miami, USA

. . .

It became a thing for you to calm Logan down. 

You'd said it yourself: It was too early to tell how the season would play out. But race after race, you grew more certain—this Williams car might just be the worst on the grid. And while you knew close to nothing about the engineering and mechanical side of things, you realised that neither did most of the audience. That was why people started to blame the drivers instead. 

It didn’t really get to you—until Miami. That was when you felt anger over racing for the first time in your life, but absolutely not the last. 

The Miami sun had been relentless, casting a hot haze over the track and the bustling energy of the crowd. The faint smell of burnt rubber lingered in the air as you clutched your camera, squinting through the lens, trying to spot the cars as they zoomed by in a blur of colour and speed. The piercing sound of engines roaring filled your ears, but it was a sudden crash that made your heart drop.

You hadn’t been too far away from the exact barrier when the crash happened. And when you realised that it was Logan, getting pushed off the track by Magnussen for a measly 18th position, you felt rage inside. He didn’t even get to finish his home race because of someone else’s carelessness. 

By the time you made your way to the garage, the race had ended. The sound of people cheering for Lando’s first win was still deafening. Logan was checked by the medics but had been released soon after. When you found him, he was sitting in his driver’s room, still in his racing suit with his helmet beside him, his face flushed red and tense. His eyes met yours through the open door and you hesitated going to talk to him at first, but with a slight nod, he showed that it was okay. 

“Sooo… Magnussen is a cunt,” you blurted out, leaning in the doorway, the words escaping before you had a chance to filter them.

Logan couldn’t help but huff out a laugh in frustration. It was an empty laugh, the kind that didn’t quite reach up to sparkle his eyes with any genuine effect of your humorous words. Instead, the only thing adding light to his eyes were the tears threatening to fall. You’d seen it before. 

You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you realised what you had said. “I’m sorry, I don’t actually know him, that was really harsh.” 

“Well, I’m glad you said it because I’m not allowed to,” he muttered in response, looking down at his hands, pulling at loose skin from his cuticles. 

He sighed loudly, leaning to rest his head on the wall behind him. You moved his helmet to sit beside him, knowing now that you weren’t pushing any boundaries. You wouldn’t exactly call yourselves friends—you didn’t really know anything about each other—but having travelled and worked so closely together for two months now, you were starting to learn how his post-race emotions functioned. 

“I think I might be the living embodiment of it could be worse,” Logan stated.  

“Yeah, you could be in that series where they race electric scooters,” you joked. 

The corners of his mouth turned upward for a split second, then he thought about how the people racing scooters probably were having more fun than him this season. 

A silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You watched him for a moment, noticing the tension still visible in the tight set of his jaw. The weight of the season was bearing down on him—the constant pressure, the unfair expectations.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said softly, eyes downcast.

“I want to,” you replied without hesitation. 

He looked up at you, fully taking in your appearance. Miami made everyone hot and bothered, and not in the good way. A sheen of sweat coated your forehead, and your skin had gotten more golden from being under the sun. Just as he spotted a fresh scratch on your elbow that he assumed was from skating, he also acknowledged the shirt you were wearing. 

It wasn’t the William’s kit. It had his face on it, with the American flag and a bald eagle behind him. Perfectly oversized in your street-style-skater way. The text on it said wtf is a kilometer.

He snorted out loud, getting your attention. “I like your shirt.” 

“It’s cool, right?” you replied, tugging at the hem. “A little girl from the fan zone gave me this friendship bracelet too.” 

You reached out your wrist for him to see, baby blue beads rattling together. He carefully moved his fingers to twist it, showing him how white alphabet beads spelled out his surname, right there on your wrist. You were fully decked out to support him today… and he hadn’t even managed to finish the race. 

As his hands moved, you saw how they were practically shaking, something his nerves caused him to do. It was an uncontrollable response to the adrenaline and pent-up frustration. 

“You’re not alright, are you?” you asked gently.

He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he stared ahead, eyes glassy. Then, after a moment, he let out a shaky breath. “Can you say something to distract me? Tell me something about you that I don’t know.” 

You realised why he asked that. Like with the tattoos in Melbourne, distraction had worked on his anxiety before. You didn’t know if he had experienced more panic attacks or if he had tried to talk to someone about what had happened, but if you could help even a little bit by just yapping, you would do it whenever he asked. 

You thought for a second, thinking of something light-hearted to tell him. An idea popped into your head as you pulled out your phone from your pocket. “Oh, I started this instagram diary thing to get some use out of all the photos and videos I take. That should tell you everything about me.” 

The screen showed a grid of colourful photos, and Logan immediately scooted closer to get a better look. They were themed and edited to match together with long captions to actually mimic a diary. Your account was relatively small, mostly followed by old friends and members of the Williams team. 

You didn’t really have anything to hide, so you handed him the phone to let him scroll freely. There were weekly posts, one from every country you had visited thus far and also ones from when you were back in England. He’d learnt by now that you weren’t English, but lived with Angie and her fiancé Matthew during this season, only because employees needed to be based in the UK. 

“You really get out there and explore every time we’re in a new city?” he asked, slightly amazed after stopping at the post from Australia. It was a photo dump with everything from the beach, to a skatepark, to you enjoying the nightlife. 

“Yeah, but my schedule is not as busy as yours,” you replied, your lips curving into a small smile. “You should join sometime, maybe not to a skatepark, but for dinner or karaoke.” 

“You got to do karaoke in Japan?” Logan wondered, scrolling back up to see the post you had made from there. 

Cherry blossoms, sushi, a skate shop with custom decks. Logan had seen that you had gotten a new board with The Great Wave off Kanawaga on it to match your blue Williams clothes, but he didn’t know from where. The last picture of the post was from a bar lit in neon lights, something written with Japanese characters. He assumed that was where the karaoke had taken place. 

“Yeah,” you grinned, thinking back to the night. “Angie does a mean Michael Jackson impression.” 

Logan had a hard time envisioning Angie singing in front of people. She was in her early thirties, and while she was lovely, she was also kind of stiff. Maybe it helped being on the other side of the world. 

He shook his head, an amused scoff escaping him, but then his eyes drifted to an older post, further down your feed. It was multiple posts actually, all aligning together in an explosion of colours. It was collages of pictures, that, when zoomed out, depicted a picture in and of itself. They were all of a girl with bright pink hair. 

“What’s all that?” he asked, tilting the phone for you to see better. 

“It’s a project I did for university, like a mixed media thing where we had to turn photos into an art piece of a different kind,” you explained. 

You said it simply, but Logan was beyond impressed at how much time and precision it must’ve taken. First to take and develop what seemed like a million photographs of the same person, and then to make a collage out of them, basically using the pictures as building blocks to make a much larger version of said person. 

“Did you go to art school?” 

“Oh no,” you laughed softly. “I did political science with a minor in photography. My entire family is made up of lawyers, so that was always my plan A.”  

He looked at you curiously. “So why aren’t you in law school now?” 

“Because I got rejected by every single one I applied to,” you dead-panned, tinged with a kind of self-deprecating humor. “I’m not that smart, Logan. Angie practically saved my life by letting me join her.” 

There was a brief pause, a moment of vulnerability hanging in the air. 

It was ridiculous really, how it all had happened—how you had been shaped your entire life for one future and then achieving nothing of it. 

You were the youngest of three siblings. Your brother was fifteen and your sister was ten when you were born. It was obvious to everyone except your parents that you were an accidental pregnancy. 

Being that much younger, you always felt behind because you were never on the same intellectual level as the rest of your family. Then, when you finally caught up in age and was supposed to be seen as an adult, you still couldn’t succeed in the things your siblings had succeeded in. You never got into a nice university, and while you just narrowly managed to graduate, it would have never been enough to get into law school no matter how hard you tried. 

School was never your thing. You found joy in art and sports, but you never had the concentration to sit down with your nose in a book to learn things. It took your parents a long time to realise this, because your siblings had never had any problems. Your brother was the youngest chairman ever at your father’s law firm, and your sister worked for the World Court in The Hague. 

You never stood a chance, but no one saw that. 

Angie was your sister’s childhood friend, and when she found out about your failed attempt at law school, she was the one to arrange this job for you. She knew that it was never your dream to do as the rest of your family. Your parents still didn’t see that. 

Everyone said that all they wanted for their children was for them to be happy and healthy, but that wasn’t really what they wanted. They wanted them to be like themselves, or even better—they wanted them to be better than themselves. And when the first two children actually managed to be better, who wouldn’t be a little disappointed in the third one? 

Logan’s voice brought you out of your spiralling thoughts. You watched as his eyes softened, and he said with pure honesty, “I think what you’re doing now is way cooler.” 

“Yeah, but my parents, and grandparents, and siblings do not,” you shrugged, the compliment washing over you but not quite sinking in.

“What would you have been doing if their opinion didn’t matter to you?” he asked, his voice suddenly louder. 

You contemplated for a moment, startled by his question and change of mood. 

“I would have skated a lot more, maybe even competitively. Or started with sports photography earlier. Not done political science, that’s for sure,” you said. “What about you?” 

“I think I’m already supposed to be living my dream,” he answered, but his voice lacked conviction. “I shouldn’t feel this… sad, I should be enjoying what I have right now because Sainz is taking my seat next year.” 

“Carlos? Jesus, that’s the downgrade of the century,” you blurted out without thinking, and Logan’s head snapped towards you, surprise in his eyes.  

“What? Do we think the Williams car will magically compete with Ferrari next season?” you chuckled. “No, it will be hilarious to hear him complain over the radio.” 

You hadn’t given him the time to answer, but he would’ve said something similar to what you did. He was reluctant to laugh, but he knew it was true. 

As he let the laugh out, he was immediately stuck by how freely he did it. He’d felt the same kind of weight over his chest like he had in Melbourne earlier. With the medics, and with the engineers, and with James. He didn’t feel that now, he could laugh without thinking of it. Without thinking of how his future was still very much undecided. You’d done it again—distracted him out of total anxious paralysis. 

“Do you know what you’re gonna do?” you asked. 

“I’ve got absolutely nothing figured out,” he admitted.

“Then I think we should use Lando’s win as an excuse to get absolutely wasted.” 

. . .

Montréal, Canada

. . .

Canada was cold, like actually freezing. And it wouldn’t stop raining. You tried to do your job the best you could, but when your shoes were soaked through and raindrops had started to trickle down the inside of your coat, getting good photos was impossible. So, you had to give up with capturing the track and the crowd and opted on finding something content-worthy in the garage instead. 

Logan found you on the floor of the garage, sat on your skateboard, using it to slide across to capture the car in some sort of panoramic view he assumed. He didn’t say much, leaving you to work in peace as he went on to focus on his own things. He could spot you in his periphery every now and then. You still wore your red bucket hat because of the rain, and your worn-out Nikes squeaked against the slick flooring. 

He heard Alex enter his side of the garage with a ringing laughter, patting his shoulder as a way of greeting him. 

“Might I ask why Paddy is on the floor?” he asked, voice laced with amusement at the girl in front of them, basically folded in half to get the perfect photograph. 

You looked up at Alex from your position, the camera still held up like a shield between you. The flash went off as you sneakily took a picture of the two drivers. “Angles, baby. Angles,” you grinned. 

Alex tilted his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “What angle is that exactly? My double chin?” 

“Don’t worry, you look great,” you reassured, standing up again. 

Logan could see how your eyes searched for something, and when he spotted your lens cap laying on a nearby table, he reached out to give it to you. You nodded slightly as a silent thank you, surprised at how observant he’d been.

He would’ve never admitted it at the time, but how easy the word baby left your lips definitely lingered on his mind. It didn’t exactly help that it was Alex you’d said it too, even if it was in a jokingly manner. 

You continued working, changing cameras from digital to film, capturing the team as they prepared for the race to start. You only stopped to go outside to photograph when a hailstorm hit the paddock. 

Logan saw you enter the hospitality, drenched from head to toe, your blue coat having turned navy from the rain. Your eyes watched the hail in miraculous awe. He spotted you shivering from the weather, your hands having a hard time holding the camera as the cold gnawed at your fingers. 

You felt him before you saw him, his quiet energy sneaking up on you, standing behind you as hail and raindrops hit the glass panes of the Williams hospitality building. 

“Here,” he said, holding out a steaming mug.

You blinked, momentarily confused by the gesture. “I don’t drink coffee,” you reminded him. “Everyone says I’m hyper enough without caffeine.” 

Logan’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “I know that,” he replied. “It’s mine, but you can use the mug to warm your hands.” 

“Oh…” Your voice trailed off as you reached for the mug, the warmth radiating from the ceramic a stark contrast to the cold that had settled in your bones. Your fingers touched his as you grabbed it, almost igniting a hotter fire than the boiling hot coffee warming you. “Thank you.”

Logan watched you in that silent way of his, the hailstorm outside temporarily forgotten as the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you.

You glanced up at him, your heart doing a ridiculous fluttering thing it had started doing whenever he was close. His gaze was steady, searching yours with a familiar, unspoken understanding that had developed over months of working together. A soft chuckle escaped your lips, the sound surprising even you, thinking back on how he had handed you your lens cap earlier. And now this, too. 

“Why do you always seem to know what I need before I do?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, voice low enough for you to just about hear him. 

It took you a while to understand what he meant. Then it hit you, that your comfort—your distraction—was what he needed. And you did it without him asking. Ever since tears had fallen from his blue eyes on that hotel room floor somewhere in Melbourne. 

. . .

Later, the race began and came to an end. 

The rain had stopped and the streets had dried up, leaving an eerily quiet race tack left under glimmering city lights. As you skated the paddock, weaving through the lingering crowd, the adrenaline of the race still pulsed through you, but it was dulled by the quiet aftermath.

You hadn’t really had any time to talk with anyone, being out by the track all race. While the race was disappointing, the cars had at least been a pleasure to photograph as they sprayed water around them. 

You spotted a group of team members ahead, their heads low, conversations muted. Among them, Logan’s familiar figure stood out. You pushed off your skateboard with a quiet flick, coasting toward him. His ears perked up at the sound of the wheels against the concrete. As you got closer, you set your foot down, slowing to match his pace.

“Soo… uhm,” you started, voice unsure.  

“Yeah, we don’t have to talk about it,” he said quickly, his gaze locked on the asphalt in front of him as he continued to walk slowly, you riding beside him. 

You both knew what it meant. A double DNF, a race weekend that spiralled out of control, and hours of work undone in seconds.

“We can, if you want to,” you offered. 

You glanced at him then, really looking at him for the first time since before the race. He looked tired, but more than that—defeated. And yet, he was trying to be strong. You offered him a chance to vent, even though you both knew it wouldn’t necessarily help. Not when you couldn’t pinpoint a defining factor as to why the weekend had gone to shit. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t Alex’s fault. It was just a mess to race in this much rain. 

Logan let out a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not sure anyone on the team would want to talk about today,” he admitted. 

You could only nod, completely understanding that it was probably best to be quiet about the race. You were better off distracting him, like you usually did. 

“You wanna have dinner? A little pick-me-up? Maybe Alex and Lily will want to join.” 

Logan huffed a dry laugh. “They’re having what Alex calls DNF therapy.” 

“Do I wanna know what that means?” you questioned, acting intrigued. 

You didn’t need to ask. You understood what it meant. But you asked anyway, to see if Logan would explain it to you. 

“No, you don’t,” he replied short, shaking his head. 

“How about room service and a shitty movie instead?” you suggested. 

“You’re starting to know me so well,” he said. He then paused, the realisation settling in as he glanced sideways at you. “I guess you’re my DNF therapy, huh.”

You tried to stop yourself from making the conversation take a turn. You really did. But the joke was there, right in front of your eyes, looking so damn tempting. 

“I’m not having sex with you, Sargeant,” you said sternly. 

Logan blinked, his eyes wide for a second before he burst out laughing. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Noted. Loud and clear.”

For a brief moment, a tension so thick formed between you that you could almost feel it taking up space in the cold, still slightly rainy air. It was quickly replaced by the laughter—the easy banter you usually had with Logan. 

But the thought lingered in your mind longer than it should have. In reality, you probably would’ve done it. If he asked you, that is. Sex with Logan, huh. The heat that rose to your cheeks was almost painful. Your infatuation had been visible, right there on your face, if only Logan had been confident enough to see it. 

You had to push these thoughts away. You didn’t need things to be complicated between the two of you. Even if this stupid crush you had on him was starting to become harder to ignore.  

Instead, you nudged his arm playfully before pushing with your foot to skate in front of him, glancing back over your shoulder with a grin. “Come on. Let’s go order some overpriced food and find the worst movie possible.”

. . .

Baku, Azerbaijan

. . .

Azerbaijan was hot, like actually blazing. You could feel sweat running down your face and back every time you were out of the air-conditioned garage to photograph. By the time race day came around, you already had blisters on the inside of your thighs from chafing, and your skin was warm to the touch from being burnt.  

The moment you had now, on the Sunday morning, to sit inside and edit some photos was therefore sacred. It was the first calm and, more importantly, cool moment you’d had in days. The torment the heat had on your body had still left its mark. You couldn’t get comfortable. You couldn’t get your heart to stop racing. You wouldn’t have called it anxiety, but since this morning, you were now sure that heat exhaustion wasn’t the only thing you were feeling. 

Your mind was enough of a twisty place. Now, when it wouldn’t shut the fuck up, it was like a constant stream of emotions just overwhelming you. 

At least, the photos you had taken during practice and qualifying turned out sick. You’d tried out a new long exposure technique that really captured the speed even in static form. And you had definitely gotten better at candid portrait photography, which was a huge part of your job. Editing was usually the simplest part for you, but when the photos were so close that you could count the subject’s individual eyelashes, it was easy to get flustered. 

You finished the editing and decided on asking both Alex and Logan for their favourites before sending the content to the media team. It wasn’t something that was required from you, but you also knew that having your photo taken could be difficult. 

With your laptop in your hand, you walked to their driver rooms, rounding the corner to be met with a wide open door into Logan’s. 

“Logan, I—” you started, your breath catching in your throat at the sight in front of you. 

There he was, in workout shorts but no shirt, lounging in his room before changing into his race gear. He didn’t even have time to look up from his phone before you were rambling out an apology, ready to run out of the room—hell, maybe even the garage. 

“Oh fuck, shit, I’m sorry,” you hurried to say, feeling your pulse quicken. You hoped he didn’t notice how your mouth hung open or the way your eyes darted everywhere but his torso. 

“What’s up?” he said, straightening his back and running a hand through his hair.

His casual confidence made everything about your reaction feel even worse. He didn’t mind you seeing him shirtless, so why the fuck did you have to care so much? 

“I just…” you stammered, losing all sense of vocabulary as your eyes deceived you, glancing at his chest. “Forgot how to English.” 

Logan let out a gentle laugh, and you mentally told yourself to get your shit together. 

“I have some photos for you to look at,” you said, holding up your laptop that had been your reason to barge into his room in the first place.

“Right, right,” Logan nodded. “Let me put a shirt on first.”

Your mouth moved before your brain could stop it. The moment the words left your mouth, you wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. 

“No, I get it. I’d be shirtless too if it was socially acceptable.” 

He froze mid-step, his head slowly turning back to you with a raised brow.

You’d said no. In milliseconds. Like you were opposed to him putting a shirt on. Like that was a totally normal thing. Then, you just had to mention yourself being shirtless. So, you were forced to wonder if he was thinking about you without a shirt on as much as you were thinking about him without one. 

