Do You Hear The Witches Calling

The first time Dr.Walsh saw the patient’s face, her stomach dropped so violently she almost missed the diagnosis entirely.

“Thirty-two-year-old female,” the paramedic rattled off while they rushed beside the stretcher. “MVC. Driver-side impact. Hypotensive en route, possible splenic rupture—”

Emery barely heard him because the woman on the gurney looked exactly like you. Not remotely similar. She had the same soft mouth. Same nose. Same eyelashes resting against pale cheeks. Even the same little crease between the brows you got when you were annoyed at her.

For one impossible, horrifying second, Emery thought someone had dragged you into her ER and that made her heart stop.

“Dr.Walsh?” Nurse Ramirez says sharply, snapping Emery out of her trance blinking hard and shaking her head as the trauma bay comes back into focus.

‘It’s not you’ she thought and repeated it in her mind like a mantra but even though that wasn’t you it was still close enough to make her chest hurt.

“Pressure’s tanking” someone called out getting away at the patient’s clothes to get them out of the way.

Emery stepped forward taking over “we need to do a FAST ultrasound to see if there’s any internal bleeding.”

“What happens if there’s any internal bleeding?” One of the surgical residents asks.” As they wheel the ultrasound machine over to the side of the patient’s bed?”

Emery turned on the machine and squirted gel onto Jane Doe's stomach and used the wand “well if there’s internal bleeding then we need to prep for surgery and the OR for surgery” she explains checking the computer looking for any signs of bleeding.

The second the image appeared on the screen, Emery’s expression changed. Dark fluid bloomed across the ultrasound like spilled ink.

“There,” she said quietly, jaw tightening. “Positive FAST. She’s bleeding into her abdomen.”

The resident beside her went pale. “How bad?”

“Bad enough that if we stand here talking about it, she dies.” Emery handed the probe off sharply. “Page trauma surgery. Prep OR two now. Massive transfusion protocol.”

Nurses rushed around the room, someone hanging blood while another pushed meds. The cardiac monitor screamed with every drop in the woman’s pressure, the frantic beeping drilling straight into Emery’s skull.

“Looks like we’re scrubbing in.” Emery says taking her gloves off, tossing them into the trash can and following the patient to the OR and all she could see was you, not the Jane Doe.

You laughing in her kitchen while stealing fries off her plate. You half asleep in one of her sweatshirts. You rolling your eyes whenever she came home after a thirty-hour shift and insisted she was “fine.”

It made her sick.

“Pressure’s seventy over forty,” Ramirez called.

“Starting another unit.”

“Move,” Emery ordered, already pushing the stretcher toward the elevator herself. “Come on, stay with me.”

The patient didn’t respond. Her face stayed limp and pale beneath the fluorescent lights and Emery hated how much it looked like you were unconscious.

By the time they burst into the OR, Emery’s hands were already regloved. One of the attendings looked over. “Walsh, you’ve been on shift for twelve hours already. I can take this.”

“I’m fine.”

It came out too fast and too dismissive because she wasn’t fine. The attending paused but didn’t argue when Emery stepped up to the table. Because this was what she did. She saved people. She cut them open and fixed what the world had broken.

Except two hours later, the monitor flatlined.

The sound hollowed the room out.

“No pulse.”

“Start compressions.”

Blood coated Emery’s gloves to the wrists as she searched desperately through the cavity, trying to clamp the bleeding vessel she couldn’t seem to control.

“Come on,” she muttered under her breath. “Come on…”

Another round of epi.

Another rhythm check.

Nothing.

The trauma surgeon across from her looked at the clock first.

Emery already knew.

She could feel it.

“Time of death, 3:17 AM.”

Silence.

The words hit her like a physical blow. For a second, nobody moved. Then the room shifted into practiced aftermath machines shutting off, instruments counted, nurses speaking softly but Emery just stared at the woman’s face.

The surgical mask suddenly felt too tight against Emery’s face. Everyone else moved first. The scrub nurse began quietly covering the body. Someone shut off the monitor, finally silencing the flatline that still echoed inside Emery’s skull. The residents drifted toward cleanup, subdued in the way doctors became after losing someone young.

Emery didn’t move because all she could see was you.

This woman had your face.

And now she was dead.

“Walsh.”

The trauma attending’s voice came carefully this time.

Emery blinked once.

“You okay?”

No she wasn’t okay. She wasn’t even close to being okay , but she nodded automatically anyway because that was what doctors did. They compartmentalized. Buried it. Moved onto the next patient.

“I’m fine,” she said again, quieter this time.

The attending looked unconvinced but didn’t push. “Go take ten.”

