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[ranjith11]

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[avreygrid]

Our Shared Quiet

She wasn’t supposed to fall for a Formula 1 driver--not when her life as a cardiothoracic surgery resident was already stretched thin between saving lives and curating her online world as a fashion/lifestyle influencer. But when a chance encounter with Lando Norris turns into something slow, magnetic, and impossible to define, Y/N finds herself caught between two lives she thought couldn’t coexist. As she faced spiraling headlines, pressure of performing at her best in both of her careers, and the distance that threatened to unravel what never had a label to begin with, she must ask herself: in a world that demands so much, can quiet love still survive the noise? (18k+ words)

Pairing: Lando Norris x doctor-influencer!reader Genre: Fluff, slow burn, fans to lover (kind of), bit of angst TW: Media pressure, public scrutiny, grief (death of a patient)

It seemed like the rain wouldn’t stop any time soon, when I hurriedly stepped outside my apartment lobby. I looked down to my feet, and saw that my canvas shoes were already splashed with brown puddles. Great, I thought to myself, what a great way to start an already late day. The streets were already busy with people, some running, probably catching the earliest MRT that could take them to their destination on time. Some were walking while casually sipping a cup of brown liquid with hot steam visible in the cold air. And there were people like me, who just arrived home late from a prolonged shift handoff and had their whole schedule of the day delayed.

It was my day off, and I had planned ahead of what I could do to make the most of one of the rarest days in a year. Juggling life as a cardiothoracic surgery resident and a fashion/lifestyle influencer sounded impossible even to my own ears. Yet here I was, just got back from a 48 hour shift at the hospital with heavy, dark eyebags, dull skin and chipped nails. I’d prefer to drown myself with pillows and blankets and sleep until tomorrow–especially after this long shift if it was not for the sake of making myself presentable for tonight’s dinner with a brand I’m collaborating with. I booked a 10 AM mani-pedicure appointment, a facial treatment at 12 (finally got to use my 500 USD worth of treatment subscription after abandoning it for more than 6 months), and also made an appointment with my sales associate at bottega. I have 15 minutes to get to the nail salon, which is a 25 minute walking distance. I’m so doomed.

By the time the clock hits 3 in the afternoon, I finished my facial treatment. My eyebags were still there yet barely noticeable. My face was glowing, and I was pretty satisfied with how instant the result was. I did have a good nap too so I wasn’t complaining. My feet then led me to bottega where I picked up a small purse that was finally in stock. It was an Andiamo clutch in this beautiful burgundy color that I’d been eyeing since forever. My favorite sales associate kindly texted me last night and I just had to grab it today.

The trip there was cut short when my phone rang. My high school best friend, Tiara, who's also my manager since my instagram and tiktok account took off and I personally couldn’t handle all the brands dealing alone said through the phone, “Hi! Where are you?”

I finalized the payment with my sales associate, and waited for him to pack my little baby when I answered, “I’m at Bottega, why?”

“No, just wanted to remind you about tonight’s dinner event,” she said. “Look, there will be a lot of people with connections attending tonight–”

“Okay, I just need to play nice and mingle. I got it handled, Tiara.” 

I hated attending these kinds of events. My job as a doctor was already demanding a lot of socializing, and I was not happy that doing social media–which used to be my escape, turned out to be as draining. Not that I hated my job, in fact I loved it. I really loved my job as a doctor, the satisfaction when I got to see my patients that came into the ER in the state of near death were finally discharged and thanked me personally for saving their lives. I also loved my job doing social media, where my videos could help thousands of people finally be able to live their lives confidently. It’s truly rewarding. But I just hate the socializing.  

“Okay.. if you say so. I’ll come with you tonight, so don’t worry too much.” Tiara said. “And you might need to go home now, the glam team are on their way with our clothes.”

“Okay, okay see ya.”

Tiara ended the call just right in time when my bag was packed. “Here you go, Ms.Y/L/N.”

“Thank you so much.” 

“Hey, hun!” Tiara hugged me as soon as I entered the living room. “I’ve been waiting for the glam team to get here!.”

I dropped my shopping bag on the sofa, made a beeline for the kitchen to grab some water. “T, remind me again which brand’s dinner tonight? I totally blanked.”