Well… you didn’t necessarily have to think. He was already standing in front of you shirtless. That was a known fact.

The moment you thought he might actually flirt back with you, it was like you could see how the tension washed away from his face. 

“It’s hot, right?” he asked, moving some things out of the way so that you could place your laptop on the table in his room. A part of you thought he wasn’t actually talking about the temperature. 

“Way too fucking hot,” you mumbled as your fingers shakily hovered over the mousepad. Your heart was racing and your body was overheating. You didn’t dare look up from the screen, afraid of what you might see in his eyes—or worse, what he might see in yours.

He overviewed the photos, pointing out some of his favourites. You’d gathered quite quickly that Logan had an amateur interest in photography. He didn’t shy away from complimenting your work or from asking questions about certain shots he found special. That didn’t make the rushing heat flowing to your face any better. 

“You alright?” you heard him ask as you closed the laptop shut, your photo viewing session done for now. You couldn’t really focus, a ringing sound hitting your ears. 

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah, just a lot to do. I’ll see you after the race.” 

With that, you dashed out of his room, on your way to find Alex instead. You couldn’t keep doing this to yourself, but that didn’t exactly matter. Either way, you were in too deep, and you knew it.

. . .

The Williams car was decent in Baku—fast on the straights, as expected. Alex got points and Logan wasn’t far from archiving it too. Still, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t the most depressing result—he would manage this weekend without once collapsing like an anxious mess. That was a win in his book nowadays. 

Logan walked with Alex from the media pen, adrenaline in his steps, talking freely about whatever came to mind. 

“Did she show you the photos she took during practice yesterday? She used some kind of long exposure. I don’t know what it’s called or how she did it but it looked so cool—” 

“Logan,” Alex stopped him. 

“What?” 

“Take a breath, you’ve been talking about Paddy for like five whole minutes,” Alex teased, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I get that you like her photography, but this is borderline obsessive.”

“I’m not obsessed,” Logan defended. “You were the one who brought her up in the first place anyway.” 

“Mate, all I did was ask if you’d seen her. She didn’t take any photos as we exited the cars,” Alex explained. 

Logan shrugged. “I haven’t seen her since before the race.” 

“Me neither, that’s why I asked.” 

Realisation dawned upon Logan that something wasn’t alright. You’d seemed sort of unbalanced earlier in the day, but he assumed that was the heat and a massive workload. It wasn’t something he hadn’t seen before, and you seemed to quietly get through every hurdle in your way anyway. He would be blind if he didn’t see your embarrassment to barging in on him shirtless, but he had explained that reaction away too in his head. He mostly found you cute, but that didn’t have to mean anything. 

He couldn’t find an explanation for this, though. Even after shit races, he looked forward to seeing you with your camera held high every time he exited the car, got weighed, or was walking to the media pen. But you hadn’t been there today… 

His emotional support photographer hadn’t been there. Sure, today’s race wasn’t that bad, and he didn’t necessarily need you as a distraction for his anxiety. But you didn’t know that. That had to mean that something had happened to you. 

“Angie, where’s Paddy?” Alex asked as they entered back into the Williams garage, practically running into the obviously stressed-out marketing manager. 

“Uhh…” Angie hesitated, not lifting her eyes from her phone. “Still with the medical team, I think. She passed out during the race. Heatstroke, most likely.” 

Logan froze. He didn’t understand why he cared so much, but for some reason he did. He cared about you, and he cared so much that he was about to act irrationally. 

“She passed out? How are you so calm?” he questioned. 

Angie shrugged, far too nonchalantly for his liking. “It’s a million degrees outside, heatstrokes are bound to happen—”

Logan didn’t wait for another word. He was already moving, cutting through the garage with purpose.

Alex shouted after him, “Logan, where are you going? We have debrief soon!” 

“Tell them I’m not coming!” was all that he yelled as a reply. 

. . .

The air in the small, sterile room seemed to hum with the tension that had followed you since you woke up.

“Miss, how are you feeling?” 

You blinked, still trying to find your bearings. It took you a second to even see the medic that was talking to you. The heat clouded your vision like a mirage. Your mouth was dry, your skin sticky from sweat, but at least you were conscious. They’d placed you in a secluded room in the makeshift medical area, lying on a stiff and temporary cot. 

“It’s a lot better now,” you replied hoarsely, managing a weak smile. “Still have a slight headache, but I guess that’s normal.” 

You didn’t know if it was the bright fluorescent lighting or the heat still affecting you, but your eyes burned and your head pounded. You felt the instinct to rub your temples, but was hindered when you felt an IV-needle inserted in your arm. 

You didn’t know how long you’d been out. You weren’t  even sure what had happened really. One second you were in the garage, trying to get a perfect shot of Alex making his pit stop. The next one, you have a vague memory of being moved into the medical area and multiple people’s voices buzzing above you. 

“Yes, it is. Do you know what happened?” the medic asked. His voice was kind as he stood by your bedside, an iPad in hand with information. 

“Uh, I… passed out? Did I hit my head?”

“No, no, you didn’t. You should be lucky that garage was filled with people to catch a falling lady,” he joked lightly. 

You smiled, albeit a bit forced. You looked at the medic’s name tag, trying to make out the letters with your clouded vision. Amir. That was a pretty name. At least your brain was working somewhat.

“We just want to observe you for a little longer to make sure you’re no longer dehydrated, otherwise you should be completely fine. Are you on any medication now?” Amir continued by saying. 

You thought for a second. “Yeah, wait… I can never remember the names.” 

Looking around you, you were thankful to see your camera bag with your phone inside placed neatly on a table next to the cot. You moved carefully to reach it, opening your notes app to show Amir the prescriptions you had written down. 

“I take those daily for ADHD, and uh… those for anxiety when I feel like I need it,” you explained, pointing at the screen even though it hurt your head to look at it. 

Amir nodded and tapped something down on his iPad. “Did you take one today?” 

“Yeah, one of each.” 

“Good to know. I’ll go get you something for that headache,” he reassured you before leaving, letting his hand gently squeeze your arm as an act of thoughtfulness. 

You closed your tired eyes for a moment, a feverish cold sweat catching up to you, making you realise just how uncomfortable your Williams kit was, practically glueing your warm body to the cot. 

The door clicked shut softly behind the medic as he left, but it wasn’t long before you heard it creak open again. You looked up, expecting Amir, but instead, it was… Logan.

You blinked, a little confused. His blond hair was slightly damp, still sporting what was obviously helmet-hair. He looked tired, maybe as exhausted as you felt, yet he stood there, hesitant for only a moment before stepping inside. 

He shouldn't be here. He should be debriefing with the team, or doing interviews, or—

“What the hell did you do?” Logan asked, only half-teasing as real concern bled through in his voice. 

��Apparently I passed out,” you answered, trying to downplay it with a weak smile.

Logan sighed, the tension visibly draining from his body as if seeing you alright, even in this condition, was enough to ease the worry that had been weighing on him. You were sure you looked like a complete mess—sweaty, shivering, barely able to keep your eyes open.

He moved inside the room, sitting down on a stool next to your cot. You turned to look at him, feeling his intense eyes on you already. You didn’t know what to do, or what to feel. Your system was already cooked, fried up completely from feeling bad all day to passing out in front of a crowded garage.  

“So, uhm… you’re just as anxious as I am?” he asked nervously, tilting his head. 

Your stomach twisted. It didn’t take you long to realise that he had overheard your conversation with Amir—about the medication, about your diagnoses. It wasn’t a secret in  any way, you just hadn’t planned to tell him about it unless he asked. Your magical cure to dealing with his anxiety was… two decades of dealing with your own. 

“Not that it’s a competition, but I’m way worse,” you joked. 

Not fitting in at school, not fitting in at home—it would make anyone anxious out of their skin. And younger you were surrounded by people who didn’t know how to deal with it—to deal with you. Your family labelled you as a sad child, or god forbid sensitive, and sort of just accepted your anxious responses to every minor thing. Doctors and therapists called you emotionally intelligent, but you never found that to be a compliment, like it was a positive thing to be so aware of your own problems. 

Logan stared at you plainly. “Do the meds help?” 

You scoffed. “Yeah, they do. Just not against heat exhaustion.” 

You saw how Logan’s expression stayed the same, slightly emotionless, slightly annoyed at how you just couldn’t help yourself from joking about the situation. You’d experienced it before—how people disliked you for it. 

“You don’t have to be here, Logan. I’m fine,” you added, shying away from looking at him. 

That broke his demeanor. He was quick to grab your hand, careful with the IV-port connected to your inner elbow. His grip was firm but tender, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I want to be here,” he shortly replied. There was no room for debate. 

You wanted to protest, to tell him that he didn’t need to babysit you, that he had more important things to do. But the truth was… you weren’t fine. Not really.

You were used to keeping to yourself, even in busy places like the paddock. You were used to the chaos and noise of your family, where attention was either forced or withheld, never calmly showed. Silence was your refuge. You were talkative, sure, but you had learnt early on that asking for help meant admitting weakness—something that wasn’t welcome in the household you grew up in. As a kid, you would shut down when you felt this overwhelmed. Even now, sat in a medical room after collapsing for heat exhaustion, that old instinct was there, tugging at you to shut down. 

Logan, however, was still there, unfazed, waiting.  

Maybe he wanted to tell you how it was slightly reckless to feel this bad and not inform anyone, but he also understood more than anybody—that admitting a weakness while doing a job people questioned your talent for—wasn’t something easily done, or something that would even help your cause in the end. 

But he didn’t say anything. He just held your hand, breathing steadily. His fingertips traced upward to one of the floral tattoos you had on your forearm. His touch felt… gentle. Intimate, even, your clouded mind envisioned. It sent a shiver through you—not from the feverish cold sweat, but from something else entirely.

“How did the race go?” you asked, swallowing down emotions, more to change the subject than anything.

“Not important.” Logan shook his head. “What? I mean it. I’m focused on you now.” 

You tried to roll your eyes, but the effort was too much. You could feel yourself unravelling, the exhaustion too heavy to ignore anymore. He noticed it too.

“My father called me this morning,” you blurted out after a moment of silence, surprising even yourself. “I think that’s why I was feeling so off today.” 

Logan, again, didn’t say anything, just waited, his gaze steady, patient. He wasn’t rushing you, wasn’t pushing you to say more. He was just… there. He’d learnt from you, you slowly realised—to let anxious people talk when they wanted to talk and to distract them when talking would only make things worse. 

“We haven’t talked in months,” you admitted, biting your lip. “So, I thought… I thought he was finally going to be the bigger person and actually show some interest in my life and the job I’m doing.” 

Logan nodded slowly, sensing the conclusion before you even voiced it. “I’m guessing he didn’t?” 

“He called to offer me a job at his firm because one of their legal assistants is going on maternity leave.” You let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow. “I’ve been working and travelling the world for half a year, making a name for myself, and he still doesn’t believe that I can do it.” 

It was funny, how the first man to ever break your heart was your own father. And he hadn’t done it with malicious intent, but because he was just too blind to get to know his own daughter.

Your breath hitched, and before you could stop them, the tears spilled over, silent but insistent. You wiped your face with the back of your hand, embarrassed by the vulnerability, the rawness. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying.” 

“Don’t apologise. You’ve seen me cry enough times to know that it’s okay.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened just a fraction, a quiet reassurance. You didn’t have to suck up the tears and build up a façade to prove that you were unbothered.

“He doesn’t need to believe in you for you to succeed,” Logan said quietly, his words like an anchor to your focus. “You can do it, actually, you are doing it.” 

And the first time in your life, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

. . .

Austin, USA

. . .

Austin was… disappointing. 

That was the word of this season. Disappointing. Because no matter how hard it looked like Alex and Logan were pushing themselves and the cars—they got nothing out of it. Now, Logan knew for certain that he wasn’t coming back to Formula One next season. As much as Logan had wanted to go out on a high note, to leave with his head held high, reality didn’t allow it.

The only moments that really brought him any sort of joy nowadays were the ones off track. Especially the ones with you. He didn’t like to overthink it because it was complicated, and God knows he wasn’t in the right state of mind for anything complicated. But calling it platonic? That would be a lie. It wasn’t necessarily love either, just a deep understanding of each other. 

Like now, on the Sunday evening after the disappointing race, when you and him spent time in his hotel room, watching a movie that was so bad and eating room service food that was so tasteless. You were there, for him, as a distraction, as a constant. You laughed at the ridiculousness of the plot, made sarcastic comments about the actors, and occasionally hummed along to the cheesy soundtrack. You showed him attention and affection when he quite literally felt like the worst person in the world. 

“I should probably go to my own room,” you said, trying to hide a yawn as you spoke. The food finished a long time ago and the end credits rolling on the TV-screen at the end of the bed.  

Logan looked at you over his shoulder from his position on the bed, the one he’d been sinking into from exhaustion since you’d both entered his room. He was laid on his side, back turned to you. You were sat against the plush headboard, your hair looked a mess as you leant your head. He’d been quiet for a long time, barely even laughed during the movie’s funnier parts. But now, he slowly shook his head as he looked at you. 

He didn’t want you to leave. 

You silently agreed to stay for a little longer by just a look from your eyes. He turned his back to you again and you reached for the remote to turn off the TV. A static and quiet sound of air-conditioning the only thing audible in the hotel room. You shuffled behind him carefully, letting yourself lie down with your front facing his back. You didn’t dare to move under the covers like he had, only his blond hair and shirtless shoulders peeking out. 

“They should’ve just sacked me off before the summer break,” he finally muttered. You saw how a breath left his lungs, weighing him further down into the mattress. “Or after the crash at Zandvoort. Y’know? Just done something to get rid of me so that I didn’t have to feel this way.” 

He hadn’t talked like this in a while. You’d heard it a lot earlier during the season, when there were talks of him getting replaced after every race he didn’t score points. The talking never stopped, but Logan’s attitude definitely changed. He was indifferent to it, and that was scary to see—someone so young, kicked to the ground repeatedly, that his dreams lost their importance even to himself.

He’d been more careful with you since Baku. You thought maybe that had an influence on him too. He didn’t want to crowd you with emotions and anxiety when he now knew that you didn’t have it easy either. You didn’t think that was fair. You had never once felt like he added on to your anxiety. He only made it better. 

“You’re not saying much,” he added quietly, as your silence became too much for him. 

“For once in my life, I thought I’d try out what it’s like to be quiet,” you responded, but there was no bite in your voice. It was gentle, sympathetic—not joking like you used to do. “No, I’m sorry. I was letting you vent. It sounded like you needed it.” 

Logan's body slumped further as he exhaled, realising that you were right. 

“Logan, listen,” you said. “It would make no sense to sack you off. No possible replacement would be able to adjust in time for a better chance at points. Williams is doomed this season no matter what if they can’t give both cars equal machinery.” 

Your words hung in the air, not offering a solution, but trying to relieve him of some of the guilt he had piled on him. 

Without thinking, your fingers began tracing a pattern on his back, just by his exposed shoulder blade. Small, mindless circles—something to occupy the space between words. You weren’t even aware you were doing it until Logan spoke again.

“Are you doing one of those children’s rhymes?” Logan asked with a slight amusement as he recognised the pattern your finger was moving in.

“Who says they’re just for children?” you joked. 

“X marks the spot, a circle and a dot…” he started, trailing off with a soft laugh. His voice was muffled by the pillow he was lying on, but you could hear the faint hint of a smile in it. 

“Wait…I don’t know the right order in English,” you admitted, a little embarrassed as you lifted your finger from his skin. 

“Do it in your language,” he suggested in a heartbeat. 

“But you won’t understand it?”

“I just like listening to you speak,” Logan said softly, sincerely. 

“Really? I’ve been told that I sound like a muppet before by English speakers,” you questioned, feeling a flush rise in your cheeks despite yourself.

That wasn’t a lie. Muppet. Cartoon character. Or just any national stereotype people could think of. You’d heard it all. 

Logan chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Is that why you try to not have an accent?” 

“Yeah, I guess so,” you shrugged. “It was either a borderline offensive British accent or sounding like I’m one of the Kardashians.” 

He felt a short breath fall on his naked shoulder, something between a giggle and a huff. He could imagine the look on your face—smiling, trying to not be too loud for the room’s sombre atmosphere. 

You did as he asked, tracing the rhyme onto his back in the way you remembered your mother doing it to you as a child when you couldn’t sleep. His skin was tan and slightly freckled, feeling smooth under your fingertip. You whispered the words quietly in the language you knew best. 

“I love how you sound when you don’t care,” Logan said after a moment. “And in your native language.” 

You raised an eyebrow in confusion. Not that he would be able to see your expression anyway. You had no idea that he’d even heard you speak in your native tongue before.

“When you’re on the phone with your family and so on,” he continued. “Your tone changes, it’s more melodic.” 

You’d always been self-conscious about your accent, always trying to blend in, to sound like everyone else. Again, it was one of those things that had always made you feel just a little bit inadequate. A little bit less than the older people around you. But here he was, appreciating the very thing you tried to hide. Loving it, even. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice barely audible as you let your head fall forward, your forehead resting gently against his shoulder blade. 

You stayed like that for a moment, tracing his back, savouring the quiet, intimacy of the moment without needing to explain or define it. You could’ve told him that you liked him. Your lips were only centimetres away from kissing the bare skin of his shoulder. You sensed that it was not the best time to try messing with his head and digging up your emotions to the surface, so you squashed them down all over again. 

Logan fell asleep first, but you weren’t long after. Right there, behind him. That was never your plan, but a tired mind did whatever the tired mind wanted to, you supposed. Now that it had happened, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. It didn’t end up being an issue until morning came around. 

It was early—earlier than what it needed to be—when the sun broke through the curtains and filled the room with light, evidently waking you. The daily alarm you had set on your phone wouldn’t be ringing for another hour or two. 

You had slept fine. Nothing disrupting you. Nothing waking you. You didn’t even dream. When you woke up, however, you thought you might be dreaming. 

During the night, your positions had changed. Somehow, you weren’t behind Logan anymore, with a safe distance. No, he was spooning you. An arm lazily draped over your stomach and his warm breath tickled the skin of your neck every time he exhaled. 

Nope, you definitely weren’t dreaming.

You laid as still as you possibly could, tensing your entire body, gathering that he was fast asleep. But, you had to move at some point. Your body would go into rigor mortis if you didn’t. And you were scalding hot. Falling asleep in a sweatshirt, Logan’s arm hugging your waist. It was all too much for you. 

That was when you felt it. You accidentally shifted your legs, moving further back. You felt him, poking the back of your thigh. Hard, frustrated, large. A warmness spread through your body as you realised it, making the climate even more unbearable in that bed. You knew that it was involuntary. It was just how the male body worked sometimes. You knew that this wasn’t some indication that he reciprocated the feelings you harboured for him. 

Somehow, that wasn’t even the worst part about it. You could feel his heartbeat racing, as his chest was so close to your back. That was the worst part. Like this was exciting him, or making him nervous—even in his sleep, even involuntary. 

You were going to die. This was about to kill you. And you’d let it happen. You wanted it to kill you. 

You had to get out of here, and that was now. 

You sure looked comedic, trying to get out of that bed quickly while also not waking him. Like a newborn giraffe, attempting to stand up for the first time as a heavy comforter clung to its body. 

But you did it, shutting the heavy hotel room door behind you, eyes darting around the hallway of rooms, looking to see if you’d been caught by anyone. Just as you started to walk to your own room, a voice from down the hallway stopped you. 

“Why were you in Logan’s room at the ass crack of dawn?” 