Emery stripped off her gloves with more force than necessary. Blood smeared across the stainless steel edge of the table before she tossed them away.

Her hands were shaking but none of the other attending’s said anything. She stepped out of the OR and the hallway lights hit her like a freight train.

A nurse rushed past with labs. Someone laughed down the corridor. A monitor alarmed from another room. Life continued around her like someone hadn’t just died under her hands but that was the thing with hospital’s everything must go on.

Emery made her way to the locker room she needed to hear your voice

Emery made her way to the locker room because she needed to hear your voice.

Needed it in the same way people needed oxygen.

The second the door shut behind her, the silence crashed over her all at once. The adrenaline that had kept her moving through surgery drained from her body so fast it made her dizzy.

Her hands were still shaking.

She stared at them for a second like they belonged to someone else.

Those same hands had cracked open a chest thirty minutes ago. Had tried to save a woman who looked so much like you it made her feel haunted.

And they’d failed.

Emery braced both palms against the metal lockers and lowered her head.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

Her phone was already in her hand before she consciously decided to grab it. She opened your contact immediately.

A photo of you smiled back at her.

You were sitting on the kitchen counter in one of her hoodies, grinning at whoever had taken the picture probably her. There was flour on your cheek from the disastrous attempt the two of you had made at baking cookies after one of her overnight shifts.

Emery felt her throat tighten painfully.

“Come on,” she whispered to herself.

She hit the call button The phone rang four times before it went straight to voicemail and her stomach dropped.

“Hey, you’ve reached Y/N. I’m probably asleep or ignoring my phone again—”

Emery hung up before the message finished. You probably were asleep. That was all. It was almost four in the morning. Normal people slept at four in the morning.

But the unease in her chest only got worse.

She texted you immediately.

baby call me when you wake up

A second later:

please

Emery stared at the screen.

Nothing.

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly. Somewhere down the hallway a trauma pager went off again followed by hurried footsteps.

Usually those sounds grounded her.

Tonight they just made her feel sick.

The image of that woman’s face kept flashing behind her eyes.

Dead on the table.

Looking like you.

Her phone remained silent.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face.

You were fine.

You had to be fine.

Maybe your phone died. Maybe you fell asleep on the couch again with one of your comfort movies playing too loud.

A knock sounded against the locker room door bringing her back to the present.

“Walsh?”

Ramirez poked her head inside carefully.

Emery straightened automatically, shoving every emotion back down where it belonged.

“What?”

“There’s coffee in the lounge.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Ramirez studied her for a moment. “Nobody said anything about food.”

Emery exhaled sharply through her nose.

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve said that four times in the last hour.”

“Because I am.”

It wasn’t convincing Not with the dark circles under her eyes or the blood still smeared faintly near the cuff of her scrub top.

Ramirez leaned against the doorway. “That patient got to you.”

“No,” Emery answered too quickly.

The nurse raised an eyebrow.

Emery looked away first.

“She looked like someone,” she admitted quietly.

Ramirez’s expression softened immediately. “Y/N?” Pop

Emery didn’t answer she didn't need to because Ramirez has been on the job long enough to know the signs.

“Oh.”

The silence stretched between them. Neither of them knew what to say. The only saving grace was Emery’s phone buzzing violently in her hand. Both of them looked down instantly. Relief hit so fast Emery almost felt weak.

“See?” Ramirez said gently. “Probably just—”

But the second Emery looked at the screen, every ounce of relief vanished.

Unknown Number.

Her stomach twisted.

She answered immediately. “Hello?”

Static crackled through the speaker followed by chaos in the background.

“Is this Dr. Emery Walsh?”

Every muscle in her body locked.

“Yes.”

“This is Pittsburgh EMS. We have your number listed as emergency contact for Y/N Y/L/N.”

The world stopped. Ramirez’s face changed instantly at whatever she saw in Emery’s expression.

“What happened?” Emery demanded.

Her voice no longer sounded like hers.

“Motor vehicle collision occurred approximately ten minutes ago,” the paramedic said quickly. “She was found unconscious at the scene and—”

“No.”

The word tore itself out of her.

No.

Not you.

Not after tonight.

“We’re en route to County General now—”

“I’m already here,” Emery snapped.

The paramedic paused briefly. “She’s critical, Doctor.”

Emery’s knees nearly buckled

Around her, the hospital suddenly felt too suffocating. The exact same words from earlier echoed through her skull.

Driver-side impact.

Hypotensive.

Possible internal bleeding.

Like something cruel had decided to repeat itself.

“ETA two minutes,” the paramedic continued. “Possible abdominal hemorrhage and chest trauma. BP is unstable.”

Emery was already moving before the call ended.

Locker room door slamming open.