“It’s Tumi, I told you last night!”

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t read your text. I was on call, remember?”

“My bad.” Tiara replied sheepishly.

I was sipping a cup of cold water when she suddenly jumped from the sofa and ran to me with her phone. “Dude!”

I nearly choked at the sudden movement, “What?”

She tapped the screen. It was a video posted on Instagram—someone walking through our local airport. I didn’t recognize the person, but the location was unmistakable. “It’s Lando Norris’ PR manager’s account, she’s in town!”

“So?”

“It’s the Tumi dinner, Y/N. And Lando’s their brand ambassador. Connect the dots.”

I tried to play it cool. “Okay… but there’s no guarantee he’s actually here. Maybe his PR manager is just visiting a family or—”

I stared at her, trying to keep my expression neutral. On the inside? Chaos. An emotional arrhythmia.

“Actually.. whatever,” she said. "You don’t even like McLaren."

She pretended to dismiss it, but I knew from that teasing glimmer in her eyes, she was testing me for a reaction.

“I don’t,” I said too quickly. “I’m a Mercedes girl through and through.”

Tiara raised a brow. “Mmhmm. So all that scrolling through Lando’s tagged photos last week was what? Research?”

I glared at her over the rim of my water bottle. “I was just scrolling.”

My heart skipped a beat. Lando Norris. In my city. Possibly at the same event I was going to tonight? No. Way.

I got into Formula 1 totally by accident. Second year of med school, drowning in anatomy flashcards, and just needed some background noise to help me went through a 12 hours study session. Turns out, 20 cars flying around a circuit at 300 km/h is terrible for concentration, but amazing for falling headfirst into a new obsession. I was a Mercedes girl from day one, how could I not be? The dominance, the strategy, Lewis Hamilton basically operating like a brain surgeon at 200 mph (still upset Lewis is not in mercedes anymore). It all felt like the F1 version of a perfectly run OR.

But then there was Lando. Ugh, Lando Norris. With that stupid charming smile, the chaotic overtakes, and somehow always looking like he was having the time of his life even when everything was falling apart. I told everyone he wasn’t my favorite—because technically, he wasn’t. But the way my phone just magically ended up on his Instagram? The way my chest did this tiny, traitorous flutter every time he popped up on screen? Yeah. I might be a Mercedes girl… but Lando Norris was my favorite guilty pleasure. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud.

The doorbell rang just as I took my last sip of water.

“They’re here!” Tiara called, already sprinting toward the door like she’d been waiting all day for this. To be fair, she probably had.

The glam team—two makeup artists, a hairstylist, and a stylist with a rack of options —walked in like a well-oiled machine. I stepped aside, already familiar with their routine as I’d worked with some of them for campaigns before. Still, there was something surreal about shifting gears from hospital scrubs to high fashion in a single afternoon.

“Y/N, you’re up first,” Layla, my go-to MUA, called. “We’ve got exactly ninety minutes before you need to be out the door.”

I took one last look at my phone—no new messages, no calls from the hospital—then headed to the vanity they had set up in our spare room. Ring lights were already glowing, mirrors prepped, and my tailored ivory suit was hanging on the back of the door like a promise.

Layla started with skin prep. “So… are we going full ‘Vogue spread’ or soft glam tonight?”

I grinned. “Let’s do a little of both. I need to look like I didn’t just survive two back-to-back 12-hour shifts.”

“You mean you did survive two back-to-back shifts,” she corrected. “And still look like this? Girl, you’re not human.”

As she worked, I opened my notes app, checking off content tasks for the night. BTS video with glam team, a flatlay with Tumi bag, perfume, invite, and some dinner clips.

“Close your eyes,” Layla said, holding my face like she was sculpting a masterpiece. “And stop fidgeting, you’re gonna ruin my liner.”

“I’m not fidgeting,” I muttered, then immediately bounced my knee again.

Tiara, lounging nearby in a silk robe, snorted. “You’ve been twitchy ever since I showed you that video. Just admit it—you’re hoping Lando shows up tonight.”

“I am not,” I said, very convincingly for someone clutching their phone like it might spontaneously generate a guest list.