You spun to meet Angie’s gaze, and she came up to you, just having left her own room, dressed and ready for the day. You were in yesterday’s clothes and makeup, looking positively frazzled. She read your expression in a second. 

“Oh my god,” Angie gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “You slept with him!” 

“No, no, I promise I did not!” you defended quickly, voice laced with panic. “Or, I mean—” you fumbled over your words as you watched Angie try to not burst into laughter. “We fell asleep next to each other, but we did not have sex.” 

“I don’t really care what you did or did not do with him, because I trust you to still be good at your job. I just—” she paused, her face softening as she looked at you, the big sister mentality coming into place even though you shared no ties of blood. “I want you to know your worth, and that race car drivers are notorious for being—” 

You cut her off, voice steadier than before. “I know my worth,” you said, before adding with a dramatic sigh, “I just happen to be on sale for a certain sad and anxious American.” 

“I get it, it happens to the best of us,” Angie nodded, her lips curling into a smirk. “You think you know what rock bottom feels like and then all of a sudden you want to fuck the blond guy.”

You could only laugh at her unusually crude words. Maybe it hit too close to home for her. 

“You’re engaged to a blond guy, Angie,” you pointed out. 

Matthew’s hair was almost white, that’s how blond he was. He most certainly had some Scandinavian in him. Logan would be considered brunet in comparison. 

“Like I said, it just happens,” she shrugged, draping an arm around your shoulder. Back to comfortable camaraderie. “Let’s go get breakfast, lover girl.” 

. . .

On the other side of the door, Logan had woken up by the sound of it slamming shut. It took him a moment to piece together what had happened. His increased heart rate. His throbbing morning wood. You, running out of his hotel room before he could wake up. What the fuck did this mean? God, he felt like dying. Or maybe just taking a really long, cold shower.

. . .

Mexico City, Mexico

. . .

“This is a waste of your time,” you called out from across the park, feeling the warm wind sweep through your hair as you carved the side of the bowl. You pushed your weight into the deck, the skateboard responding to your every shift, gliding along the concrete.

While you’d gotten to skate in some impressive parks around the world this year—this one in Mexico might take the price for being the best. It was gorgeous, in an area that you could tell flourished with graffiti and street artists. The concrete was smooth, the bowl was deep and large enough. The local skaters were talented and ranged from kids with their fathers to groups of teenagers.

“It’s not wasted time if it’s with you,” Logan said from his seat by the edge of the bowl, his eyesight focused through the little viewfinder on a vintage polaroid camera.

You’d both been asked to go to dinner with some team members after the Mexican Grand Prix, but you had answered honestly with how you’d much rather go explore this skatepark that you had heard amazing things about. Logan had answered with less honesty that he was too tired. With one look, you could tell that he silently asked to join you instead.

He was happy to just sit in the evening sun, looking out over the people skating, and stealing a camera from you to take some photos. You’d given him a polaroid camera that was only for your personal use. The film was getting expensive and your case of developed pictures was getting full, but you knew the memories would be worth it.

Logan wasn’t sure that he was very good at photography at first. He was too impatient to wait at the film developing, thinking he’d ruined most of the shots before colour even started showing on the little squares of film.

But he hadn’t ruined them. He just had to wait. And after he had waited, he was pretty damn proud of the outcome. There were gorgeous murals, a lot of the setting sun, some of kids skating around—but most of them were of you. The sun kissed your skin, and the sweat from your ride clung to you, but still, there was something about the way Logan saw you through that camera lens. Young, sweet—maybe even beautiful.

You rolled your eyes at his cliché words, pushing the tail of your board to get a bit more speed as you curved around the deep end of the bowl. Your body had memorized the movements of skating so deeply that you no longer thought about them; you just moved, instinct guiding you. It was moments like this when everything else fell away, and you were simply alive.

Logan snapped another picture, the click of the shutter audible even over the distant chatter of the park. You could tell he was smiling, even though the camera obscured half his face.

“You’re such a shutterbug!” you teased, your board coming to a stop just below him in the bowl.

“And you’re very photogenic,” he shot back without missing a beat, the sound of the shutter following swiftly after.

He could only imagine what the picture would look like without it having fully developed yet. Your high pitched laugh materialising in a wide smile with crooked teeth. You looked like a little train conductor in your striped denim boiler suit, worn-out to the point of tearing, showing off banged-up knees and elbows from never enough wearing protective gear.

After what felt like hours of skating, you finally called it a night, and the two of you began to walk back to the hotel. The buildings around you, old and worn, were painted in soft pastel shades that had faded with age. Mexico City had that effect—beautifully chaotic, with stories hidden in every crack and corner.

You were still buzzing with the adrenaline from skating, unable to stop yourself from laughing every few minutes. It was a lightness that came from doing something you loved, and being with someone who, in his own way, seemed to love it just as much.

Out of nowhere, you pointed up, a giggle bubbling over. “Look!”

Logan followed your gaze, his eyes landing on a pair of old, beat-up Converse dangling from a power line overhead.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” you said, half to yourself.

“Isn’t that used to mark a spot for drug dealers?” Logan asked, brow raised in amusement.

“Maybe. But it’s also used to commemorate things. Graduation, marriages, all sorts of stuff.” You gave him a playful smirk. “You know, to mark a memory.”

“You should do it, to commemorate this year.”

“Actually…” You trailed off, biting your lip. “I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo to commemorate this year.”

His eyebrows shot up, clearly interested. “Really? What of?”

“Not sure yet. Something small, meaningful. I’ll figure it out.”

Logan hummed in approval, then looked pointedly at your shoes. “You know, you could commemorate this moment by tossing those sneakers up there. God knows they’ve seen better days.”

You glanced down at your well-worn Nikes, the soles starting to peel, the laces frayed. The cobalt swooshes had practically turned a faded navy-brown shade instead. Thinking about it, your suitcase was filled with other sneakers too.

“I mean, you’re not wrong. But how am I supposed to walk back to the hotel?”

Without hesitation, Logan smiled. “I’ll carry you.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “No, you won’t.”

His response was swift. He knelt in front of you, leaning down to untie your shoes with an easy, confident motion.

“Logan,” you protested softy, when you really had nothing against it.

“Come on, just do it,” he coaxed, glancing up at you.

Who were you to say no to a man on his knees? You decided on listening to him. Stepping out of your shoes, you felt the warm ground beneath you, hurting slightly from tiny rocks and dirt digging into the soles of your sock-clad feet.

You tied the shoes together by the laces and with a pathetic first attempt, you launched them high up into the air, no way near the power line. Logan let out a little laugh in utter disbelief because he found the action so endearing.

“It’s harder than it looks!” you defended.

“That’s what he said,” he joked under his breath as you tried again… and again.

Thankfully you were decent at other things, because throwing was not your forte. You were about to give up as you tossed one single last throw, groaning out of frustration as you tried your best. With eyes closed, you hoped for the best. A slow applause from Logan made you dare to look. And surely, there were your blue Nikes, dangling on the power line above you.

“Oh my God, I did it!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms up in triumph. “Logan, take a picture, please!”

He chuckled, snapping a quick shot with the polaroid as you stood under the shoes, grinning like an idiot.

Before you knew it, Logan had swept you off your feet, literally, hoisting you onto his back. You kicked your legs weakly in protest, though your laugher told him you weren’t actually mad. Graciously, he even picked your skateboard up, sticking it between his arm and ribs.

“No, no, put me down. This is not working,” you squealed, feeling like you were about to fall off, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck for balance.

“I’m not putting you down,” Logan retorted as he started walking with ease down the sidewalk with you on his back. “You’ll hurt your feet.”

He shuffled you higher up on his back, his hands grasping tightly around your legs. You were scared he was going to drop you, or worse, fall over because of the weight.

“Put me down.” You tried your best to sound serious, but it did nothing, he just kept on walking. The hotel was only minutes away and he didn’t show any signs of slowing down.

“You’re enjoying this,” Logan accused. “I know you are.”

You leaned your chin on his shoulder, finally giving in. “You've carried me this far, you might as well take me home.”

As you approached the luxurious hotel the team stayed at, Logan didn’t set you down until you were in the lift, earning looks from both guests and workers. Neither of you cared. He set you down gently, your sock-covered feet making a soft thud against the lift’s marbled flooring.

He gave you your skateboard back, shifting uncomfortably in his spot as the lift started moving upward. “I had fun tonight,” he whispered to you.

You leant against the wall, a loud exhale escaping you. “So did I.”

As you watched Logan, the laughter that had filled the air moments ago now gave way to something quieter, something more charged.

He took a small step towards you before you could even think, his face soft but his eyes intense, searching yours as if waiting for permission. There were a million things you wanted to tell him, to interrupt him, just to make sure—but the weight of the unspoken pulled you both together, speechless.

Your heart pounded in your chest as his gaze flickered down to your lips, then back to your eyes. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, your heart racing in sync with his as your lips hovered inches apart. He was just as nervous as you were.

You both closed your eyes, anticipation tingling through you, waiting for that inevitable spark—

“Hey!” Alex’s voice cut through the moment like a knife as the lift doors opened with a ding. He blinked at you both, stumbling away from each other, a curious smirk tugging at his lips. “Where are your shoes, Paddy?”

You stared at him, dumbfounded, and then down at your sock-clad feet. “Uhh… on a power line?”

Logan laughed, shaking his head. His cheeks were burning from what had almost happened, and from getting caught by Alex. It was so obvious. If only your rooms had been on a higher floor.

. . .

Las Vegas, USA

. . .

You changed after Mexico, and Logan took notice. You worked longer hours—a lot more than you needed to. You didn’t find the time to go exploring. Or if you did, you didn’t post it to your instagram diary. You also drifted apart from Logan. Your conversations were shorter, your movie nights extinct, and you being a distraction for him was exchanged with you saying that you had more work to do. You became a ghost in his world, present but not truly there.

It didn’t matter how many times Logan tried to talk to you about it. The message was clear. You’d shut him out. And he couldn’t for the life of him understand why. 

Your evening in Mexico City had been magical; at least that was what he felt. And even though Alex had interrupted at the worst possible moment, Logan still naively thought you’d be able to go back to that magic if you got a chance alone together. 

But you were busy in Brazil, and the promotional aspect of the Las Vegas Grad Prix was nothing short of crazy. Some might even have called it torturous. He just didn’t find the right time, and you didn’t even make the time for him to try. 

The stumbling, awkward times he had tried—Logan couldn’t even form a sentence. He’d interrupt you when you were working, or catch you just as you were about to go to bed. It was never good enough. His emotions had shifted insanely fast, or maybe they had moved at a slow pace for such a long time that they now felt like a tidal wave hitting him straight in the heart. 

He liked you. 

Your obsession with tater tots, your inability to sit still, your love for shitty movies, your ability to always match the colour of your sneakers to your work clothes. It was all the little things. Your way of treating him like he wasn’t wasted potential or fragile like fine china. That you knew how to deal with him, like this season wasn’t the end of the world. 

And the worst thing was that he was pretty damn sure that you liked him back. Yet, you were running. 

. . . 

You weren’t there to bother him when he finished the race in Las Vegas. You didn’t stand there with your camera, ready to get an unflattering picture of him dripping with sweat. And it wasn’t like in Baku, where he had sensed something was wrong immediately. This was calmer, and Angie just told him that you were back at the hotel when he asked. 

He got a point in Vegas, but you weren’t there to capture it. He got to look happy in pictures for other photographers and he got to finally express some happiness in the post-race interviews. And while a part of him was over the moon, he couldn’t stop thinking about how it seemed like you hadn’t even seen him accomplish it. 

That was why he now stood outside of your hotel room, freshly showered and changed but still buzzing with adrenaline, a shaking fist knocking lightly on the door. 

He shifted his weight, unsure if he was meant to be here, but he needed to see you. He needed to talk to you. He needed to actually kiss you, without interruptions. The both of you needed to celebrate, to feel a night of joy after this nightmare of a season. 

The girl who opened the door looked tired, clad in sweatpants and a hoodie draped over her head. Your makeup-less face showed dark circles under your eyes—something that had gotten worse in the last couple of weeks. You looked like you were on the move, already with your shoes on and your suitcase packed, standing right in the doorway. 

Logan saw it, but in his excited state—he didn’t immediately connect the dots. 

“I got points—,” Logan started, his voice brimming with pride before he corrected himself, the enthusiasm in his tone softening slightly. “Well, one point, but still.”

“I know, Logan,” you replied gently. “I’m proud of you.” 

Even if you hadn’t been at the paddock tonight, you hadn’t kept your eyes off the livestream for even a second. You may even have shed a tear as he crossed the finish line. 

Logan beamed for a second, the glow of the accomplishment still warming his chest. “You weren’t there after the race, so I thought I’d come see you now,” he continued, a hint of nervousness as he paced uncomfortably in place. “A bunch of us are going out to dinner—” 

But then his attention drifted. His brow furrowed, his attention drawn to the luggage again as realisation dawned.

“Why is your bag packed already?” 

You looked at the suitcase, the same realisation flashing across your face as if you'd forgotten it was there, or perhaps hoped he wouldn't notice, and then back up at Logan with a visible uncertainty. You shook your head as you knew you had to explain it to him. 

“They’ve agreed on an exemption from my contract,” you said quietly. “I’m not working the last two races.” 

“B-but why?” Logan stammered. 

“Because I asked for it,” you shrugged with an audible sigh. “I have a flight to catch tonight.” 

Logan felt his stomach drop as he took in your words. “Wait, you’re going home?” 

“No,” you scoffed. “I’m not sure I’m welcome there.” 

The weight of those words settled heavy between you both. Logan was unsure of what to say. He felt like he knew more about your family than you let on, but he hadn’t expected you to be this lost. He thought you were still figuring it out, like him.

He swallowed hard. His mind raced, piecing together the fragments of the conversation, but nothing added up. “Then where—?” 

“I’m starting out in San Francisco,” you said, cutting him off before he could finish. “And then I’ll see from there on.”

San Francisco. You’d mentioned it numerous times before. You had friends there. Professional skateboarders. It made sense that was where you were running to. It made sense that you had been distant these last weeks. Because this couldn’t have been an easy decision for you. 

“I know we’ve talked a lot about your future, but mine is just as uncertain, and I need to do something about it. I can’t go home to a place where I don’t belong. I need to find my own ground.” 

You were almost desperate as you spoke. 

Logan took a step closer, still having a hard time grasping what was even going on. “Wasn’t that what this year was all about?” 

“It was always a fixed-term contract, you know that. Angie just bought me some time to figure things out,” you explained. 

“So, running away is you figuring things out?” His words came out sharper than intended, and regret instantly washed over him.

“Logan,” you said, almost pleading now, as if asking him not to push any further.

Maybe you weren’t running away now. Maybe you had already ran, the start of this season being your first stop. 

“I’m sorry, I just—” Logan paused, his hands gesturing toward you as if he wanted to hold on to something, anything, to keep you from slipping away. “I have something to say to you.” 

“I know you do,” you replied instantly, not letting him speak any further. Your voice creaked as you felt a cry clogging up your throat. “Trust me, I do too. But it’s not the right time for either of us. It will only complicate things.” 

Logan opened his mouth to argue, but shut it just as quickly. The words he longed to say hung heavy in his throat, unsaid and unacknowledged. He knew you were right. He knew it. But the words felt hollow in the face of you leaving. The question hung in his throat, unspoken. Would you stay if I asked?

You both knew that the answer to that question would be yes, in a heartbeat. He couldn’t ask that from you. He would never be the one to hold you back. You had enough people against you. He needed to be with you, even if that meant oceans apart.

“Is this goodbye, then?” His voice cracked as he asked it. 

You shook your head slowly, reaching into your carry-on bag. “I have this for you.” From the depths of the small bag, you pulled out a simple, leather-bound photo album, perfectly pristine, and handed it to him. 

Logan looked down, fingers tracing the edges before opening it. Revealed was a collection of photos you had taken over the past year—candid shots, moments of him between races, behind the scenes. His chest tightened as he looked at the first one, an image of him laughing, helmet in hand, caught mid-conversation with his team. You had always seen him differently, and now, looking at these photos, he could see how much it meant to you.

There was a mixture of digital, film, and polaroid pictures, all signed with the corresponding city and date. You’d started this collection when you were simply work acquaintances. The best photos were the ones that had nothing to do with racing. Sightseeing, views from hotel room balconies, and restaurants with the local cuisine. 

His ultimate favourite that you had included was the one he had taken of you in Mexico, barefoot with your sneakers hanging over you on a power line. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you said, the guilt clear in your voice. “I didn’t know until this morning—” 

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation,” he cut you off gently, his eyes still focused on the photos.

You bit your lip, still on the verge of tears. Seeing him so captivated by your year together in photos made it much harder. 

He looked up, gently closing the album, and with a quick motion, he had embraced your body, wrapping his arms around you with a loud sigh. His t-shirt was soft against your skin as you felt it grow wet from your tears that had finally fallen. You could feel his heartbeat, ticking impatiently. 

“Do you think I’m making a mistake by leaving?” 

Again, if he said yes… You would rethink everything. 

“No, I think you’re doing what you need to do.” 

Logan was determined.

“I really have to go now,” you said softly, but you didn’t make any effort to move away from his embrace. You leaned into him instead, your head resting against his chest. You felt his trembling breaths, almost like a stuttering, keeping him from crying out loud. 

“Just a couple more seconds,” Logan whispered into your hair, his arms tightening around you. “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he added, a slight tone of hope noticeable. 

“I know we both will.” 

Finally, you pulled back, but you left the goodbye unsaid. You reached to squeeze his hand as a last gesture. You’d never been good at goodbyes, so you left it to the lights. The soft glow of the Las Vegas skyline was the only thing illuminating the hotel hallway as you flipped the switch and slipped out the door, making a beeline for the lift. 

It was the end of an era. Logan knew it before the year had even started. He just hadn’t imagined it to feel this important—to feel this uncertain. He hadn’t imagined you. And when he started to imagine you, it was already too late. It had always been too late.

He tried to tell himself that he hadn’t lost you. But it felt strangely like it. 

Logan stood still in that hotel corridor for way too long, staring at the spot where you had been. This was the way it had to be, but he wasn’t sure that made it any easier. 

. . .

Fort Lauderdale, USA

. . .

Logan went home after the season ended. He stayed for the prize giving ceremony. He stayed long enough to say goodbye to the people that it mattered to. Then he went home, and he wasn’t sure how he would look back at his past experiences. Now it mostly hurt, but still—he had made it there in the first place. 

Home meant Florida this time. England, or Europe in general, had been his home for most of his conscious life, yet he never felt homesick for it. That was until now, when it wasn’t his home anymore. Florida was nice, it was always just nice. The weather was warm and the beaches were pretty, but when he was sunburnt to the point of peeling and had sand in his shoes, he missed the bleak English mornings with rain pattering against the windows. 

He signed for Indycar in the end, and when the season started in March, Logan found it refreshing. He loved racing, and he loved that he got a chance to do it again. He didn’t love the pressure put on him, mostly by strangers on the internet. He didn’t love the rookie title because he wasn’t treated like a rookie. He’d raced in the pinnacle of motorsport, he should know better. He should be better. Logan tried to not let it get to him, because in the end—he was the one that had made it to the pinnacle. Not a lot of other drivers could say that, especially other Americans.  

You liked every single one of his Instagram posts. Commented when he did well in races. That was the closest thing you two had to communication. Logan understood you, though—that you needed to leave when you had the chance to. He couldn’t have changed that. He wouldn’t have changed that. 