Ramirez immediately followed behind her. “Emery—”

“That’s my girlfriend.”

The words cracked apart on the way out.

It stopped Ramirez cold for half a second because Dr. Emery Walsh never sounded afraid. The Emery she knew was cocky and confident but this Emery looked terrified.

They burst into the ER just as the ambulance bay doors flew open.

“Move!”

The stretcher came barreling through the doors surrounded by paramedics and there you were.Blood in your hair. Skin pale beneath the trauma room lights and Motionless.

Emery physically stumbled when she saw you. For one horrible second she couldn’t breathe. Because suddenly the dead woman from earlier was gone and this was real.

This was not some Jane Doe who looks like you.

“Y/N,” she whispered.

Nobody heard her over the noise.

“BP dropping!”

“She was cardiac arrested once in transport!”

“Possible splenic rupture!”

The words hit Emery like punches to the ribs Like the universe had decided to torture her personally.

“Dr. Walsh?” one of the residents asked nervously.

Emery snapped back to life instantly.

“Trauma one. NOW.”

The team moved.

You didn’t.

Your head rolled weakly with the movement of the stretcher and Emery reached for you automatically, blood immediately smearing across her hands.

You were cold.

“Baby,” she breathed shakily, brushing damp hair away from your face. “Hey, look at me.”

Nothing.

The monitor screamed again.

“Pressure’s crashing!”

Fear unlike anything Emery had ever experienced ripped through her chest.

Not this. Please not this. she thought

“Get blood ready,” she barked. “Call OR two. Move!”

Someone hesitated.

Hospital policy.

No treating family.

No operating on people you loved.

Emery looked at them with tears already gathering in her eyes and something in her expression made the entire room go silent.

“She is dying,” Emery said.

Not Dr. Walsh.

Not the brilliant trauma surgeon everybody feared and respected.

Just Emery.

Just a woman watching the love of her life bleed out in front of her.

“Somebody help me save her.”

Your fingers twitched weakly against the sheets. It was tiny and barely noticeable but Emery caught it immediately.

“There you are,” she whispered desperately, gripping your hand. “Stay with me, sweetheart. Stay with me.”

Your eyelashes fluttered faintly and a broken sound left your throat.

Thank God.

Emery bent forward until her forehead rested shakily against yours for half a second despite the chaos exploding around her.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, voice breaking completely. “I’ve got you, baby. I swear to God, I’ve got you.”

“Walsh, you know that you can’t operate on a loved one right?” Dr.Espinoza the head of surgery (bare with me I can’t remember who is head of surgery in the Pitt) says softly.

Emery sniffles and nods her head “I know I know” she admits looking back at the doctor.

“She’ll be in good hands so why don’t you clock out and we’ll let you know when she’s out of surgery.” Dr.Espinoza says as you begin to get wheeled up into the OR.

Emery’s entire body moved on instinct.

“No.”

It came out harsher than she intended, cracking apart under the weight of panic clawing up her throat. She followed the stretcher automatically as they pushed you toward the elevators.

“I’m going with her.”

“Emery—” Dr. Espinoza started carefully.

“I said I’m going with her.”

The doors to the elevator opened with a sharp ding and the surgical team rolled you inside. Emery walked in beside the stretcher before anyone could stop her. Ramirez squeezed in behind her at the last second, probably because she knew Emery was one bad sentence away from completely unraveling.

The elevator doors shut. Silence.Or at least silence compared to the chaos downstairs. Your hand looked so small wrapped in oxygen tubing and dried blood. Emery reached for it anyway. Your skin was freezing.

“Baby,” she whispered shakily, thumb brushing weakly over your knuckles. “Hey. Stay with me.”

Your eyelids fluttered faintly again.

Not fully conscious.

Not really there.

But enough that Emery saw the tiny movement and nearly broke apart from relief.

“There she is,” Ramirez murmured quietly from the corner.

Emery swallowed hard.

Your lips parted around a strained little breath and Emery leaned closer immediately, desperate enough to hear anything.

“…Em…”

The sound barely existed.

But it destroyed her.

“Oh God.”

Her eyes burned instantly.

“I’m right here,” she said quickly, voice trembling now. “I’m right here, sweetheart. Don’t try to talk, okay? Just breathe for me.”

Your face pinched faintly like you were trying to focus on her voice through the pain.

Then the monitor shrieked.

“Pressure’s dropping again,” one of the nurses warned.

Emery’s head snapped up immediately. “How much?”

“Sixty systolic.”

“Shit.”

The elevator couldn’t move fast enough.

Every second felt stolen.

Emery looked back down at you and suddenly all she could see was every ordinary moment she might lose.

You stealing her hoodies.