He thought of messaging you, but he had a hard time figuring out what to say. Writing down something long in his notes app, only to cringe at himself seconds later. Nothing seemed right and nothing seemed fair, like he was guilt-tripping you into reminiscing the last year. He knew what he felt for you, but he could never force you to be closer to him, to give up your chance at exploring and finding yourself. It was better to just let you live, but he knew what you felt for him too, that was why it was so hard for him to stay away. 

Stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

Logan liked every single one of your Instagram posts as well. You kept up with the diary, even if the travelling wasn’t as rapid as under the racing season. 

He saw pictures of you all over the American west coast. You were on cable cars and steep streets in San Fransisco. You were skating in Venice Beach, surfing in Santa Cruz, and hiking in Yosemite. You went on road trips up north to go to concerts in Portland and Seattle for bands that Logan had never heard of. 

You hadn’t been kidding when you said you had friends there. The skateboarding collective you lived with in Cole Valley was a never ending stream of eclectic people coming and leaving. 

Your closest friend was the girl with bright pink hair that he had spotted on your Instagram before from your numerous university art projects. She skated on a competitive level and you would join to take photos of her. 

Another one of your friends was a boy who looked strangely like Timothée Chalamet. He was a tattoo artist who would go skating with you at night to spot pretty sunsets. He tried not to be jealous. He should have confessed his feelings for you to even have a reason to be jealous. 

Your posts became more scarce during the early summer. When you posted a slideshow of pictures of Tater Tot with a long caption about his passing, Logan understood why. He felt tears forming in his eyes as he watched the pictures of you and the golden retriever, the fur around his face having faded and his nose all pink from old age. 

He felt like reaching out to you even more after that, especially since you were back home with your family and he could only imagine how that felt for you. When you posted a picture of a new family dog not too long after, with a normal boring dog name that he could tell you hadn’t chosen, he felt a slight anger inside.

You went skating around Europe after that, the girl with pink hair by your side. You posted a video of Angie trying to skate while in Barcelona, and Logan connected the dots that you had gone to the Spanish Grand Prix. He liked that you were still welcomed by the team, but he was unsure if he would’ve gotten a similar treatment. 

On a weekend without racing, Logan was back home in Fort Lauderdale. He spent the evening with his brother and some friends in their backyard. He was there, but he didn’t feel present. Something you had taught him stemmed from anxiety. It wasn’t as bad as it was during his last F1 season, but he still liked to look at your pictures as a distraction when he felt anxious. The stories they told were still better than what was going on in his actual life. 

“Since when are you interested in skateboarding?” his brother's voice broke through his focus. Logan barely had time to register him hovering over his shoulder before he took a seat across from him, sinking into a deck chair with a teasing grin.

Logan didn’t realise that he had a video of yours on repeat. It was you in a skatepark in Copenhagen, landing a trick you’d never done before. 

“Oh, I’m not—” he started, his tongue suddenly feeling clumsy in his mouth as he fumbled for an excuse. “It’s the old Williams photographer, she’s travelling to all these places to skate. It’s quite cool to see.” 

His brother raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. Logan flushed under the scrutiny, knowing full well that his brother could read him like an open book. He didn’t just think it was quite cool. He was invested—and not just in the skateboarding.

“A girl, you say?” his brother pressed. 

“It’s not like that, she’s on the other side of the world,” Logan protested quickly, slipping his phone back in his pocket as if to hide any evidence of his admiration. 

His brother could only laugh at his poor attempt of conviction. “Would it be like that if she was closer?” 

Logan froze, unable to answer. His brother was able to read his expression all too well again, his smile softening as he watched Logan carefully. 

“I am taking that as a yes.” 

. . .

Oxfordshire, UK

. . .

Angela and Matthew Thompson, read the sign outside of the rented out manor house. Somewhere in the English countryside, as the evening sun cast a golden glow over the courtyard. You’d snapped photos of the garden and the exterior, but the sign stopped you for a moment. 

You found it odd, firstly seeing Angie be called by her actual first name and then secondly, not by her maiden surname. You guessed that was what it was like—getting married. The formal side of it all, at least. 

Click. 

You got a quick photo of the sign before you entered back into the manor. The big ballroom was filled with the soft murmur of guests and the rustling of chiffon dresses. 

The ceremony had been earlier during the day, a small gathering with only immediate family around. You’d only been there because of your duty to photograph the entire thing. Otherwise you probably wouldn’t have. Angie’s cousin was her only bridesmaid and Matthew had his closest childhood friend as his only groomsman. Both their parents were present as well, and Angie’s grandmother had been ring bearer. Adorable, that was the only way to describe it. Quaint and quite literally perfect, in the manor’s rose garden with birds chirping and a violin player. 

Click.

You stood in the doorway to the ballroom, adjusting your camera, scanning the scene for the perfect shot. You found it in two of the party’s younger guests, looking at the wedding cake with temptation in their eyes. The was just something about kid’s in formal clothes. A little crooked bowtie and sparkly silver ballerina shoes. 

The reception was bigger, with friends, distant relatives and work colleagues invited. Your family was included in that, but you had gotten good at keeping a distance and they had gotten better at ignoring you instead of arguing with you. That was some sort of improvement. Having the excuse that you were technically working was also in your favour, even if Angie probably wanted to drink you under the table and get you dancing with one of Matthew’s rich colleagues. 

There hadn’t been a dress code beyond formal, but somehow a lot of the guests seemed to match, making the photography blend together in perfect hues. You couldn’t wait to edit and put them together. Sage green, baby pink and light yellow. The men and their suits in tones of beige and blue. You guessed that was the English summer in colours. 

You were never really one to dress up nicely. You preferred something practical, but even you felt a little whimsical tonight. A periwinkle dress and white heels—a complete juxtaposition of your usual streetwear and sneakers. 

Click.

You managed to get a picture of the happy couple from far way. Candid, when they thought no one was watching. Those were usually the ones that turned out the best. No posing, no fixed smiles. Angie showed a wide and almost painfully happy grin as Matthew whispered something in her ear, sneaking in a kiss on her cheek. Only they would know what had been said when they, years down the line, flipped through the photo album from their special day. 

That was the beauty of photos. The secret stories they held. 

You smiled to yourself, getting lost in the scene that showed through the viewfinder, shifting to find something new and equally magical in the movements of the ballroom. 

Suddenly, all you could see was one singular familiar face. 

You blinked, not believing your eyes before you zoomed in. Tall, blond, blue eyes catching the light—talking to a man you recognised as a Williams engineer. It couldn’t be… but it totally was. 

In a navy tailored suit, his tie slightly loosened, he raised a champagne coupe to his lips. He smiled at something the engineer said, flashing his teeth. You took a picture, and then one more—it was achingly familiar, yet so different.

It was like he knew he had a camera pointed towards him with how quick he reacted. He hadn’t even seen you when you took the first one, but by the time you were about to take a third one, his face was turned completely towards you—looking at your lens, looking at you. 

And of course, he waved. He smiled and he waved. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

He quickly excused himself to the engineer and was then set on only you. He crossed the room with easy confidence, threading through the crowd. Since when was he so smooth?

You lowered your camera as your breath got caught in your throat, finally looking at him not through the viewfinder. 

“Logan,” you whispered, voice softer than expected. 

He said your name with an easy familiarity, one you’d almost forgotten. It pulled you back six months in time in mere seconds, as if nothing had changed. 

“Uhm, H-how did you get here?” you stammered, cursing yourself for sounding so surprised. You should’ve known he’d be here. Angie’s wedding had been a big talking point even back when he was driving for Williams. 

“There’s these things called airplanes,” he teased, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “Ever heard of them?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile was impossible to suppress. Silence fell over the two of you as you struggled to find ways to continue the conversation. The tension was palpable, stretching thin as if either of you could snap it with the wrong word. Logan looked lost too, like the confidence he thought he had washed away when he finally got close to you. 

You’d thought about it—what it would be like to talk to him again if you ever got the chance. Being speechless was never in those thoughts. 

“You’re hair has gotten long,” you blurted out, desperate to fill the silence and because it was honestly the first thing you noticed to be different about him. His blond hair had grown longer, with a slight wave to it, almost curling at the ends.

“Is that a compliment?” Logan mused.

“Yes,” you were too quick to reply. “Or, I think so. It’s different.” 

Logan chuckled softly as you winced at how clumsy you sounded. 

“So… you work weddings too?” he asked, glancing at the camera still in your hands. 

Great. He was shit at small talk too. 

“Only when it’s Angie,” you answered, trying to sound at ease. “I promised to make her look gorgeous even before she met Matthew.” 

You did not remember the first time she asked you. It was a decade ago at this point. But every time you had taken a photo of her—professionally and privately—she liked to remind you of how she felt like no one else ever had captured her fairly, or flatteringly. She was always your biggest fan, even when you were just taking grainy pictures of your friends at the local skatepark. 

“Can I see?” Logan asked and you handed him the camera without a doubt. 

There was something so familiar in the gesture, like muscle memory kicking in. You used to share everything with him. You were happy to know that even through it all, he at least still cared about your photography.  

Before you could even react, he raised the camera and snapped a picture of you, completely unprepared. The flash was too bright, and you squealed in surprise.

“Dude, what the fuck?” you exclaimed, blinking away the aftershock of the flash.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Dude? You’ve turned American!”  

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “I have not turned American.”

Logan joined your laughter, but only for a second—something on the camera catching his attention instead. He looked at it intensely, only for you to realise that it was the photo he’d taken of you. Overexposed and blurry. Not perfect in any way, but candidly capturing a moment. 

“My god, you look lovely.” 

He said it softly, like an afterthought, like he didn’t mean for you to hear it. 

Heat crept up to your cheeks as he handed you the camera back to you. You couldn’t look too long at the photo he’d taken of you, so you pressed the button to show the one taken prior. It was him, of course—smiling as he had clocked you from across the room. 

“So do you,” you said, showing him the picture of himself. “Happiness suits you.”

Logan’s smile faltered for a moment as you surprised even yourself with your honesty. You realised how he could overthink what you had just said—like happiness was something new for him to express. And maybe that was true. But it was a sad realisation, and a mortifying thing for someone else to have discovered about oneself. 

Before an uncomfortable silence fell between the two of you, a familiar voice broke through the moment.

“There you are!” Alex’s voice was bright, his cheeks tinted pink from champagne and dancing. “I’ve been looking for you!”

You turned, grateful for the distraction, as he came up and enveloped you in a hug. You smiled, hugging him back, telling him how you’d missed him. 

“Logan!” he exclaimed as he turned his attention to him. “It’s so good to see you.” 

They did one of those awkward side-hugs that men insisted on giving each other. Logan said something similar in response, his voice warm but his eyes still flicked to you. You gathered from just that little interaction that their departure must’ve been stretched and difficult. They were good friends, for christ sake, but Williams had made everything toxic. 

Alex beamed. “Well, come on! It’s my turn to pester Paddy with a camera. Scoot together.”

Before either of you could protest, Alex grabbed your camera, leaving you both standing there, shoulder to shoulder. A fire burning through the fabric where your bare shoulder touched his blazer. 

Click. 

. . .

After long speeches, and first dances, and consuming too much wedding cake, you found yourself on a balcony, taking a breather, looking out over the garden. You heard the door open behind you, and it was like you could feel that it was his presence. You let out a small laugh as you kept your eyes focused on the view. 

“What are we looking at?” Logan’s voice came soft and steady beside you, making you turn your head.

“My sister sharing a cigarette with a Williams mechanic,” you scoffed, nodding towards two figures below the balcony. 

Your sister, known as an overly ambitious goody two shoes, wasn’t only sharing the cigarette—she was shotgunning it. Your past self would’ve wanted to go tattle to your parents, but now you were kind of glad to see a human, imperfect side of your sister, acting promiscuous with a greasy mechanic.

There was a brief silence as the evening air wrapped around you. Logan slipped his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight slightly.

“How’s it been? With your family and all?” he slowly asked, trying to make it sound casual. 

“They still treat me like a toddler, if that’s what you’re wondering. But we don’t argue anymore—just pretend each other doesn’t exist,” you scoffed. 

He glanced at you, the hint of a frown on his face, but didn’t press further. Instead, he pulled out his phone from his suit pocket as it vibrated, the faint sound breaking the quiet between you.

You let your eyes linger on him for a moment. The small gesture shouldn’t have meant anything, but something about the way his fingers moved so delicately over the screen made you pause. Then you saw it—the photo behind his clear phone case.

“That’s from Mexico,” you said without thinking. 

Logan glanced at you, then back at his phone, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. My favourite from the album you gave me.”

You blinked, remembering the moment instantly—tossing shoes over a power line, him carrying you home, Alex doing what he did best—interrupting.

“I know it’s slightly pathetic, but that was one of the best days of my life,” Logan admitted, shying away from looking at you. 

It had been one of the few peaceful moments amidst the storm of races, pressure, and long, chaotic nights. It was supposed to be just another moment, but it had become more. You both knew it meant so much more. 

“It’s not pathetic, Logan. At least, I don’t think so,” you reassured him. Your heart clenched at his honesty, but you felt it all the same as him. 

Logan let out a small breath of laughter, but the smile that accompanied it didn’t reach his eyes. He slid his phone back into his pocket, but the photo lingered in your mind. Logan glanced back at the ballroom, then back at you, his gaze lingering as if he was working up the courage to say something else.

But then his eyes dropped, right to where your arm touched against your ribs, a small glint of ink peeking out, darker than any of your other tattoos. Logan froze. 

“That’s my number…” he said, his voice soft with disbelief. 

You felt your breath hitch as he stared at it. You instinctively rubbed your fingers over the tattoo, tracing the outline of the small F1 car inked delicately with his racing number on the nose. You suddenly felt very exposed, but not in a bad way. You moved your arm to give him a better view. 

“What other number could I possibly have picked?” you wondered, tilting your head. “I did tell you that I was planning to get one.” 

His hand nervously reached for yours, his thumb brushing over the tattoo with tenderness, touching you in a way he hadn’t before. The new ink sat just centimetres above the tiny paw prints you had in memory of Tater Tot. Logan could’ve cried on the spot. 

“I really like it,” he whispered. 

He dared to meet your gaze. You stood there in silence for a moment, the weight of everything between you suddenly heavier than ever. His thumb continued to caress the tattoo. 

“Are we okay, Logan?”

He exhaled as you asked it, out of relief it seemed. 

“I thought everything would be different, seeing you again,” Logan explained. “But I strangely feel like nothing has changed since Vegas.” 

You nodded, a smile creeping up on your face, as you could only agree with him. The distance, the time apart, hadn’t dulled anything between you. If anything, it had only clarified what had always been there.

In the background, you could still hear the music play loudly from inside the ballroom. Your sister and her mechanic were long gone from the garden. You had nothing to worry about and everything to win. 

“So… how do you feel about dancing at weddings, Sargeant?” 

. . .

The manor had rooms for all the guests to stay overnight. You stumbled into yours in the small hours of the night—tipsy from champagne, tired from dancing. Logan was right behind you, laughing at you almost falling over from trying to unclasp your heels.

“Need some help there?” Logan teased.

“I’ve got it,” you mumbled, finally getting them off to feel the carpet against your bare feet.

Logan took a stance by the window, hands shoved into the pockets of his navy suit pants, looking out onto the moonlit garden. His jaw was tense, a sign that he was thinking—no, overthinking.

You watched him for a moment, how his fingers flexed slightly in his pockets, how his shoulders rose and fell with a breath, before you went into the en suite bathroom, desperate to get your makeup off after wearing it all day. It was an oddly familiar feeling, being alone with him in a hotel room.

The rest of the wedding had been so lovely. It hadn’t mattered much about what had been left unsaid, but instead what mattered was the way you acted towards each other now. You had been bracing yourself for the moment it all would break loose the entire night, ever since your eyes met his across the reception hall, but you had no idea how to start.

It turned out, you didn’t have to.

“You wanna know something?” Logan’s voice was slow, his back still turned against you, as he spoke. He waited for you to say something, but all you did was mumble a huh from the bathroom, clearly more focused on your makeup than on him.

He took a breath, slowly turning to you. He felt himself melt at the sight of you—in your pretty dress and a squeaky clean bare face. His gaze held yours, and in that quiet second, the world shifted.

“I’m tired of acting like I’m not in love with you.”

The words slipped from his lips easily, almost like they had always been there, waiting for this moment to escape.

You froze in your movement, putting your skincare back in your makeup bag, not sure that you had heard him correctly. “What?”

“I said,” Logan repeated, a touch firmer, “I’m tired of acting like I’m not in love with you.”

You stepped away from the sink, opting to stand in the doorway instead as you watched him—how emotions washed over his face like colours melting together in a sunset. You had a hard time hiding the smile that began to form on your face. “You’re in love with me?”

Logan shifted, looking almost sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t look so smug,” he muttered, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re gonna make me regret saying anything.”

But you didn’t feel smug—not in the slightest. Your chest instead filled with warmth, something dangerously close to… well, love.

“Well, excuse me for being a little happy about the fact that you love me back,” you said, almost argumentatively, crossing your arms.

“Back? You love me too?” Logan walked closer, almost stumbling as he passed the corner of the bed.

“Yeah, dumbass.” You rolled your eyes at his oblivion. “I’ve had a crush on you since before you even knew I existed.”

“A crush?” Logan chuckled, a sound full of disbelief and a little wonder. “How long have you—”

“Since Baku,” you interrupted, your voice quieter now, more serious. “I think I’ve loved you since you stayed with me in Baku.”

That admission hung in the air, heavy with memories of long flights, foreign cities, whispered conversations in crowded spaces, and the closeness that had grown between you. Logan stared at you like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

Maybe the two of you hadn’t exactly known what the other wanted to say, that last night in Vegas. Or maybe, neither of you could’ve expected the intensity of emotions that would come to the surface when you finally did get to say what you had wanted to.

“Why are you still standing so far away?” Logan took a deep breath, his heart pounding against his ribs. “Come take what’s yours,” he then whispered, his voice a soft command that sent shivers down your spine.

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Without another thought, you exited the bathroom and crossed the room in a few quick strides. You felt your pulse thrumming in your ears as you reached him, and without hesitation, you slid your hands up his chest, feeling a steady heartbeat beneath your palms.

Logan’s arms closed around you, his warm hands brushing the skin of your back, exposed by the low hem of your dress. He pulled you closer, until there was no space left between you.

His lips found yours, soft and sure. You melted into the kiss, into him. This time, there was no one to interrupt you. Months of longing and unspoken feelings poured into one single moment.

As soon as Logan felt you smile against his lips, he was sure world peace was achievable. With more confidence, he kissed you with a feverish intent, slipping his tongue in your mouth, falling backwards onto the mattress with you on top of him.

Moving your legs, you straddled his lap, sinking down comfortably on top of him while you put your arms around him. He rested against the bed frame, hair getting messed up as your fingers played at the nape of his neck. You continued to kiss, his hands rushing to touch your body—one on your cheek and the other on your waist. Your dress bunched up around your thighs as you pressed closer to him, feeling the heat of his body through layers of fabric.

You pulled apart after a moment, but only far enough to inhale, your noses still touching. The room was dead quiet, save for the panting sound of your breathing.

“You have no idea the things I’ve wanted to say to you,” Logan murmured, resting his forehead against yours. “The things I’ve held back…” he added softly, his thumb now gently stroking the side of your face.