You dancing barefoot in the kitchen at two in the morning.

You asleep against her chest after she came home from impossible shifts.

The way you always mumbled, “you’re late,” even when you were half unconscious.

All of it threatened to disappear in one terrible night.

The elevator doors finally opened onto the surgical floor.

“Move!”

The team rushed forward again.

OR staff shoved open double doors while another nurse rattled off your vitals to anesthesia. Emery stayed glued to your side until the bright lights of the operating room hit her square in the face.

And then she stopped because this was it. The line. The one line she couldn’t cross.

Dr. Espinoza turned toward her gently. “Emery.”

Her chest heaved once.

You looked so pale on that table.

Too still.

Too much like the woman from earlier.

Except this time Emery loved you.

This time it was your blood covering her hands.

“She needs surgery now,” the attending surgeon said firmly while scrubbing in. “We’re losing time.”

Emery nodded automatically but her feet wouldn’t move.

You made another weak sound somewhere beneath the oxygen mask.

Her composure shattered completely.

She crossed the room in two steps and grabbed your hand again before they could wheel you fully beneath the surgical lights.

“Hey,” she whispered frantically. “Hey, look at me.”

Your eyes opened barely a sliver.

Confused.

Glassy with pain.

But they found hers.

And Emery almost collapsed from the sheer relief of it.

“There you are,” she breathed.

A tear slipped down before she could stop it.

You looked terrified.

That hurt worse than anything.

“Em…” you slurred weakly.

“I know, baby. I know.”

Your fingers twitched against hers, trying to hold on. Emery bent down fast, pressing a trembling kiss against your forehead despite the blood and the noise and the people moving around you.

“I love you,” she whispered fiercely. “You hear me? I love you so much.”

Your lashes fluttered again.

Then your eyes started slipping shut.

“No, no, no— stay awake for me.”

“Emery.” Dr. Espinoza’s voice was firmer now.

She looked up.

The entire OR had gone quiet around them.

Because every person in that room could see it.

The terror in Emery’s face.

The way her hand shook holding yours.

The way she looked less like a surgeon and more like someone standing on the edge of losing everything.

“You need to let us work,” Dr. Espinoza said softly.

Emery’s breathing turned uneven.

For the first time in years, she felt completely helpless. Ramirez stepped closer carefully. “I’ll stay with her,” she promised quietly.

Emery looked back at you one last time. Your heartbeat stuttered across the monitor. Her thumb brushed across your cheek gently, wiping away a streak of blood near your temple.

“Please,” she whispered so quietly nobody else could hear it. “Please don’t leave me.”

Then she finally let go.

And the second they pulled your stretcher away from her, Emery felt like someone had ripped her heart directly out of her chest.

One hour passed.

Then two.

Emery stayed exactly where she was outside the OR.

Someone brought her coffee at some point. It went cold untouched beside her chair.

Residents and nurses drifted quietly around the surgical floor, speaking in hushed voices whenever they looked her way. Nobody had ever seen Emery Walsh like this before.

Not cold.

Not composed.

Not untouchable.

Just terrified.

Every time the OR doors moved, her head snapped up instantly.

Every single time.

At one point Ramirez tried to convince her to change out of her bloodstained scrubs.

Emery looked down at them blankly like she hadn’t even noticed.

Your blood.

Still on her hands.

Still on her clothes.

She couldn’t bring herself to take them off.

At 6:12 AM, the doors finally opened again.

Everyone in the hallway seemed to freeze simultaneously.

Dr. Espinoza stepped out first, removing his surgical cap slowly.

Emery was on her feet before he even spoke.

The expression on his face nearly stopped her heart.

No no no—

“She’s alive.”

The breath Emery let out sounded almost painful.

Espinoza held up a hand quickly before she collapsed from relief completely.

“She’s critical,” he continued carefully. “Massive blood loss. We repaired the splenic rupture and controlled the liver bleed, but the next twenty-four hours are going to matter.”

Emery nodded rapidly, tears already spilling again.

Alive.

You were alive.

“She’s intubated and headed to ICU now,” he said softly. “But she made it through surgery.”

Emery’s knees finally gave out.

Ramirez caught her before she hit the floor completely.

A broken sound tore out of Emery’s chest as she covered her face with both hands. Not grief this time.

Relief.

Pure, overwhelming relief.

For several seconds she couldn’t speak at all.

Espinoza crouched slightly in front of her. “Hey.”

Emery looked up.

“She fought hard,” he told her gently. “Really hard.”

That undid her completely.

Because of course you did.

You always did.

“She asked for you before anesthesia fully took her under,” he added quietly.

Emery started crying harder.

Ramirez squeezed her shoulder firmly while Espinoza stood again, giving her a second to breathe through it.