“You could tell them to me now,” you teased, sneaking in a small peck.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Logan’s lips. “My brain can’t really focus when you’re sat on me like this,” he said, his fingers tracing slow circles along the exposed skin of your upper thigh.

You bit your bottom lip, brain filled with lust and sudden bravery. “Unzip me, please?”

“Should we— I just don’t want to rush anything,” Logan mumbled out of nervousness.

“You don’t think a year worth of tension is enough?” you whispered, smiling.

Logan swallowed, his hand daring to move behind you. The sound of your zipper easily sliding open filled the silence between you as his fingers delicately touched your exposed back. His eyes never left your body as the thin straps fell off your shoulders, the top half of your dress pooling around your waist. With a soft tug, you were all exposed. The white lace of your bra doing almost nothing to conceal your chest.

You were privy to his persistent stare at your body. You couldn’t pretend you weren’t, and your satisfaction was hard to withhold, a devious smile forming on your lips. His hands moved under your skirt, gently lifting it over your head, revealing delicate white lace panties that matched your bra.

“Did you plan this?” Logan had to fight himself to not let his jaw physically drop at the sight of you.

He held a certain emotion in the way he looked at you. You’d seen desire before in a lover’s eyes. This was softer. This was different. Devotion, maybe. Love, most definitely.

“Better safe than sorry,” you shrugged.

With a soft exhale, he chuckled in utter disbelief. Dipping his head, he couldn’t help but kiss the valley between your breasts, nipping and sucking at the soft skin. His hair tickled against your neck as his mouth explored, surely leaving a mark or two.

With a quick movement, he unclasped your bra, discarding it as he continued to kiss your skin. Your breasts, your collarbones, your neck and jaw. He even moved to kiss a spot on your arm, making sure you took notice at how his lips gently pressed against your tattoo of his racing number.

You both took a moment, letting your eyes linger on each other’s. It was hard to find things to say, but you guessed the silence, panting breaths and growing humidity were enough to express what you both wanted.

Your fingers diligently started to unbutton his shirt, leaving kisses on his neck and sternum as each inch of his skin was revealed for you. When you reached the last button, your hands dangerously close to his lower stomach, Logan moved swiftly to remove his shirt in one go, tossing it on the floor to land next to your dress.

Immediately, you sunk your fingers back into his blond waves, tugging lightly as you kissed his swollen lips. He matched your ferocity, sliding his hands from your waist down to your ass, squeezing over the soft lace. Both of you groaned at the feeling of your hips grinding down onto the fabric covering his growing hardness, almost a surprised feeling at how quickly it all had evolved.

“I’m starting to think you might like me or something,” you giggled, like an angel.

Logan wanted to argue. He wanted to say something witty. But he had no choice. With your wandering hands, all he could do was bite down on his lip to drown a pathetic moan trying to escape. With your wandering hands, you pulled his zipper open, helping him out of the rest of his clothes.

His cock sat hard in the space between your bodies, and as you tentatively touched him, feeling hot and heavy in your hand, he whined out a sting of curses. His stomach flexed as he ached for real friction, your hand only lazily stroking him. He groaned, head falling back to hit the headboard. The loveliest of pinks suffused his cheeks, a trail of rose-coloured blotches lingering all the way down his chest.

He tried to drag you closer to him with a firm grip on your hips, desperately searching for more. His hand found its way down between your legs, gently touching over a wet patch that had formed on your panties.

You hummed at the sensation, kissing his jawline, feeling him tense at your touch. “Can I ride you?”

“Mhm, yeah… you want that?” Logan panted, gentle little breaths pushing past his lips.

Nodding enthusiastically, you placed your bottom lip between your teeth as you looked at him, eyes darkened. “I have condoms in the bathroom,” you said getting off of his lap, walking over. At the loss of touch, Logan couldn’t help but audibly whine.

You made a point to shake your hips as you walked. You knew you had his eyes on you. After fetching the little foil packet from your makeup bag, you stopped in the doorway to pull your underwear off, dragging the flimsy lace agonisingly slowly down your legs as Logan could only watch.

“You look heavenly,” he whispered as you towered over him to kiss him, before straddling his lap again, your naked body finally touching his without anything in between.

Logan swallowed his moans as you carefully tore open the condom packet and rolled it over his sensitive length. He helped you lift you up on your knees, enough to align himself with your soaking entrance. A year of tension really was enough foreplay. Fluttering around him, you adjusted to all of him, carefully and slowly moving into a perfect rhythm.

You couldn’t be held responsible for the words and sounds leaving your mouth as you rocked against him. His hands gripped your waist and then your ass, kneading the soft flesh, spilling out between his fingers. You heard him suck in a breath as your fingers got entangled in his hair, gently pulling at the ends.

“Logan,” his name left your mouth with a delicate whine.

“Hm?”

You needed him to look at you. Logan’s hand found home on your cheeks, keeping his eyes tightly locked with yours as you connected in the most primal way. “Tell me I’m yours,” he whispered gently, feeling himself bottom out inside of you.

“You’re mine, all mine, baby,” you reassured, finding his lips for a messy kiss.

Slowly, you started bouncing faster, Logan’s hands guided you, helping you with every move, rise and fall. You were both stuttering out moans at the almost overwhelming feeling—the wetness, the squeezing, the friction.

It didn’t take long before you were both panting, flushed messes, the movement slowing down as the desperate feeling of release grew stronger.

“Are your legs getting tired?” Logan asked, voice hoarse. “F-fuck, let me help.”

He tilted you, shifting to a more horizontal position, as he wrapped his arms around your waist, letting you bury your face in the crook of his neck, sucking and kissing wherever you could reach. With forceful thrusts, he up fucked into you, digging his fingers into the fat of your hips to pull you even closer.

He took care of you. Your tits bounced against him as you moved together. The tension inside of you only growing and spiralling. Logan reached between your bodies, moving his limber fingers to circle your puffy clit.

You repeated his name through broken moans, all choked and caught in your throat, as he continued his mission. Through deep breaths, you got lost in the scent of him. Cologne, musky and warm. It was almost distracting, until he reached a soft spot, thrusting inside of you.

“I’ve got you,” he reassured. “I’m right here, let it all out.”

Logan brought you over the edge. You bit down on his shoulder as the feeling washed over you, a white fire lighting from inside of you. His writhing against you told you he wasn’t long after, filling the condom as he rode out both of your highs. He rested still inside of you for a while as you both caught your breaths.

You needed help to get off him, your legs still shaking. With a tired moan, he slipped out and you collapsed on the bed next to him, feeling the sheets ruffle around you. Logan glimmered under the moonlight seeping in through the windows, as sweat stuck to his flushed skin. His outgrown hair falling over his forehead.

You faced each other on the bed, your voices barely above whispers, not necessarily thanking each other, but more just mumbles about how special this felt. Logan’s hand found your arm, delicately tracing the car tattooed on your bicep. It tickled, so you let out a breathy laugh as you placed your hand on top of his.

Logan’s lips curled into a lazy smile as he felt your reaction. “Did you get any other tattoos?”

“Nope,” you replied, shaking your head lightly. “I think you’ve seen them all now.”

There was a softness in his expression that made you feel safer than ever before. It was the kind of comfort that came with time, with knowing someone deeply and being known in return.

“When did you know that you liked me?” you asked suddenly, thinking back to your own admission about falling for the sight of him through your lens before you had even had a conversation together.

“In Australia,” he said after a beat, his voice gentle. “You were talking so fondly about tater tots.”

“Tater tots?” you echoed with a grin. “That’s when you knew?”

You had a feeling it wasn’t only about your love for fried potatoes, thinking about what had happened just moments before that conversation. He had started to like you because you cared about him in a moment where he felt his weakest.

“I was quietly observing you before that, but I think that was our first actual conversation,” Logan said, reminiscing. “And then,” he continued, his tone growing softer, “I just kept falling for you. Every city, every race, every little thing you did.”

Your heart warmed in your chest as his words washed over you. You felt the pull of the past, the shared experiences, the way your lives had intertwined across the globe.

“Seeing you throw your sneakers over the power line in Mexico made me realise that I love you,” Logan finally whispered.

“I love you too,” you mumbled against his lips, reaching to gently kiss him again… and again.

Afterward, you left the bed to take a moment for yourself in the bathroom. Discarding the condom, peeing to prevent a UTI, staring at yourself in the mirror for an undisclosed amount of time. You looked like a mess, but a beautiful mess—with splotchy love bites and scratches.

You turned the shower on, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you didn’t get the clinging feeling of sweat off your body.

“Are you getting in with me?” you asked Logan, peeping out behind the bathroom door to hide your naked body, spotting him still sat on the bed, the sheets covering him.

Logan lifted his gaze from the floor, meeting yours with a slow smile. He didn’t move; he only tilted his head in thought. “Why does that feel more intimate than what we just did?”

“Because it is,” you hesitantly answered, fidgeting with your fingers as your nails tapped on the door.

It didn’t take long for you both to be drenched and humid in the warm water of the shower, not having any hurry of getting out, steam fogging up the bathroom. You were just enjoying the closeness for now. Body against body. Your hands massaged his scalp as you washed shampoo out of it.

“Soo…” Logan began, dragging out the word, droplets were falling from his hair over his face. “What happens now?”

“Round two?” you teased, buying yourself a moment to think about the actual implication of his question.

Logan chuckled, but waited for a true answer. Round two was inevitable. He was asking something deeper.

“I’ve got nothing to do and a newfound love for racing and the US,” you finally said, easy as pie. “You should take advantage of that.”

“I think I might,” he smiled. “Life is a lot better with you close.”

You reached up to cup his cheeks, the pads of your thumbs gently rubbing over his pink cheekbones. His eyes looked onto yours, pulling you closer as his hands found the curve of your waist, the water still falling on you like an outburst of rain from a stormy sky, electricity unloading.

“We’ll be alright, I think,” you mumbled, gracefully placing a kiss on his wet lips.

Logan’s voice echoed softly in the bathroom, words leaving with an unusual certainty.

“I’m starting to think so too.”

Thank you for reading! ♡ Please comment, reblog, like or send me a messenger pigeon.

I'm calling this beast my best attempt at a fix-it fic. This was a nightmare and tumblr's paragraph limit is my mortal enemy. I had to remove like three scenes to even fit all of this which messed up the timeline like crazy. The title is from Worst Case Kid by Tommy Lefroy!

[savannahsdeath]

hii i love ur stories, and i was wondering if you could do a one-shot where ellie won't admit it, but she LOVES being a sub and just listening to you 🫣

SUB!TOP!ELLIE WILLIAMS X READER

mdni please<3

warnings: 18+!! sub!top!ellie, oblivious!reader, making out, a liiiitttleee of thigh reading, js smut

writers note: im a sucker for dom!ellie but my first req was sub!ellie and now it just has a separate place in my brain.. yeah, i need both. switch!ellie lover i guess💪💪 also this ones sub!top!ellie because im soooo in love w her like awshhzhsv

you always saw ellie as the firm, rough and confident one. as the 'don't tell me what to do' one. and definitely the straight-forward one. you wouldn't even think it's the complete otherwise, especially not while grinding on her lap. your lips were connected for a few minutes now, and everytime you pulled away to catch your breath a line of saliva built a bridge between you. you were needy, ellie desperate and the whole situation really messy. quite a combo.

"ellie..." you whined after freeing your tongue.

she pulled you back into her, holding onto the back of your neck. "what is it, doll?"

"mhh-" a week sound escaped your mouth, as you struggled to calm down and not act as if you just ran a marathon (because you didn't, of course, but that's how you felt). "touch me..."

you didn't realize she kept her hands only on your head because she was shy. you never thought she could be shy at all. your request, though, awakened something in her. she hungrily slid her slim fingers beneath your shirt, where they rubbed soothing shapes into your skin.

"like that?" she laughed, or at least you guessed she did, because the sensations made it hard for you to tell.

your answer was a one word, but a keyword. "more."

with that, her hands unfastened your bra and threw it somewhere on the ground. she turned you around, making you lean your back on her chest. your shirt covered the scene - her playing with your hard nipples, that didn't feel so sensitive until now. her hair fell on your face, slightly covering it, as she bowed her head to kiss your neck. your pussy sent a needy impulse through the rest of your body, signaling you this is what you needed, before the pulsating changed it's message to a 'not enough'. ellie seemed to notice it, and one of her hands untied the knot of your cute pyjama-shorts. the elastic at your hips widened to make room for her hand, and it carefully slipped underneath the waistband, though stayed on top of your underwear. she followed the wet path with her middle finger, arriving to it's source. she didn't put any pressure onto your body, leaving you unsatisfied.

"please- please, do it." you nodded, fighting the urge to press her hand towards you.

she was more than happy to do it, her hand avoiding now also your panties and making contact with your bare body. you shuddered at the coldness she brought with her, but things quickly got heated.

your head found support in her shoulder, resting on it, as her pointing finger rubbed your clit and the next two lazily waited at your entrance, collecting everything that came out of it.

"do you want me to do it?" she asked. it wasn't the taunting, teasing, playful tone. it was a concerned, shy and hesitating one. one you weren't used to hear from her.

you frowned, wiping your wet, drooled mouth with the palm of your hand. "are you... really asking me that?" you wanted to add '...or am i dreaming?' but that was too much for you now, and your throat refused to work.

"i only want to do things you want me to do." she whispered, sounding almost ashamed about admitting that.

she continued the trail of sappy little kissed on your neck, somewhere where the vocal cords are, and you thought that's the main reason they're not working.

you couldn't hide your surprise but stayed quiet, though not really by choice. she thanked god you couldn't feel her own wet spot, which was probably bigger than yours and still growing each time you asked her to do something for you. even if your commands weren't out of your dominance, even if you had no idea how they turn her on, she only waited for you to ask for more, or less, anything would satisfy her, as long as she can satisfy you.

[htchnr]

★ gentle hands ❥ A. HOTCHNER.

➻❥ masterlist. ➻❥ patreon.

CW ➥ reader has issues with eating ⋆ very brief mention of an alcohol problem ⋆ mention of binge eating or not eating ⋆ sweet and sappy comfort fic ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

WC ➥ 1,3k. SONG ➥ chocolate mint , duster.

SUMMARY ➥ you've always had issues with food, you either eat too much, or not enough, or not at all. you've always struggled with it yourself, but now that you live together with Aaron it's a little difficult to avoid or hide. so when you tell him about your struggles, he comforts you. as requested by an anon, but i lost the ask 😭

AUTHORS NOTE ➥ i'm getting a little bit better! still feel like i've got the flu, but i've atleast been able to concentrate on writing a request! 😁 i'm gonna try my best to finish up the remaining Kinktober posts, those will at the very least be all done before the end of November!

★ - © 2023 HTCHNR. do not copy, share or translate my work to this platform, or any other! - ★

you rolled on your back, eyes glued to the ceiling as you tightened your jaw. the clock had briefly flashed 3:28AM when you moved. your hands clenching and unclenching at your sides.

the urge to eat something was so overbearingly painful. you weren't necessarily hungry, you just need something to eat. you've tried explaining it to therapists before, but it never came out the way it needed to. you've briefly talked about it with Morgan once, though ended up not continuing the conversation after you got a call about a case and left.

and you didn't want to bring it up with Aaron; he already worried about the smallest things, the tiny bad habits you had. Aaron was one of the best people you've met, but you felt like you only burdened him with your flaws. though if Aaron ever heard you say that, he'd crush you in a hug and force you to apologise. to yourself, for ever daring to think that you were a burden to him.

your fists clenched one more time before you sat up, rubbing your hands across your face in frustration. some nights food was comforting, other nights; like this night, it was a nuisance and it frustrated you so much, your self image took the bullet for it.

you carefully moved the blankets off of you, letting your feet quietly hit the cold wood floor of your bedroom. you glanced behind you at the figure in your bed; Aaron laid peacefully, the deep creases in his face looking more relaxed as he slept.

you brushed a hand through your hair as you quietly left the bedroom and walked towards the kitchen. you yawned as you pulled open the main cupboard where you kept most packaged foods like crackers, cookies, cereal etc. one hand holding the door, the other on the bare skin of your waist, you hadn't bothered putting anything else on beside the bralette and the pair of pyjama shorts you had worn to bed.

you hesitated, i should shut the door and just go back to bed, you thought to yourself. but your body moved on it's own accord, grabbing a box of cereal and two granola bars. your hold tightened around the bars, plastic crinkling in your grip before you set the items on the counter. you pulled open the fridge to grab the milk, and pulled out a rather large clean bowl from the dishwasher. you made a mental reminder to empty that out after you were done eating.

you poured the cereal into the bowl, hoping the sound didn't trigger Aaron and then twisted open the cap of the milk before pouring it in, the quiet 'crackle' of the cereal filling your ears.

you cracked open the dishwasher once more, grabbing a spoon and shoving it in the bowl, stirring and coating all the cereal in the milk. you took a bite, your tense form almost instantly relaxing a smidge as you chewed on the cereal. see? eating was a good idea. you stood facing the counter while you ate, stuck in your own headspace.

so much so that you hadn't noticed that Aaron had left the bedroom. you rather quickly finished the bowl of cereal, putting it down on the counter beside the sink. as you grabbed for one of the granola bars, a pair of warm, gentle hands slid around your waist and their fingers splayed across your stomach, followed by a pair of lips pressed against your bare shoulder.

"what are you doing up honey?" he asked quietly. he noticed the atmosphere the second he entered the kitchen. your hand tensed around the granola bar, before shoving it against the counter and letting it go. your frame was still tense, even against Aaron's warm body. you don't need the granola bar, you eat enough as it is.

you shook your head a second after Aaron's question. "it's nothing, i was just-" you paused. don't tell him, you'll just give him more to deal with. one side spoke. while the other side encouraged you to open up to him about this. "what's wrong? i can hear those brilliant gears turning. talk to me dear." he spoke endearingly, a slight tease to his tone, that left as soon as it came. you turned in Aaron's arms, your lower back now against the counter, the granola bars behind you as you faced Aaron's bare chest.

"it's nothing Aar, go back to bed.." you insisted, still not meeting his eyes.

Aaron's hold tightened a little on the swell of your hips before lifting one hand to tilt your chin up to face him. "i know when something's wrong, please just talk to me about it." he spoke in a tone a little higher than a whisper. he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss against your forehead.

"it's just that," you paused. are you doing this right now? "i," you suck in a breath. you couldn't seem to find the words now.

Aaron stroked your cheek. "hey, take your time." you encouraged you gently, a reassuring smile on his lips.

you nodded, looking down at your hands. do it, come on. "i have a problem with eating." there, it wasn't that hard, was it? Aaron nodded lightly, prompting you to continue. "i, i either eat too much or nothing at all." Aaron's hand returned to your waist, his thumbs rubbing reassuring circles into the soft flesh.

this wasn't as hard as you made it out to be. "some nights i feel like the urge to eat is so strong, that it eats away at me until i eat. though i'm not always even hungry, i just, have to eat. that doesn't make sense does it?" you chuckle sadly, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his warm chest, your arms still hanging at your sides. "and some days, i just avoid food all together. it's like the feeling of eating makes me feel so sick? not necessarily physically sick, but mentally." you continue, a slight crack in your voice.

Aaron's heart breaks at your confession. he knew something was going on, but not that it ran this deep. "and some days, i just drink all day. being drunk blocks out all the issues with eating. either i eat a normal amount, or i don't really eat at all, but it takes the bad feelings about each away." you mumble. this is embarrassing. Aaron lowers one of his hands down to one of yours, intertwining his fingers gently with yours. your thumb fiddled around with his thick fingers.