Finally Emery dragged a shaking hand down her face.

“Can I see her?”

Espinoza nodded immediately. “ICU’s getting her settled now. Give them ten minutes.”

Ten minutes felt unbearable.

instagram post by y/n.sargeant

liked by logansargeant, charles_leclerc, and 1,204,882 others

y/n.sargeant some weekends lately 💙

view comments

[email protected]/n.sargeant 🤨 who is that???

y/n.sargeant — why do you want to know?

Logan2sargeant— because I’m your brother

User1 — Gurl who is this?????

User2 — if you listen closely you can probably hear @logan2sargeant tweaking out 😂

Oscar81piastri — I can confirm he is tweaking out

Logan2sargeant — well can you blame me??

Oscar81piastri — I thought you knew about this.

Logan2sargeant — OSCAR WHAT DOES THAT MEAN

User3 — umm bestie an older man😟

Yourbff— tell Blue i said hello

y/n.sargeant @.Yourbff Blue says hello!

Texts between Logan and y/n

Logan: Where are you

Y/n: busy

Logan: That’s not an answer

Y/n: then maybe ask a better question

Logan: Why are you being suspicious lately

Y/n:i learned from the best

Logan:You literally soft launched a man

Y/n:and?

Logan: AND?????

Y/n: you’re very dramatic for someone who’s supposed to be training

Logan: I’m serious 😭 are you dating someone

Y/n: maybe

Logan:WHO

Y/n:someone nice

Logan:oh my god

Y/n:calm down

Logan: IS HE AN ATHLETE

Y/n: kind of

Logan: WHAT DOES “KIND OF” MEAN

Y/n: it means exactly what it sounds like

Logan:IS HE OLD

Y/n:??????

Logan: one of your post had a text that said “baby I’m old enough to be your father”

Y/n: that is the weakest evidence i’ve ever seen

Logan:I KNOW YOU

Y/n:debatable

Logan: DO I KNOW HIM

Y/n: probably

Logan:FROM RACING???

Y/n: 🙂

Logan:Y/N.

Y/n: Logan.

Logan: PLEASE JUST TELL ME

Y/n: no 💙

Instagram post by Kasey.Kahne

Liked by y/n.sargeant and Formula1

Caption Monaco was truly amazing congratulations to @.max33verstappen on winning the race. I had a lot of fun this weekend and thank you @Formula1 for the tickets!

View comments

@Formula1 @Kasey.Kahne you’re welcome back at anytime

Liked by Kasey.Kahne

Max33verstappen @Kasey.Kahne thanks mate!

Y/n.Sargeant you mean to tell me that my childhood crush was in Monaco the same weekend I was and I didn’t even know 😫

Liked by Kasey.kahne

DaltonSargeant — remember when you were a kid and if Kasey had a bad race weekend it would ruin your whole day?

Liked by Kasey.kahne

Logan2Sargeant — I FORGOT ABOUT THAT and don’t forget that she used to have big heart eyes for him.

Liked by Kasey.kahne

Y/n.sargeant — @DaltonSargeant and @Logan2Sargeant you both are dead to me.

User10– it’s Kasey liking the comments for me 😂

Y/n.Sargent— don’t get too excited the old man is chronically online

User10 what does that mean?????

Texts between y/n and blue

Y/n: did you seriously like the comment about me having a crush on you as a kid

Blue 💙:thought it was cute

Y/n: you are NEVER beating the older man allegations

Blue 💙:don’t know what that means

Y/n:exactly

Blue 💙:what do you want for dinner

Y/n:you.

Blue 💙:be serious

Y/n:i am being serious

Blue 💙:behave

Y/n:make me

Instagram post by Y/n.Sargeant

Liked by your.bff, lilymunihe nicolepiastri

Caption - Date night with Blue 💙

User4– I’m calling it now “Blue” is Jenson Button

User5 — oh my god I need this to be true

User6 — you remember when he tried to interview her and she blushed like crazy

Y/n.sargeant thank you for reminding about this and no it’s not Jenson Button but good guess

User1 — I thought blue was a dog this whole time 😭

Logan2Sargeant — y/n PLEASE 🙏 MY YOUR BROTHER IM SUPPOSED TO KNOW THESE THINGS 😭

Y/n.sargeant I’m sorry I don’t have a brother

LilyMuniHe - we should do a double date in the future

Alex23Albon - I second this

Logan2Sargeant — ALEX YOU KNOW WHO OT IS????

Alex23Albon — no comment

User7 Logan is collectively loosing his shit

CarlosSainz55 — tell blue i said hi

Logan2Sargeant — THERE’S MORE OF YOU???