"i'm sorry i'm laying this all on you i know-"

"hey, don't." he speaks, his voice still gentle and quiet, but more assertive. you look up at him. "don't be sorry about something you can't control. as for not talking to me about it, i'm not mad at you, i just wished you'd come to me with these things more often. i know you're struggling, but i have no way of helping you, or even just being there if i don't know what's going on in that gorgeous mind of yours."

tears well up in your eyes. Aaron's thumb coming up just before a tear rolls down, gentle wiping it away. "come to me when you feel like this okay? come to me when you're having one of those days where eating pains you, or when you crave to eat the whole day. i'm here for you okay honey? i'm here for you, no matter what." he's here to help you, so let him.

you nod, licking a tear off your lips. he wraps an arm fully around your soft bare waist, the other one wrapping around your shoulder as he pulls you against him. your arms wrapping around his waist as you hold him tight. "thank you." your voice is muffled by his skin, but Aaron hears it. "i love you." you hold him tighter, pressing your face against his warm chest, the feeling of being held by him calming down any negative thoughts or feelings.

"i love you too." he whispers back, placing a firm kiss on the top of your head.

he pulls away, his thumb wiping away some tears. "do you want to eat something before we head back to bed?" he asks you, he had already spotted the granola bars behind you. you think for a second before nodding.

Aaron nods along, reaching for one of the bars behind you. he opens it, leaning away from you for just a second as he throws away the wrapper and hands you the bar. his hand wraps around yours as you take the bar from him, his thumb rubbing brief but gently against the back of your hand.

you eat the bar slowly, having Aaron stand in front of you calms the intensity of the craving. and when you're finished with the bar Aaron smiles. he leans down and captures your lips in a soft kiss. you wrap your arms around his neck as you lean into it. Aaron leans down, his warm gentle hand sliding down your waist and hips until they reach the back of your thighs, pulling you up and into his arms. you wrap your thighs around his bare waist and lean your head on his shoulder as he carries you back to the bedroom.

tonight might've been conquered, but there's still many more nights and days to go. though, now they don't seem as dark and daunting..

[idyllcy]

in sickness, in health - tim drake x reader (pretty bird countdown #10)

"You know, Damian, calling me out into the middle of Gotham U is sketchy asf." You hold your phone to your ear, raising a brow at the series of arrows on the ground. "Is this your way of getting Tim to propose to me?"

"I have no idea what nonsense you're sprouting."

"Watch." You turn around, Tim falling right into your arms, and you suddenly get the vibe that you're in some sort of Kdrama. "Caught ya."

Tim stares up at you, eyes wide as he laughs. "You caught me, pretty bird."

"See? Now, what is the nonsense you were telling me about? If you guys are planning a wedding in the middle of our university, I highly advise you to do it in the Wayne backyard or summer home instead."

You blink as Damian hangs up.

"We're flying out. They just wanted us to host a small wedding where they get to watch us exchange vows. Remember the letters you used to write to your future husband? Your mom mailed them all to me." Tim hums, fingers brushing over your wedding ring.

"WHAT THE FUCK???" Your eye twitches, horror written all over your face as you wince. "How did she even find them??"

"Apparently she dug them out when you told her that you got married."

"Mm." You grimace. "Do I have to read them in front of your family?"

"No. Just the two of us. I asked them for private vows. It's the least they can do for us"

"And it's a gala?"

"The party after is at the gala. No worries, Bruce didn't tell anyone why there's a fourth gala this year."

"Are you sure?" You raise a brow.

"I promise. We can stay in my old room the entire time if you want it that bad."

"Can we play Hades?"

"You and your fifty seven hours on a game because you want to fuck the main character." Tim rolls his eyes.

"Okay?? And?? Listen, my husband is hot, but fictional characters are still fine as fuck." You huff. "Besides, my vows are to you, no? I hope you them since I didn't get to tell you at the courthouse."

"Hey, how about reading them to me after the wedding so I can pick it apart?"

"What is this? Literary analysis?"

"Yes." Tim laughs. "To show my love for you."

"Then shall I frame your vows?"

"No need. You can keep the original draft on a USB."

"Yeah?"

Tim laughs. "Yes. That way, each time you wonder if I still love you, you have proof that the choice I made was to love you until I return to the dust of the earth."

"That's absolutely insane to say to me."

"Oh, hey. There's the helicopter." Tim looks up, leading you back as it lands in the quad.

"Is this... legal?"

"Nothing a little money can't handle."

"Great day to be marrying rich, I guess?" You raise a brow. "Where are we even having vows?"

"In private." He holds out his hand for you, helping you onto the helicopter.

"Did you plan this?"

"Just the vows part." Tim hands you the headphones as you pop them on. "We'll land at home."

"And then?"

"And then, we'll read our vows as we help each other get dressed for the gala."

"My wedding dress is nowhere near appropriate for the gala after all that sand got on it."

"I have another white one that we ordered. It's more casual." Tim grins, taking your hands again. "Everything I have is for you."

"You sound so sappy it hurts."

"Love you too." Tim snickers.

You find it strange. Tim finds it strange. You wonder just what kind of a life you led in your past life that had led you to end up with him. He is flawed, but you find that it's fine or whatnot. The world could stop spinning for him, and you would still stay by his side — until the earring rusts and your ring finger is worn down by the on and off before and after bed, he would be engrained into a part of your soul, hums gentle against your skin as the rain splatters against the window. There would be a fixing, until the two of you are withered and frail with age, until you can no longer fix each other and return to dust as one.

"Ehem." You make the dramatics of dropping the rest of the paper as Tim helps you lace your back, laughing. "To my dearest, sweetest, loveliest, future husband. At the time I am first starting this page, I am twelve and have a thrashing obsession with Robin. As with all of my hyperfixations, I expect this to last no longer than two months. Even if it continues, I hope this is whatever the hell my classmates won't shut up about... the invisible string theory? I wonder if that means I'm gonna marry Robin's girlfriend or something. Oh, maybe even another hardcore fan of his—"

Tim holds back a laugh, back shaking as he finishes with the bow. "My girlfriend?"

"You weren't bi at that point in time. At least not to us." You snort, continuing. "Regardless of whoever I end up with, I'm fine if I never end up married too. I keep hearing all of this nonsense about how women are having less kids and shit and I think it's a good time to never have to deal with it. Hopefully you don't want kids either. Or, maybe you're down bad like those men in all of that fanfiction I've been reading. Regardless, if I end up marrying a man who can't respect my boundaries, I want a divorce. Fuck this, man."

You move down the paper, and Tim runs his hand through your hair.

"You're doing my hair this time?" You raise a brow. "What's next, my makeup?"

"I will be attempting to do your makeup today." Tim purses his lips. "If you'll let me?"

"Sure." You hum, moving your head to make sure he gets all of your hair. "Dear future husband, here's a few things you need to know if you want to be my one and only all my life."

Tim holds back a laugh, but you feel him shaking behind you anyway.

"I have a Robin addiction. I know he technically assaulted me or whatever on the rooftop the other day, but oh my god he's got such a feminine-shaped face that I think I am never going to reach that level of pretty. Even if I do, somehow, I don't think I could ever have a figure that nice. Do I look better now? Maybe I do. I don't know. Hopefully I'm the prettiest girl in the world to you even when I'm old and wrinkly. I got scolded by mom because of... nearly losing my camera but.. boo. I hope you're Robin. I really hope I end up marrying that guy because my friends may not be able to marry Jungkook but I at least have a chance of marrying him. Are you Robin? The one that has pants? It sounds so romantic... please take me out on midnight swings." You pause, blinking at your next words.

"I bet it's something about how you'd let me fuck you six ways from sunday." Tim reaches for a brush.

"Wow, you're like, psychic." You snort. "I also hope whenever I look at you like I'd let you hit fourteen different ways, you catch the cue. Or, maybe the idea of sex grosses me out now. I don't know. I wouldn't know. I can only keep hoping and praying that you're Robin. Oh, also, please let me grate cheese on your abs if you have— I CAN'T."

"No, keep going." Tim stops, hair still in his hand as you shake from laughter. "KEEP GOING."

"Please let me grate cheese on your abs if you have abs. Oh, also, is it possible to cut my finger on your jawline? Maybe you'll let me bite into your collarbone until I draw blood. Okay, that was oddly kinky and weird. I am sorry if future me has to read this to you. I might be insane or something. I wouldn't know." You close your eyes for the next part. "Regardless, I want a big fancy wedding that costs a billion dollars where you'll fly all of my friends in and we'll party until sunrise. That was sarcasm, by the way. I want a small wedding where it's just family and friends. Maybe a second one to host more people if you're a socialite or something. I hope my future in laws love me more than they love you. Mom's been teaching me how to cook lately, and I might have a talent for it. I hope you enjoy every single Chinese dish on the planet, because I can not live with white people food for extended periods of time. Kisses! Xoxo."

"Yeah, I think that last part is apparent." Tim finishes with your hair, reaching for accessories. "The ironic part is that you DID manage to marry that Robin."

"Yeah, I bet she'd be having a crazy ass moment." You hum. "Ehem, dear future husband. my parents are divorced now. I'm in high school at this point in time. Robin seems rather chummy with me now, but I still don't think he sees me as a potential romantic partner. I think he only recognizes me if I have my all black clothes on. Regardless, I think he's a funny guy. Also, I caught him kissing Spoiler a couple days ago so I don't think I have a chance."

"Makes me nostalgic, almost." Tim hums, looking through your jewelry. "What colors for accent?"

"Red." You hum. "For good luck for the bride and groom."

Tim laughs.

"You know, maybe you're one of the other Robins. Maybe you're the second one.. that like. died. or something. I heard there's a new vigilante running around. Red Hood? I think he's more of a crime lord, but his build... I MEAN. I MEAN IM NOT LIKE UNFAITHFUL OR ANYTHING. I JUST THINK HE'S HOT. Yeah. Anyways. I still run a twitter for Robin, but I think he's rebranded as Red Robin. His fit is kinda fire. Don't tell him I said that, though. I don't think people pay me enough for this nonsense, honestly. My current friends are alright. I don't think I find them particularly entertaining, but it's not like I'll see any of them when I move away for college. Is it wrong to dislike your friends? Probably. They drain too much energy whenever I hang out with them. How are your friends? I hope you have a great relationship with your family, or else I am royally fucked."

"Tilt." Tim hums, and you raise your ear, letting Tim pop your studs off for the rubies. "I should get you a new pair."

"Maybe." You laugh. "I have two more pages. The two of them are addressed to you."

"Both?"

"Dearest Tim Drake." You hum, straightening your back as Tim helps you put on your necklace. "I really fucking hope you're the guy I marry, cuz I will burn this letter if not."

"I'm so glad this lived to see the light of day." Tim mumbles, starting with your makeup. "Is this alright?"

"Yes, birdie." You hum. "I remember most of it."

"Good." He grins. "Because I have a letter for you too."

You beam at him, eye closed as he pats your foundation on. "I genuinely can not believe you had sex with me. I do not radiate sex appeal, have an addiction to a Japanese green tea brand, and probably do not study half as much as I should. I have a crippling addition to Red Robin, nearly kissed him at a Halloween party, and once on the rooftop of my dorm. I do not understand why you brought me to a place that I felt I did not belong in, and I wonder if you had just picked me because I seemed like an easy target."

Tim frowns at the words.

"Regardless, I think you're the one. I think it's becoming more apparent just through the assignments I've been writing. Do you love me? Do I love you? Is this called love? I don't know. I haven't loved someone in a long time. I think my best friend calls it a delusionship. A one sided, delusionship. Hopefully they'll be there at our wedding or whatever. Will you buy me an apartment building for our wedding gift? A reverse dowry of twenty billion dollars? I don't even know how much money you have, tch. I just want a nice apartment to live in. The bar is actually in hell. Yet, I find myself catching up with interviews and news about you, desperate to learn more about you and understand just what about you draws me in. You know, I really wonder if you genuinely loved me when you said good morning to me. Maybe you did. Maybe you don't anymore. Human emotions are fickle, after all."

"Lips." He hums.

You open your mouth, jutting out your lip as he helps you apply lipstick.

"Any more?"

"Human emotions are fickle, yet I find myself clawing at my heart when I think of you. Maybe I do love you. Maybe I am nothing in myself, and I need someone to love me. Maybe you showed me love. Maybe, just maybe, you are the one. Yet, I dare not promise it. So, I go back to where I began in this letter, wondering if you would receive it. No kisses this time. May you be the one to send me those instead."

"I think I'm done." Tim takes a step back, lips curled upwards.

You turn to look in the mirror, grinning. "Yeah, birdie?"

"Yeah." Tim hums. "I'll read you my vows next, I promise."

"This one's my vows." You hum, folding the paper back up and cutting open an envelope. "Ready?"

"You wanna sit on the couch before the car gets here?"

"Not gonna say no to that." You stand up, Tim leading you as you get used to walking in the dress. "Wow, I keep forgetting how annoying it is to walk in these dresses."

"You're the star of the show tonight." Tim hums. "Depending on whether or not you want to give the paparazzi a show, I can carry you for the whole night too."

"I'll be fine in the heels, I promise." You sit down as Tim lets go of your hand. "Ready for my vows?"

"Of course."

"To beloved birdie, Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne." You hum, smoothing out the paper. "We did not get to have proper wedding vows at the courthouse, so I am writing mine down knowing that you will definitely host something at the complaint of your family. I vow to love you until the sun rises from the west and the moon is eradicated — until the moon becomes the sun and the sun becomes the moon, I vow to cherish you even unto death. I vow that when you are sick and dying, when you are struck with illnesses I have never heard of, I will be by your side. I vow that even if the paparazzi decide to tear their claws into my skin to ruin my life, I will stay. I vow that when you are struck by pollen and in need of release, I will be there for you. Until the world collapses and you are no longer red but old, and even when one of us leave, I promise I will be by your side and follow you until there is nothing left in this world but us. I vow that even on the days where we can not stand the presence of each other, we will find each other again. In this universe, the next, and in every universe out there, I vow that I will find you. I vow that even in the worlds that we are not together, I am nearby. I vow that in sickness and health, in richer or poorer, for better or worse, to love and cherish you even unto death. Love you lots, your pretty bird."

Tim holds a napkin to the corner of his eye, blinking to get the tears out of his eyes and onto the napkin, careful to not ruin his makeup.

"Birdie?"

"I can't read my vows without crying right now. Give me a second."

"I'll touch up your makeup if you do." You laugh. "I vow to be by your side through every gala we attend, your makeup forever next to mine, my heart forever yours to hold."

"You're awful." Tim sniffs, laughing as he manages to calm down, unfolding his own letter to you. "To the prettiest bird in every universe. To my beloved wife, I, Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne vow to protect you until crime is no longer in existence, to hold you until we both return to the dust of the earth, to love you even after death. I vow to hold only you when I am in need of help, and to seek you out first amongst a crowd of people I have known all my life. I vow that my love for you will not fade, and that I will be infatuated with you for all the days of my life and death, and that on both good and bad days, I will be the person by your side. I vow that even when we are old and wrinkly, I will bring you items that remind me of you, flowers that bring a smile to your face, my whole self for you alone. When you ask of something, I vow to do my best to grant it, and when the end of the world comes, I will shield your body with my own, and in every other universe that I accidentally end up in during missions, to every other version of myself that is not me, I will stand as proof of love to them. May we be tangled in each others' lives throughout all our days."

"I don't know, birdie." A smirk makes its way onto your face. "I'm starting to think I was a lot more dedicated than you were."

"Psh." He rolls his eyes. "I'll read you my letter from the morning after we started going out eventually. "

"WHAT."

"Come on. The ride is here." He holds his hand out for you, and you raise a brow.

"And when will I be reading that letter?"

"One day." He laughs.

You click your tongue as he kneels down to help you put the heels on.

"And that day is?"

"I promise, pretty bird," he hums, sliding your shoe on with a kiss to your hand. "You will read it."

"If you say so." You mumble, yelping as he carries you.

"Ready to scare Gotham shitless?"

"Oh, I've been ready."

[runnning-outof-time]

A Not So Secret | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: no - for @acewritesfics ‘s Valentines Day Challenge

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Tommy and (Y/N) think that they're in the clear to spend a quiet Valentine's Day together, but little do they know that their secret may not stay one for long.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2092

A/N: this story was a bunch of fun to write. From the grid, I chose secret relationship, dancing, and staying in…with a little bit of a surprise. I hope it’s not too sappy haha. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: I’ve also realized that this story is my 100th Tommy x Reader one shot, which is WILD to me. Thanks so much for joining along on my writing journey!! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

(Y/N) was sitting on the couch in the main room of her partner's Watery Lane home. He'd told her to meet her there so that they could spend the day together, but she'd been here now for close to twenty minutes and he hadn't shown up yet. So much for spending Valentine's Day with the person you love, she thought to herself, picking at a fuzz on her dress. She stared at the wall until the green doors on the side wall opened.

She turned just in time to see Tommy Shelby working on shutting and locking them, closing off the living quarters from the busy sounds of the betting shop. Pursing her lips, she held her gaze on him as he turned to look at her. "You told me to be here twenty minutes ago, Tommy. I've been sitting here by myself for..." she couldn't finish her statement because Tommy had made a b-line to the couch and bent down to take her face into his hands and kiss her lips the second he made it over to her.

"'M sorry," he mumbled after pulling away from her lips slightly.

"'S no big deal," she whispered back, her hands tucking behind his ears as she spoke, wanting to keep him as close to her as possible. She always lost her train of thought when he got close to her. Her hold on his head stayed long enough so that she could give him one last kiss before pulling away.

"Happy Valentine's Day, love," he said to her, a smile tugging the right corner of his lips upwards.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Tommy," she responded, smiling up at him as she pulled her legs up on the couch and crossed her arms over her chest, "I'm happy that you didn't leave me lonely for the entire day," she added then, a joking tone laced into her words.

"I'd never do that," he said to her, his tone light because he knew that she was teasing him. "What do you want to do today?" he asked her then, his eyebrows raising slightly.

"You're off?" she checked with him, not wanting to get her hopes up.

"Yeah. I got everything squared away," he nodded. His words made her smile grow.

"In that case..." (Y/N) trailed off, tapping her chin as she looked away from him, showing that she was thinking about her options, "I don't wanna go anywhere today. I just want to stay in with you," she gave her answer after a few moments, looking his way again.

"You want to stay here?" he asked, checking to make sure he'd heard correctly.

"Yes," she nodded assuredly, "there's nothing more that I want to do than to just sit here and spend time with you."

Tommy chuckled at her statement, shaking his head slightly. "Move over then, eh? I'll happily sit with you," he told her, and she did as he said, bringing her legs back down to the ground so there'd be room on the small couch for him to join her.

"I sounded like a poet when I said that, didn't I?" she questioned with a child-like giddiness as she quickly flipped on the seat so that she could lean up against him, hugging him as she nuzzled her face into his neck.

"You did," he answered her, his chuckle tickling her nose from the vibrations. He turned his head to the side and kissed her forehead, smiling against her skin as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He was thankful for having her.

After what he went through in France, Tommy Shelby never thought that he'd be worthy of having such an amazing person wanting to call him 'hers'. She was the schoolteacher in Small Heath, and their paths happened to cross when Tommy went to the school one day after Finn had been going on about a problem he was having with one of his classmates. He, of course, got the problem sorted out, but he didn't expect to gain a lover from it.