Y/n.Sargeant — he says hello 💙

Logan2Sargeant — STOP SAYING THAT

Texts between y/n and blue

Blue 💙: you looked pretty tonight

Y/n:pretty?

Blue 💙:beautiful then

Y/n:better

Blue 💙:brat

Y/n: your brat though 💙

Twitter (read from left to right)

Blue 💙: saw your tweets with verstappen

Y/n: are you jealous 🤭

Blue 💙: no

Y/n: liar

Blue 💙: i could take him

Y/n: BLUE 😭

Double date group chat

Lily:reservation is at 7 don’t be late 🙂

Alex:she means y/n specifically

Y/n:rude

Alex:deserved

Kasey:we’ll be on time

Lily:see this is why i trust kasey more than you

Y/n:wow okay

Alex:to be fair he seems responsible

Y/n:he literally encouraged me to buy another vintage jacket yesterday

Kasey:and i’d do it again

Lily:oh so you’re BOTH enablers

Instagram y/n.sargeant has posted

Liked by LilyMuniHe,Alex23Albon Kasey.Kahne

Caption- did someone say double date night???

View comments

LilyMuniHe-I had a lot of fun last night🩷

Alex23Albon — I don’t know who I was expecting to meet last night but it sure wasn’t him

Logan2Sargeant — tell me

Alex albon — I seemed to have developed short term memory loss

Logan2Sargeant— coward

Mr.Blue — I had a wonderful time last night :)

User14 IS THIS THE BLUE

Liked by Y/n.Sargeant

Logan2sargeant— interesting 🤔

User15 hear me out it’s mark webber

Markwebber- wrong

User15 —oh my god 😭😭

More texts

Alex:quick question

Y/n:that already sounds dangerous

Alex:does logan know who blue is yet

Y/n:absolutely not

Lily:you’re evil 😭

Y/n:it’s funny

Kasey:she laughed for ten minutes after he texted “is blue a horse”

Alex:A HORSE???

Lily:LOGAN 😭😭😭

Y/n:he was genuinely trying to solve it

Instagramy/n.sargeant has posted

Liked by Sebvettle, Max33Stappen Kasey.Kahne RedbullRacing and yourbff

Caption Blue gave me his old vintage redbull jacket 🤭

View comments

Mr.Blue — it suits you better 💙

Logan2sargeant— WHO IS THIS

Mr.blue — a man who is dating your sister

Logan2sargeant — 😭😭😭😭

Logan2Sargeant — THAT DOESN’T ANSWER ANYTHING

Mr.Blue — seemed pretty straightforward to me

Alex23Albon — i’m crying 😭

LilyMuniHe — poor logan

User16 Logan give up please 🙏

Logan2sargent — never

User17 — it’s Sebastian vettel I’m calling

User18 has anyone noticed that Kasey Kahne has been in her likes twice???

User19 - I think you are on to something

User20 — twice??? girl he’s EVERYWHERE

User21 — no because why is this man camping in her comments section 😭

Logan2Sargeant — MAN???

Oscar81Piastri — catching up finally i see

GeorgeRussell63 — honestly i thought logan already knew

Logan2Sargeant — WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP SAYING THAT

gc name: emotional terrorism

OscarPiastri — logan how are we feeling today

Logan2Sargeant — terrible actually

Y/n.Sargeant — dramatic

Logan2Sargeant — my sister is dating a man old enough to remember landlines

Y/n.Sargeant — HE IS NOT THAT OLD???

OscarPiastri — blue typing with one finger does support logan’s argument a little

Y/n.Sargeant — OSCAR???

Logan2Sargeant — THANK YOU

OscarPiastri — happy to help

Y/n.Sargeant — traitor

Logan2Sargeant — anyway i have more evidence

Y/n.Sargeant — oh brother

Logan2Sargeant — blue used this emoji earlier 🙂

OscarPiastri — oh that’s devastating

Y/n.Sargeant — YOU BOTH ARE INSANE

Logan2Sargeant — nobody under 35 uses that emoji unironically

Y/n.Sargeant — i hate this groupchat

OscarPiastri — did he also text with proper punctuation.

Logan2Sargeant — YES???

OscarPiastri — thoughts and prayers y/n

Y/n.Sargeant — i’m blocking both of you

Logan2Sargeant — HE ALSO CALLED INSTAGRAM “THE APP”

OscarPiastri — okay yeah that man pays taxes early

Y/n.Sargeant — OSCAR I TOLD YOU THAT IN CONFIDENCE

OscarPiastri — and yet here we are

Logan2Sargeant — WAIT SO IT IS AN OLDER MAN

Y/n.Sargeant — no ❤️

OscarPiastri — technically yes

Y/n.Sargeant — OSCAR.

Logan2Sargeant — OSCAR I COULD KISS YOU RIGHT NOW

OscarPiastri — please don’t

Y/n.Sargeant — i hope both sides of your pillow are warm tonight

OscarPiastri — worth it honestly

Logan2Sargeant — does he at least treat you right

Y/n.Sargeant — ☹️

OscarPiastri — aw

Y/n.Sargeant — yeah he does

Logan2Sargeant — …okay good

Y/n.Sargeant — logie ☹️💙

Logan2Sargeant — don’t make this emotional i’m still being a hater

Instagram Kasey.Kahne has posted

Liked by NASCAR, Y/n.Sargeant dalton.sargeant

Caption — I’ve spent weeks trying to figure out what to say but it’s with a heavy heart that I herby announce my retirement from NASCAR. It’s been a wild journey and I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. Thank you for the opportunity of a lifetime.

Y/n.Sargeant — NOOOO NOT MY GOAT 😭😭😭

Liked by Kasey.Kahne

Dalton.Sargeant— remember when you would threaten Logan and I if we tried changing the channel during his interviews.

Liked by Kasey.Kahne

Logan2sargeant - oh my god she would get so mad

Liked by Kasey.Kahne

Y/n.sargeant— @logan2sargeant and @dalton.sargeant I hate you both 😤

Kasey.Kahne @y/n.sargeant I think it’s cute ☺️

Y/n.sargeant - @kasey.kahne STAWP 🤭😫

Logan2sargeant — interesting 🤔

Y/n.sargeant —GET LOST LOGAN

User14 calling it now blue is Kasey

Y/n.sargeant has posted and deleted a story

Logan2Sargeant — WHAT THE HELL IS THIS

Alex23Albon — oh that’s definitely him 😭

LilyMuniHe — Y/N????

User19 — OH MY GOD SHE PANICKED AND DELETED IT

User20 — EVERYONE STAY CALM

User21 — THIS IS NOT A DRILL

Charles_Leclerc — smooth

Y/n.Sargeant — charles please don’t start

Oscar81Piastri — the delete made it so much worse actually

User22 — “this story is no longer available” AFTER FIVE MINUTES IS KILLING ME 😭

User23 — she realized she exposed herself and HIT DELETE

Logan2Sargeant — exposed WHAT

User24 — LOGAN OPEN YOUR EYES

DaltonSargeant — i can’t believe she accidentally posted one of his old photos

Y/n.Sargeant — DALTON SHUT UP

User25 — OLD WHAT???

Kasey.Kahne liked this post

User26 — HE LIKED IT OH MY GOD

Logan2Sargeant — WHY IS HE ALWAYS HERE

Oscar81Piastri — because he’s dating your sister logan

Logan2Sargeant — OSCAR.

User27 — this is genuinely the funniest soft launch ever

User28 — the way she deleted it immediately means she KNOWS

Alex23Albon — honestly this has been inevitable for months

Logan2Sargeant — ALEX???

User29 — not y/n accidentally confirming every theory account at once

Yourbff — girl you folded under pressure SO fast 😭

Y/n.Sargeant — i hate every single one of you

Kasey.Kahne — i thought it was a nice picture

User30 — HE SPOKE

User31 — THE OLD MAN HAS ENTERED THE CHAT

Y/n.Sargeant — “old man” reading these comments over my shoulder btw

User32 — OH THEY’RE TOGETHER RIGHT NOW?????

Kasey.Kahne — she told me not to laugh at the comments but i’m struggling

Logan2Sargeant — YOU ARE NOT HELPING

Y/n.Sargeant — blue stop encouraging him 😭

User33 — BLUE???? SHE JUST CALLED HIM BLUE PUBLICLY

User34 — OH MY GOD CONFIRMED

twitter

y/n.sargeant has posted

Caption as Lance Orion once said “I love you, Blue. I loved you then, I love you now, I'll love you tomorrow even if I'm no longer on this earth. No time exists where I won't love you."

Kasey.Kahne — love you more sweetheart 💙

Logan2Sargeant — i’ve accepted my fate at this point

Oscar81Piastri — character development

Alex23Albon — proud of you logan

User35 — HE CALLED HER SWEETHEART IM UNWELL

Logan2Sargeant — i still think this is weird btw

Kasey.Kahne — noted

Logan2Sargeant — but you make her happy i guess

Y/n.Sargeant — aw logie ☹️💙

The soft leather of the armchair creaks as you settle onto Carlos’s lap, the warmth of his thighs pressing against the backs of your own. His hands find your hips immediately, fingers splaying wide to anchor you in place. He’s already hard beneath his jeans. You can feel the late afternoon sun slant through the slatted blinds, painting stripes of gold across the hardwood floor of Carlos’s Madrid apartment. You’re perched on the edge of the plush leather sofa, a textbook open in your lap, your concentration fraying at the edges. He pads over from the kitchen, two glasses of wine in hand, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

“Cariño, you’re working too hard. Come here.” He sets the glasses on the low table, then settles into the center of the sofa, spreading his thighs in an open invitation. “Sit with me. I’ll help.”