They were keeping their relationship under wraps for now because he didn't want her reputation to falter. It was still early in the school year, and she was still trying to convince the parents that she'd be a better teacher for their children rather than the old, rather nasty, woman who'd left the year prior.

Valentine's Day thankfully fell on a weekend this year, which meant that (Y/N) was able to spend the entire day with her love rather than helping a class full of children with making heart-shaped crafts.

"Sitting here is all you want to do today?" Tommy asked her again after they'd been sitting for some time. (Y/N) only hummed in response to his question. She was quite content with what they were doing at the moment. "You don't want to go out to eat...do anything else?" he began going through suggestions.

"No. I only want to stay in with you," she answered him, "and you hardly get time off nowadays...you should be enjoying this," she added, lifting her head from his shoulder to look at him.

"Believe me, love, I am enjoying this," he told her, a grin present on his face, "I just thought you'd want to do something for Valentine's Day."

(Y/N) only smiled at him before she stood from the couch, leaving Tommy looking at her with furrowed eyebrows. She moved over to the newer gramophone that was sitting on the table in the corner of the room. Tommy's aunt, Polly, had just bought it for the home, and (Y/N) just had to turn it on every time she came to the house. She smiled as she dropped the needle down onto the record, making it play before she spun back to Tommy.

"You want to dance?" he questioned her intentions, his eyebrows now raised in intrigue.

"Only if you ask me properly," she told him, smiling as she clasped her fingers together behind her back. Tommy chuckled at her statement before he stood up from the couch and walked over to where she was standing in the middle of the floor.

"Would you like to dance with me?" he formally asked her, tilting his head to the side slightly as he waited for her response.

"Yes," she nodded with a smile, glancing down at Tommy's hand that was extended to her.

Her eyes found his again before she took it, allowing him to pull her closer to his body. He slipped his hands around her waist, hooking them together against the small of her back. She draped her arms over his shoulders, her fingers brushing against the small hairs that sat at the base of his neck. Nothing more was said as they slowly began to sway to the sound of the music coming from the gramophone.

"Isn't this so much nicer than going out and dealing with other people at a restaurant?" (Y/N) asked Tommy after they'd been dancing for a few minutes, lifting her head from his chest to look at him.

Tommy smiled at her, chuckling slightly at her statement before he nodded ever so slightly. "You know I'll never turn down the chance to keep you to myself," he told her, leaning in and matching his lips to hers in a slow kiss. (Y/N) hummed as their lips met, accepting the kiss with a smile. They pulled away and smiled at each other, pressing their foreheads together as their eyes fluttered shut. To Tommy, there wasn't anything in the world that could beat this moment. It was yet another moment where he was wanting to pinch himself to see if this was real or if he was dreaming. But he didn't...because if this was a dream, he wanted to stay in it for as long as possible.

(Y/N) was the one to move her head away from his, and she placed a quick kiss into the crook of his neck before she rested her head against his shoulder again.

Once again, the only sound in the room was the gramophone playing softly. It was a surprise that neither of the two heard the door to the home open, or the footsteps that sounded off of the hardwood in the entryway.

Polly Gray was on her way into the kitchen of the Watery Lane home when what was going on in the living room stopped her in her tracks. Her nephew had his back to her...she knew that it was Tommy because of the gray suit he had on. What she didn't expect to see was a woman's arms around his shoulders. He was sharing a dance with her; a woman who he'd never mentioned nor Polly had never met...or she thought she hadn't. She stayed in the doorway and watched the two as they swayed to the music, deciding against stepping in and breaking their moment together. The smile had just started to creep onto her face when she saw something that made her eyes widen. Realization struck her pretty quickly: Tommy was dancing with Finn's teacher.

(Y/N) almost let out a shriek of surprise when she lifted her head and opened her eyes. The last thing she expected was to see someone standing in the doorway of the home. And to make matters worse, she quickly remembered that person to be Polly Gray, the rather intimidating woman who often brought Finn to school. She hoped that her body didn't tense up too much as a result of her discovery. The fact that Tommy kept his head nestled into the crook of her neck told her that she was most likely in the clear.

She kept her eyes locked onto Polly, wondering what move the other woman would make. At the moment, she was just standing in the doorway, watching the two dance with the slightest smile present on her lips. She prayed to whatever was out there that she wouldn't come over and demand explanations from the both of them. Sure, they were most definitely in order, but (Y/N) really didn't want to get into it now...not when she thought that she'd be spending the entire evening with Tommy, alone.

The two women kept up their staring contest, neither anxious to make the first move. Polly found it amusing, honestly. Tommy was completely oblivious to what was going on, and that surprised her considering the fact that he normally was the first to notice when things went off-kilter. She considered what she should do next. Should she go in and interrupt, or should she leave and ask about it another time?

After holding the younger woman's gaze for a few more moments, until it got to the point where the couple had turned and Tommy was just about facing her, she decided that she would let them be and ask questions at a later date...like when she made sure that Finn would get to school tomorrow. She decided that she'd make a special trip because she knew that she'd get more answers from the schoolteacher rather than her nephew. So she winked at the young woman before she quietly turned and exited the house, leaving (Y/N) and Tommy alone again.

(Y/N) couldn't help but sigh as she saw the front door shut out of the corner of her eye. She'd truly dodged a bullet there...sure she was now in a not so secret relationship now, but she'd be able to enjoy their privacy for the rest of the day at least.

"Everything alright, love?" Tommy asked upon hearing her sigh, moving his head to look at her with furrowed eyebrows.

(Y/N) nodded her head before she spoke: "yes, everything's fine...I'm just really enjoying myself," she told him, her little white lie proving believable when he smiled at her.

"I'm enjoying myself, too," he said then, his statement making a smile form on her face.

She was happy to hear that he was happy. Some interrogation sessions would be occurring in the near future. She knew that for a fact. But that was an easy trade off for what she was doing right now.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Tommy," she said to him, stopping her swaying so that she could pull him into a hug.

"Happy Valentine's Day, (Y/N)," he echoed the sentiment, pulling away from her slightly so that he'd be able to kiss her lips.

Tagged: @mgcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @raincoffeeandfandoms @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @lora21 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cilliansangel

MASTERLIST

[badkitty3000]

What do you think of Steve's Five needed a love story remark in general? Ignoring Lila.

I think Steve Blackman saying Five needed a love story is some next level horseshit, to be honest. I'm not sure who he thinks was jonesing for that, except for himself and a few others. I also think the decision, and who it was with, demonstrates greatly the kind of person he is. All of those allegations of him being a misogynistic jerk that didn't want to hear anyone else's opinions seem to be spot on. Because I highly doubt if he had sat down and asked what the actors, writers, and other creators of the show wanted, we would have ended up with this. I realize this is his project and he's in charge, but it just seemed like he got a bit of an ego boost and decided to just do what he wanted, others be damned. Apparently he wanted to see Five play kissy face. Which, hey, so do I...but there's a time and place for everything! This was not it.

I do understand he was the only main character to not have a romantic love story arc throughout the seasons, but there was a reason for that. As others have said on here already, Five already had a love story and it was his family. He was the driving force behind the entire Hargreeves family in every season, and keeping them alive and saving the world were his top priorities. And he did it because he loved them. Maybe he didn't know how to express his love in words, but it was apparent by his actions. Nothing says I love you more than enduring decades of loneliness and regret just for the chance to see them again and save their lives.

This may all sound hypocritical, considering I write romantic Five fanfiction, but even going into the season I had no desire to see any romantic love story for him. It wasn't necessary. He is such an interesting, complex, and larger-than-life character that adding in a sappy love story in the space of 6 lousy episodes is a big misstep. And that's even if they had managed to keep his character intact.

What we needed was to see him find peace for himself through the love of his family. We needed apologies. We needed angry outbursts, and healing hugs, and "I love yous" between all of the siblings, but most importantly Five. No one has ever thanked him for all of his sacrifices. Or for continuing to stay with them even though they've caused him nothing but hassle throughout his life. We did not need a sappy, rushed, half-ass love story concocted just to please whatever weird fantasy the show runner has going on. We needed a payoff after watching Five fight, and struggle, and lose his moral code just for the chance to save his family. That's the ending the fans, and Five, deserved.

If we got that first, then yeah, a romantic love story for Five would be nice. I would have loved to see an ending where after everything was resolved (no group suicide), we see a shot of Five a few years later, driving down the street in his beloved Corvette Stingray, looking over to smile lovingly at his lady next to him, on their way to their next big adventure. I get teary just thinking about it! But only after he got everything else that he so desperately needed from his family.

Instead, we got what we got because Steve Blackman was convinced that Five needed some sweet sweet loving. Well, we got it I guess. Steve got his wish while the rest of us are left just trying to make sense of the whole thing. Ignoring that it was Lila, which is an entirely separate disaster, it was silly. It was heartbreaking. And it was unnecessary.

[morimementa]

Things I like about Trolls 3

Floyd reassuring Branch the actions of adults are not his fault.

The giant water slide doodle.

Bruce's weight gain isn't played for humor. In fact, Poppy still sees him as a heart throb and it's presented more as a facet of him discovering himself rather than a personal failing.

The macramé interior of Branch's old house.

Everything looks like it has The Good Textures and I want to touch it. I've been underestimating the joys of Computer Animation.

The reoccurring felt and yarn crafts make me feel very seen.

Bridget and Gristle don't have to be conventionally cute to be main characters.

On that note, they're so sappy and cuddly they remind me of me and my boyfriend.

Bridget and Gristle being barely annoyed that their wedding is interrupted for a completely unrelated issue.

I hope Tiny's coffee is decaf because that child doesn't need more energy.

Floyd is my precious baby girl and I want to gently hold him and reassure him that those big rubber meanies won't hurt him anymore.

I'm sewing a Floyd plush to do exactly that.

The officiant at the royal wedding.

Poppy reassuring Branch that despite what his abandonment issues are telling him, she won't leave him.

Poppy getting a sister and it's everything she dreamed of. She deserves good things.

Floyd whump. I want ALL the fics of him being comforted!

Poppy being all protective of Branch. We love protective girl friends in this house.

The Trolls fighting with toys like finger traps and sticky hands.

There's glitter everywhere, even in the toilet water.

Don't sue me, but I like Crimp. She's just a little creacher.

I bet the reason Vacay is so popular is because being able to bathe in Orbeez sounds like sensory paradise.

Bruce's kids are very realistic kids.

Everything in this movie looks like a fun toy and it makes me happy. I know this is probably to peddle products but I still like it.

Mount Rageous's aesthetic balances between rubber hose Betty Spaghetti people and everything being made of faceted crystal which I didn't realize would work so well.

No one thought about the fact that the authorities would be able to get Floyd to safety easily and then they could do the perfect family harmony on their own time to break the bottle. But then we wouldn't have a movie.

Rhonda.

[myloveforhergoeson]

hiiii everyone <3 if you're a fan of that's all she wrote, this post is for you!!

if you didn't know from my relentless nagging and big hullabaloo today marks the first anniversary of james and roxy getting together in the tasw canon :) tasw is also now a little over one and a half years old!!!!

like... i honestly can't believe it. at the risk of sounding sappy, i didn't know there were even btrtv fans left since i was coming into the fandom so late in the game, let alone ones who were interested in reading about some random character i created falling in love with one of the show's main characters. i truly can't thank each and every one of you enough for your support, whether you've read 1 or all 449,787 words of my story. i love the little community we have so much, and i can't even put into words what it feels like to work for so long and so hard on such a project and know that people look forward to reading it and want to engage with me and my characters so fully... it's such a fulfilling feeling and i'm sincerely grateful for all of you. i hope this shows in my works and how i interact with all of you.

but, BWAH. enough with the sappiness. i'm putting together a post full of my top underrated rames moments - pre and current relationship to celebrate. just to draw some attention to parts i love that sometimes get lost in the nearly half a million words of the story and to give some insider perspective on how i chose to write my story. including things i left out, things i ended up changing, and ideas for the future! :) it should be out sometime later today :)

if you want to celebrate with me, feel free to share your favorite rames moments too! i might have missed it in my post and we all know i have so so so much to say when it comes to tasw! or share anything else with me. tell me about your day idc. let's just talk and celebrate such a fun day together :)

i'm bad at endings but, i am truly honored to share that's all she wrote and roxy with all of you <3 they're both very near and dear to me. and i'm sure you've learned much about me through my work lol...

i'll say thank you one million times over for as long as i want to and mean it every single time <3

MWAH! i love you all - happy anniversary rames!!!!

[pulchrasilva]

intro post!!

You can call me Lucky! I use any pronouns, so get creative with it :3

Expect posts you don't understand, and posts that make you wish you didn't understand! It's kind of my brand at this point <3

In theory, I'm a fanfic writer - ao3 - writing master post (old)

Main fandoms: Just Roll With It (esp The Suckening atm), Roleslaying with Roman, Venom movies (and some other venom things by extension)

Other interests: maths, linguistics, Ancient Rome, Ursula le Guin novels, DnD, probably some other things

I'm literally always willing to talk about things on this list (and plenty of things not on it) so feel free to shoot me an ask about stuff!!

I'm proship/anti-anti!! I'm not gonna say antis DNI but consider this your heads up. If that's gonna bother you, save us both some time and just don't follow me

As a general rule I don't trigger tag, but friends/mutuals feel free to send an ask/DM if you want me to tag something! If we're not friends you can still ask but there's a high chance I forget to tag it if I don't really know you

I don't often do tag games, ask chains, etc but I appreciate receiving them anyway!! ^-^

My tagging system is an incomprehensible horror even to me so good luck with that lol

I WILL post about my ocs without any context you just have to cope with that. Or ask me about them if you want 👀 (don't expect coherent answers though lmao)

If you see me being sappy about my dearest beloved um. No you didn't

I have a couple old blogs that i don't use much anymore, but if you want to check them out they're @autvigila-autdormi (latin and linguistics related things) and @fire-and-sound (venom related things)

One day we shall, in our hubris, recreate the tower of Babel. And upon that day, the Suckiest languages imaginable will flood the earth, and the masses will weep in joyous sorrow - @monstrousparalysis

[dk-wren]

Happy 10th Anniversary Star Wars Rebels

It's still Oct. 3rd where I'm at and I didn't want to miss the chance to send a happy 10th to arguably my favorite show ever.

Star Wars Rebels not only brought me into the Star Wars fandom, it brought me into the world of fandom as a whole. As sappy or potentially overdramatic as it might sound, I do not think I would be the person I am today if it were not for my love of Star Wars Rebels.

I mean, for one thing, part of my username is "Wren," which is directly in reference to Sabine Wren. Her love of art and its use as a form of rebellion has always stood out to me.

I wish I had the time to talk about my love for this show, the characters, the story, everything, but I unfortunately do not (maybe sometime in the future). All I will say is that Rebels gave me a new found family to love. For the most part, they were not attached to the main trilogy or characters from it (besides the occasional cameo). Star Wars Rebels felt like a nice and fitting way to ease myself into the Star Wars universe. It was a nice and cozy corner I could occupy without getting overwhelmed by the existing lore. And while my love for that fandom has waxed and waned over time, my love for Star Wars Rebels will always remain.

Happy 10th Star Wars Rebels!

💜 Dakota Wren

Look at how they all grew! 😭

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

ARI FIRST THINGS FIRST I'M SORRY I DIDN'T TAG U I DIDN'T WANNA PRESSURE U OKAY I'M SORRY second of all how many of them can i ask about bc......... what if i wanna know about all of them? what then ari???? have u thought about that?????? okay okay no but i do NEEEED to know about sappy drunk!sugu bc helloo??? that sounds so good and also woLFY SUGU AND LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD????? you're crazy i'm so obsessed already and actually sick!satoru too bc he's gonna be such a baby i need to hear about it OK ONE MORE BECAUSE NOBARA??? OH MY GODD SKATERGIRL NOBARA PLEAAAAASEEE that's literally genius wow i can't wait to hear about all of them i'm so excited!!!!!!!

- @softgirlgonehaywire

MICKEY PLS DONT APOLOGIZE PHSJDHD i wasnt planning on doing it at first cause i didnt know if ppl would be interested 😭😭 BUT then i saw that u and everyone else was doing it so i immediately caved AND IM SO GLAD I DID u picked some of my personal faves !! ari/mickey connection going steady hehe

i’d apologize in advance for making this long but i feel safe w u this is just our average communication let’s go <33 here is some tea for u while u read !! 🍵

OKOK SOOOO first of all ; sappy drunk!sugu x reader….. yes. this one is sooooo special to me its been downright rotting in my drafts since the beginning of time and its literally all written out ?? but i need to delete some stuff n polish it overall….. </3

BUT yeah the plot is basically just: sugu goes out to a bar w satoshoko, gets drunk even though he literally never gets drunk, and so reader discovers that he is, in fact, the sappy kind. (shocker!) it’s just sooooo sickeningly fluffy and he’s so whipped. ☹️☹️ he’s like a puppy. all he can think of is reader and how much he wants to put a ring on their finger HE’S SOOOOO

here are a couple snippets hehe. literally just disgusting amounts of Fluff for my soul

sho 🚬 : anyway he’s been asking me where u are for the past ten minutes pls come i can’t stand him sho 🚬: he’s crying. you: HUH???????? you: WHY??? 😭😭😭 sho 🚬: dude i dont know sho 🚬: pls come get him he’s being so sappy that satoru’s abt to throw up

”— and i have you.” a stutter of your heartbeat, a jolt throughout your chest. his stare almost burns, but you can’t avert your gaze — suguru looks positively lovesick. admiring you with a dreamy gaze, as if he can’t believe you’re real. he reaches a hand out; cradling your face with one big palm, the rough pads of his fingers smoothing down your skin so very gently. smearing his fondness from your jaw to your cheekbone, so loving your breath hitches in the back of your throat. a soft, content sigh spills into the air, like a prayer that doesn’t need any words. his smile is serene.  ”my angel.” that peaceful smile changes shape, shifting into a big, giddy grin. it lights up his whole face. a chuckle leaves his lips, content and delighted. ”i’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

”sugu,” you whine, dragging his name out childishly. ”we need to sleep…” ”sorry,” he only murmurs, muffled into your skin. he doesn’t stop, though, planting a wet smooch on your cheek, and then another. you squirm a little in his hold, and he emits a shaky breath. ”jus’ love you so much…”

i just think sugu has so much love in his chest that he like Never lets out bc he knows it can feel overwhelming unless he shows it in small doses but then he gets drunk and everything just SPILLS out . idk but my knees would buckle

AND THEN ….. wolf/hunter!sugu x little red riding hood!reader OHHHH MICKEY IM SO HAPPY U ASKED…. this concept entered my brain and has Not left even once but its still just this vague idea in my head. im just so interested in fairy tale aus!! i figure its probably gonna end up kinda twisted? or maybe a mix between sweet/twisted if i can pull it off 😭😭 bUT the main idea is that sugu plays the part of both the wolf AND the hunter, reader doesnt know who to trust but sugu is their only option either way. at first i was thinking of making him like a whole Wolf Man but now im leaning towards it being more symbolic … the trustworthy hunter was the ”wolf” all along yk? IM SO FOND OF THIS ONE i cant wait to write it !!! ive been itching to write something a lil more gritty anyhow :33

AND AND SICK!TORU X DOTING!READER ….. our babyboyyyy he’s so :((( he’s just so sick and delirious and trying to convince reader that he’s Fine Actually but he’s just burning up :(((( and so he has no choice but to face the terrifying reality of Being Taken Care of By Someone He Trusts. horrifying. as soon as he’s slightly better he’s just throwing himself over u and begging for kisses though (he’s an opportunist <33)

this is another one that’s just veryyyy fluffy n sweet!! AND another one that i have written out i just need to delete a lot of stuff bc its like . over 10k i think I GOT CARRIED AWAY OK…… 😭😭

aaand here r some snippets from this one!! just overflowing w gojo love <333 he’s our sweetiepie our little baby angel i need him tucked into bed

”really, baby,” he slurs, voice raspy and dry. attempting to get up, arms straining under his shivering body. ”there’s no need f’ —” unceremoniously, his limbs give out beneath him, and he tumbles back down. face falling back into the mattress, as he croaks out a meek little wince. (the sound makes your heart squeeze tightly in your chest.) ”ah,” he hums, muffled into the sheets. resisting the urge to close his eyes. ”that’s… annoying.”