You know exactly what that means. Your pulse quickens as you rise, leaving the book behind. He pulls you onto his lap, and you straddle him, the warmth of his body seeping through the thin fabric of your shorts. His hands find your hips, guiding you closer until you’re pressed against the unmistakable bulge in his trousers.

“Better,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. “Now, repite conmigo.” Repeat after me. He shifts beneath you, and you feel his cock hardening against your core, a thick line of pressure through the denim. “Yo quiero…”

“Yo quiero,” you echo, your voice steadier than you feel.

“…aprender español.”

“…aprender español.”

His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you forward in a slow grind. The friction sends a jolt through you. He’s not trying to hide it, his cock swells, straining against his zipper. “Good,” he praises, his accent thickening. “Now, tú tienes…”

“Tú tienes…” Your voice wavers as he lifts his hips slightly, pressing his length harder against your clothed cunt.

“…un culo muy bonito.” A laugh rumbles in his chest. “Say it.”

“Tú tienes un culo muy bonito,” you manage, cheeks flushing.

“Muy bien.” His hands slide down, cupping your ass, squeezing. Then, with practiced ease, he pops the button on his trousers and lowers the zipper. His cock springs free, fat and flushed, the head already slick with a pearl of pre-cum. He doesn’t rush. He takes your hand and wraps it around his shaft, letting you feel the heat, the throb.

“Just hold it,” he instructs, his voice low and rough. “Calentamiento. Cock warming. You keep me warm while we study.”

You shift your weight, settling so that your bare thigh presses along the length of him. He hisses through his teeth, his eyes half-lidding. “Repite: ‘Yo estudio español con mi novio.’”

“Yo estudio español con mi novio,” you whisper, your thumb tracing a slow circle around the tip, smearing the moisture.

He groans, hips jerking. “Mierda, sí. Again. But slower.”

“Yo… estudio… español…” You pause, letting your palm glide down to his balls, cupping them gently. “…con mi novio.”

He captures your mouth in a kiss, hungry and deep, tongue sliding against yours. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark. “You’re a quick learner.” He lifts your hips, aligning you so the head of his cock nudges at the soaked fabric of your shorts. “But I think you need more… immersive lesson.”

He doesn’t take them off. Not yet. He grinds against you, the denim of his open trousers rubbing your clit through the thin cotton, his cock sliding hot and slick along your outer lips. “Repite: ‘Carlos me enseña español.’”

“Carlos me enseña español,” you gasp as he rocks harder, the friction building.

“Y yo…” He pushes the waistband of your shorts aside, just enough for the tip to catch on your entrance. “…le doy una lección.”

You feel the blunt pressure, the stretch of his head breaching you. Your hands grip his shoulders. “Y yo le doy una lección,” you choke out.

He sinks into you in one slow, deliberate inch. The stretch is exquisite, full, hot, unrelenting. He holds you there, buried halfway, his forehead pressed to yours. “Ahora repite después de mí: ‘Me gusta cuando Carlos me folla despacio.’”

Your cunt clenches around him at the words. “Me gusta cuando Carlos…” He pushes deeper, seating himself fully. A broken moan escapes you. “…me folla despacio.”

“Perfecto.” He begins to move, a slow, grinding pace that has his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. His hands guide your hips, setting a rhythm. “Uno, dos, tres…” He counts in Spanish, each number punctuated by a firm thrust. “…cuatro, cinco, seis…”

You lose track of the numbers, lost in the heat of his body, the smell of his skin, the slide of his cock. Your own hips start to roll, meeting his strokes.

“Sigue repitiendo,” he commands, breath ragged. “Tell me you want to learn more.”

“Quiero aprender más,” you whimper, the words dissolving into a gasp as he angles his hips, hitting that spot deep inside.

“¿Más?” He speeds up, the sound of wet skin filling the room. “¿Cómo esto?”

“Yes—sí, así—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. He fucks you on that couch, the textbook forgotten on the floor, the Spanish phrases turning into broken pleas and curses until you both come undone, his seed spilling hot inside you, your walls milking him through the aftershocks.

After, he stays buried, softening, his lips trailing kisses along your jaw. “¿Qué has aprendido hoy?” he whispers.