”baby, i think my fever’s going up again…” satoru pouts, looking up at you. ”can you check?” a raise of your eyebrow. you give him a smile. ”this is the fifth time you’ve asked me to check your temperature, toru.” ”just wanna make sure,” he whines. ”please?” an exaggerated sigh. then you’re leaning down, soft lips meeting his forehead, humming against his skin — and, just like last time, and the time before that, his temperature hasn’t gone up. ”you’re good.” ”oh, thank god,” satoru exhales. ”are you sure? like, a hundred percent sure? maybe you should check again. just in case.”

”you’re cute,” satoru croons, still cradling your cheek. tenderly, soft fingertips against your heated skin. all you manage is a meek little furrow of your brows, but that only makes him chuckle again. after a silent moment, you part your lips. ”… you can.” he blinks. still smiling. ”stay forever, i mean.”

yeahhhhhh. yeah. u know how it is. (i am consumed by love for this silly little 28 year old man)

AND FINALLY LAST BUT NOT LEAST … skatergirl!nobara x reader <333333 my most beloved ever. i only have a vague outline but im sooo in love w this concept mickey im overjoyed that it caught ur eye….. just . picture nobara being covered in hello kitty band aids bc she’s not very good at skating but she just thinks it’s SO fun and she goes to the skate park w maki while wearing acrylic nails and she’s just having such a blast :(( grinning and giggling!!! she’s literally my daughter i adore her ….

my idea for the fic is basically just that reader has this weird one-sided rivalry w nobara bc they’re a bit jealous of her + she’s so pretty it makes them angry LOL and they assume that she doesnt notice them at all… but in reality nobara is like HIGHKEY crushing on reader she does these complicated flips JUST to impress them she’s a lovergirl!!! so it’s basically just super duper fluffy n sweet hehe <33

TYSM FOR ASKING MICKEY i had to take my time w this one hehehe . i hope u’ll enjoy these fics when theyre posted although it’ll probably take a while… COVERING U IN KISSES WATCH OUT

[marzipanwings9099]

☎️

HOORAY, A SKETCH 🌹

💥 The action takes place 2-3 years after the previous sketches and events of the animated series, provided that the boys were 13-14 years old. What you read further is not canon, but represents the author's (Marzipan's) fantasies and headcanons for the characters. Thank you for your attention! 💥

"The night sky was truly beautiful, and the cooling chamomile tea was even better. It's no secret that chamomile is calming, but Secret didn't need that, he was already feeling great, because...

- You'll freeze. - A familiar voice was heard behind him.

- It should get warmer soon, the titmice whispered. - Kipp giggled, moving so that George could sit up.

- The titmice whispered, you say? Do you have a fever or did you drink chamomile?- George said thoughtfully, watching the birds flying across the pink sky. He inhaled the summer air that had managed to seep in during the last days of spring and turned his gaze to his boyfriend. - No, seriously, Kepp, why aren't you sleeping? - But the question was followed only by puzzled silence and a sad sigh. - Are you worried about university? - Like Kipp turned his thoughtful gaze to George, which could be considered a "yes." - Uni-uni... Do you want to talk about it?

Moving closer to him, George gently hugged him by the shoulders. Kipp, however, sighed sadly again and remained silent, burying his face in his knees.

- If you keep quiet, caterpillar doll, I'll start telling you about Eliza and Jane's new clothes. - Finally, the impenetrable Secret laughed and raised his head, after which he groaned tiredly.

- How do you always manage to piss me off?

- I know you don't like Eliza, it's no secret! - George said, hugging Kipp with both hands, to which he received another whale-like groan.

- I don't knoooow... - Kipp drawled, taking a sip from his mug and handing it to George. - At what point did everything become so difficult?

- You're filling your head with nonsense. University is a great place to start from scratch! Maybe you'll find new interesting acquaintances?

- Or maybe I'll remain a geek with a love for soda...

- Well... I see only pros in this, not cons.

- I should take my life more simply... - Kipper fell silent, leaning on George, and then quietly continued. - Can we start talking about Eliza and Jane's clothes yet?

- Nope! Let's talk about... - While he was thinking, Secret had already managed to go downstairs and lie down on George's lap. - "Gathering of Young Knights"!

- I read through pain and tears, why are we assigned to read this? The main character is as dumb as a cork. He could have avoided meeting Gansteloth, or whatever his name is, by simply going out an hour later, as he was advised to do, but of course he did not follow this advice and got into a duel. The End. Thank you, I'm out of tissues for tears. - He finished sarcastically and looked at George, who was watching him with a gentle smile and loving eyes. - Are you staring, Georgie.

- I'm not allowed to do this, your geekery?

- I'm not a geek! Stop making fun of my love of comics!

- Okay, okay, sorry... - George answered, holding back his laughter. Stroking Secret's fluffy hair, he finished his tea and watched the rising sun.

- By the way, why did you wake up? Did I wake you up?

- You could say that, it was very strange and scary to feel you in my arms and suddenly, sharply, feel the cold and your absence.

- Got it, we'll sleep in separate beds? - Kipp said, smiling again.

- Don't even dream about it, I bought you churros, you're my slave now, boy! - George laughed, feeling Secret laugh silently down below. During the time they spent together, Kipp had become an integral part of his life, and it was his laughter, voice, messages, jokes, dark eyes and fluffy hair that made George smile. No matter how sappy and poetically sweet it all sounded, he loved him with all his heart.

- God, I'm a slave to the churros, where is this world coming to, it seems like I'm not afraid of university now!

- Wow! It turns out the churros are saving the world! - George shouted, throwing up his hands.

Making a "hand-face" Secret laughed again, then got up from the steps and went back into the house, giggling.

- So am I banished from your bed or not? I need to be ready! - Secret threw, also getting up and hurrying after him.

- While my parents are not home, you are completely at my disposal, teapot. - Leaning on the door frame, Secret watched George, who had turned pink.

- Sounds... Tempting. - George barely squeezed out of himself, after which he heard the click of the switch behind Kipp's back and he was very successfully pulled by the collar of his pajama shirt and kissed on the lips. A slight smile broke through the already short kiss. Pulling away, both smiled slyly. Not because of some shaky thoughts, but rather because of the sparks that electrified the tips of their fingers and made them smile stupidly, lovingly.

- Yes, it looks like it's time for us to sleep. - George began to leave, backing away and Kepp belatedly shouted "There!...". The tabletop, like a sword, struck his back.

- You are the worst romantic in my life, you know that? - Already applying the frozen ice with them, Kipper said.

[writercole]

Color me flattered.

I can't believe that 1,500 of you follow my bullshit. I appreciate every single one of you - way more than you realize. I'm gonna get a little sappy on main here so...bear with me.

@cajunquandary and @thinkinghardhardlythinking - my first mutual who I still talk to pretty much every week. B being the first person from here that I met in person. I love how the two of you have encouraged me from day 1, how you've been literal rocks for me when I needed you. I love the two of you so much.

@evergreencowboy - my road trip buddy. You're like the little sister I always wanted. You dragged me into the 1D and T. Swift Fandoms kicking and screaming and didn't let go till I enjoyed it. I love you for it - that love is immortalized in fiction.

@that-one-gay-girl - my trauma buddy. I know the last year has been....tumultuous but I still love you and think about you all the time!

@wayward-dreamer - Rosh. I don't know what to say but you have been right there beside me as I obsess over vigilantes, pilots, heroes, villains, and the morally gray anit-hero. You've been an absolute rockstar of a friend and I love you so much.

@creatively-analytical - Kay. My adopted sister. I love you babe and I cannot wait to see what amazing things you do next. ❤️

@princessmisery666 - Opie. Baby. Love. Darling. My Stace of Anarchy. The love I have for you is unmatched. You've been my sounding board, my therapist, my beta, and my friend for years now. You made me watch a Tom Cruise movie for fuck’s sake. I hate Tom Cruise. But I loved the movie and it has since become my hyperfixation.

I don't know where I'd be without you but I know that my life would be down a very different path. I wouldn't have met these next amazing women and I wouldn't have realized how much of a thing for flightsuits I have. 😘😘

@therebeccaw - my sister from another mister. The reason I'm on Tiktok. My enabler and tribble breeder (God that sounds weird). I have no words for you besides if I go a day without talking to you, I worry. I love you!

@fuckyeahhangman @wildbornsiren @blue-aconite @antiquitea @callsign-fox @princessphilly @evansrogerskitten @hederasgarden @imjess-themess - the rest of my coven. I truly cannot imagine life without you all in it. We met for one idiot or another and we drool over the same hotties and create fake scenarios with our little blorbos. We're each other's biggest cheerleaders and the realism that we sometimes need when our brains are being assholes. I love all of you.

If you're not tagged and we have regular interactions, don't read too much into it. If I recognize your url and go out of my way to interact with you, you are important to me and you bring me joy every time you cross my dash or notes.

I'll be traveling again this week but I'll be doing a sleepover celebration when I get back.

Thank you for being a part of the serotonin and dopamine.

[actuallycassidyiambusy]

You have become one of my favorite blogs. For several reasons.

Your art is fantastic.

Your writing is so good. Like really. Never stop.

You're a funny motherfucker.

But the main reason?

You don't give a SHIT.

I'll elaborate lmao

There are so many antis out there. So many petty people who feel the need to drag others for anything they don't agree with. There are Bluffy shippers that get attacked on Twitter, on here and just about anywhere else they decide to reveal themselves. They get shit on and called names for literally NOTHING. Hypocritical assholes who just can't stand when someone is happy with something they don't like. People who act like you're the antichrist for something as stupid as an age gap or something that isn't technically "canon"

I have been a target myself for some of my Bluffy art and it always upsets me. I get my shit screenshot and then I get blasted for something fictional 😕

But you? It doesn't faze you. You couldn't give a fuck less what people have to say, and I envy that so much. You dust off your shoulders and keep creating some of the best Bluffy content I've ever seen. Seriously, I love when you post and you post with zero regrets. I wish I was like you. I wish the antis didn't bother me.

I'm always showing my friends your work and several of us are currently reading your fic. Please don't ever stop creating. You may not know it, but you make me feel seen. That sounds really sappy, but it's true. A lot of people love what you do and we love your don't give a fuck attitude. It's refreshing for the people who are too shy or too afraid to post their work.

It always pisses me off when I find out someone is bullied into silence or anonymity. There is no reason to hate on something that hurts absolutely no one. No one should be afraid to post their art or share their favorite pair.

You shouldn't be afraid. There are fuckers on this site shipping people with animals for fuck's sake. People who draw monster porn, furry porn and fuck knows what else. And you're feeling scared to post a ship that has an age gap? Fuck, that just doesn't sit right with me. They're literally both adults. Didn't Damon and Stefan Salvatore flirt with a literal high school girl? The age gaps in Supernatural are wild as fuck. (And just to be clear, I'm not hating on those fandoms. I love me some vampires and demons🥴)

Not to mention the people the same fucking age as Luffy shipping themselves with Buggy? Everyone seems okay with that. It's hypocrisy at it's finest, kid.

Fandoms can be extremely toxic and I'm so sorry you got treated so horribly. My blog will always be a safe space and I will never stop posting or answering my asks. I do hope at some point, you feel confident enough to post again. Antis will never go away and they'll never stop being complete assholes. There's no reason for them to screenshot your shit and blast it. A block button is a beautiful thing. They have options, and every time, they choose to act holier than thou. There are times it does bother me. It really just pisses me off more than anything else, but it's not gonna stop me. I'm not hurting a single damn person and neither are you.

I'm flattered that you love my work so much and that you share it with whoever you can. Fuck what they say. Keep making whatever art you like and shove it down their throats. Eventually, they'll see that their behavior has no effect on you and they'll back off. And if they don't? Fuck it. Keep drawing anyway.

Idc who you are. I'm someone you can come to if you need to talk. I'll listen and let you get it all out. Life is hard enough and I'll never understand the people out there who want to make it worse. That's not me.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

𝐅𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

chapter four: From the start

main masterlist // disney masterlist

notes: Modern AU-ish! They're all around 15-16 in this fic, This is not an X Reader fic!! Likes & Reblogs are appreciated !

chapter 3

chapter 5

It was July, and the hot summer air was inviting. Penny and her friends were all playing a game inside. She had decided to have a small get together. For the most part, it had been fun. Penny and Hero, along with Penny's two other friends, Jazzy and Mikayla, were playing a game of twister. It was late, and the stars were out. The noise inside had become too much for Violet, so she decided to sit on Penny's trampoline outside. The stars were nice, and since Penny had a lot of grass, the lightning bugs looked pretty in the tall grass. She had even taken the liberty to hold one in her hand.

"I'm gonna step out real quick." Wilbur said to Hero, trying to call his mom. He stepped out on Penny's back porch, typing away on his phone before he stopped. There was the faint sound of someone laughing. Wilbur looked around before his eyes landed on Violet, sitting on the trampoline. He was quiet as he made his way over to her, wanting to see what she laughing at. As he got closer, he saw her holding something in her hand. He wasn't sure what it was though. Unzipping the entrance of the trampoline, Wilbur climbed in, trying his hardest not to shake the trampoline too much.

"Hey." Wilbur whispered, making his way over to Violet. She looked at him quickly and smiled, before gesturing to her hands.

"They're calm right now." She said as he sat next to her. She tilted her hands slightly and some of the lightning bugs went from her hands to his. Wilbur cringed internally, before noticing how calm Violet had been.

"How long have you been out here?" He whispered to her. She shrugged, before leaning to the side shaking the bugs off her hands. They flew away quickly, calmly though. Wilbur copied her movements and the bugs did the same.

"A few minutes. I came out after the movie finished." Violet said, before Wilbur scoffed.

"Vi that was like an hour ago." Wilbur said, and her eyes went wide.

"It didn't feel like an hour." She said, and he leaned back on his elbows, before staring at the sky.

"Eh, maybe because you were just here by yourself." Wilbur said, watching as Violet laid down next to him, on her back. He took notice of how her hair fanned out around her, given how shiny it was, he could see it clearly.

"Is there something on my face?" She asked, nervous. Wilbur shook his head, before laying back further.

"No." He said, looking up. The stars were bright out, and he mentally took the time to savor the view. Living in the city didn't give him this sight all the time, unless he went to his fathers lab.

"Is that a plane or a star? I cant tell." Violet said, squinting a bit as she pointed. Wilbur looked before shrugging.

"Looks like a star to me." He said, before looking at her. What he didn't expect was her to look at him too. He blushed, being caught in the act of staring at her.

"You sure there's not something on my face?" She asked, her voice quiet. He didn't answer her quick, instead, just continued looking at her. He began to notice all her features, how big her eyes were, the way they shine and reflect the stars. He notices her brows and the way they curve, and how they begin to furrow the only he stares at her. 

"You're really pretty." He says, his voice just as quiet. She blushes, and fights the small smile that comes forms on her face. She tries to hide behind her hair. She's nervous, growing shy on him. 

"Is it bad to say I'm nervous right now?" She asked, her hair falling over the side of her face. Wilbur leaned over, now laying on his side, and she did the same. He brushed the hair out of her face, and over her shoulder. 

"No, nothing is bad with you." He said, and he didn't realize how sappy it had sounded until the words were said aloud. "Is it weird to say I'm nervous?" He asked, before she let out a laugh, shaking her head. 

"Why are you nervous? You're the one sweet talking me." She said, her voice still low. He grinned, before looking to the trampoline, not sure where to look. 

"That doesn't mean I can't be nervous." He said, finally looking back to her. Only then did he realize how close they were. So close, if he had moved a little closer, their noses could touch. 

"At least I'm not the only one." She said, and smiled. He felt his face heat up, and she saw it too. 

"Would it be awkward if I asked you something?" He asked, and she shook her head, never once dropping her smile. 

"You just did." She said, and he chuckled. "But sure, ask away." She said. He grew serious for a second, and upon the change, she did too. 

"Can I kiss you?" He asked, and held his breath, waiting for her to answer. She thought for a moment, letting the silence fill the air, the only thing being heard were the crickets. 

"Please." She said, her voice just above a whisper. She was nervous even more now, as she'd never had her first kiss. She'd always though he might've. His movements were slow, almost cautious, as if he was scared to touch her. He couldn't stop the rate his heart was beating at. His hand moved to cup her cheek, which she seemed to enjoy as she leaned into his touch. The smile on her face was unforgettable, and as they both leaned in, the fireflies filled the air, flying higher into the sky. Violets heart had almost burst out of her chest when their lips finally touched, and she tried her hardest to keep calm. His lips were softer than she imagined, and when they pulled away they simply stared at each other. Quickly, she began to overthink. 'Maybe he regrets it?' She thought, until he started to laugh. "W-whats so funny?" She asked, and he stood, jumping around now. Violet laughed, moving with the trampoline, moving to sit down. 

"Nothings funny! But, I just kissed the girl of my dreams!" He shouted, running over to her and pulling her up by her hands. She giggles as he jumped around with her, going on about how happy he was. "Oh Vi' you dont understand." He said running in circles as she stood in the middle. By now, his hair was a mess, and he was sure he looked insane running around like this. He jumped, before wrapping her in a hug, peppering kisses all over her face. She was a giggling mess, as no one had showed her this much love before. 

"Wilbur, you're acting like you won the lottery." Violet said laughing, hugging him back. 

"I might as well have!" He said, now starting to calm down. "I can finally tell Carl I'm a man now." He said, staring down at her. 

"Carl knew?" She asks, and he scoffs, his hands moving to rest on the small over her back now. 

"Of course he knew. Everyone in my house knows, especially my mom." He said with a roll of his eyes. Her eyes widened, before she smiled. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" She asked, her hands moving to style his hair again, considering how out of place it all was. 

"Because, well... that is an excellent question." He said, and she laughed, louder this time, before her hands rested on his shoulders. " I just, didn't want to ruin our friendship. Make it weird I guess." He said. 

"Well I don't think we did." She said, before he just smiled, leaning his head on her shoulder. 

"So, are we still friends?" He asked, nervous. What if she didn't actually like him? Did she want it to be just a one time thing? Caught in the moment type of situation? 

"Do friends kiss each other?" She asked, the reality of the situation setting in. 

"Some do." He said with a laugh, and she chuckled. "We could just, let things happen." He offered. She seemed comfortable with this idea, lifting his face before kissing his cheek. He smiled, watching her face turn red. 

"Sure, we could do that." 

That was the first time they kissed each other. It definitely hadn't been the last, since it was all Wilbur could do for the next week when the two of them hung out.