“Uh-huh.” Tiara replied, very, very unconvinced.

Layla stepped back to admire her work. “So who’s this Lando guy? Boyfriend?”

I choked on absolutely nothing. “God, no. He’s just… a F1 driver. For McLaren.”

“The guy with the curls?” she asked, already picking up a highlighter. “You’re blushing.”

“No I’m not!”

“You are,” Tiara grinned. “And he’s not even here yet.”

I flopped back in the chair with a dramatic sigh. “Okay, look. I’m a Mercedes fan.”

“But,” Tiara added, holding back a smirk, “every time Lando Norris so much as breathes near a camera, you suddenly forget all that.”

“Because he’s annoyingly charming, okay?” I grumbled. “Like, smile-too-big-for-his-face, funny, chaos. He’s not even my type, and yet…”

“And yet you practically rewinded that one post-race interview five times last weekend.”

“It was four times,” I corrected, deadpan. “And for research.”

Layla was laughing now. “I love this.”

I groaned and reached for my water. “If he is at this dinner, I’m acting normal. Cool. Unbothered.”

Tiara raised a brow. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t mention that you once did a soft-glam look inspired by his helmet colors?”

“That’s not what that was and you know it,” I muttered, cheeks warming again.

An hour later, my face was done, hair in soft brushed waves, lashes fluttering like they had their own agenda. I slipped into my suit, a tailored ivory double-breasted blazer, cinched subtly at the waist paired with high-waisted straight-leg trousers, and clasped my minimalist gold jewelry in front of the mirror. A camera was already rolling on my phone stand, where I filmed a quick GRWM.

Tiara peeked in, already in a burgundy satin number that matched her lipstick. “Girl. You look like a sponsor’s dream.”

“You mean like I didn’t fall asleep updating patient charts at 3 a.m.?” I teased.

“Exactly. No one needs to know you scrubbed in for an aortic dissection case just 20 hours ago. Tonight, you’re a fashion girl. An it-girl.”

I grabbed my bag—Tumi, of course—and exhaled slowly.

Tonight wasn’t about fan moments or nerves. It was a brand dinner. A networking opportunity. A chance to show I could walk the line between saving lives and owning the room. But still… I mentally added one last note to my checklist. Do not fangirl over Lando Norris. (Not even if he smiles first).

The venue was pure understated luxury—low lighting, tall glass walls, a carefully curated crowd of editors, influencers, stylists, and just enough corporate energy to remind you this was a brand event. Soft ambient music played beneath the buzz of champagne flutes and soft laughter, and the Tumi logo gleamed on every backdrop and branded cocktail napkin.

Tiara and I stepped out of the car like we belonged there—because we did. Dressed to impress, camera-ready, brand-aligned. We'd done this a hundred times before, but tonight had a different edge to it. A buzz beneath my skin that had nothing to do with the event.

Inside, I slid into autopilot. I greeted a senior fashion editor I’d worked with on a shoot last fall, exchanged hugs with a couple of other creators I only ever saw at events like this, and smiled graciously as I answered the same questions I always got: “How do you manage being a doctor and an influencer?” and “Do you even sleep?”

“Not really,” I said with a laugh that was half-true. “But I schedule naps like I schedule rounds.”

The brand rep gave a toast, thanking us all for coming, and Tiara raised her glass in my direction with a wink. “You’re killing it tonight,” she whispered. “You’ve barely looked around for him.”

“Because I’m focused,” I said, sipping my drink. “And I’m sure he’s not even here.”

Which, of course, was when the energy in the room shifted.

You know that moment at events when someone important walks in? The air changes. Heads turn subtly but unmistakably. I followed a few glances out of pure curiosity, and there he was—Lando Norris, walking in like he didn’t just cause a ripple through the entire guest list.

He wasn’t doing anything remarkable. Just smiling politely, standing next to someone from the brand team, wearing a crisp black suit and his usual easy charm like it wasn’t completely illegal. I looked away immediately. I had to. If I kept looking, I’d get caught. And if I got caught, I’d blush. And if I blushed, Tiara would never let me live it down.

Instead, I buried myself in networking. More smiles, more polite conversations. I posed for a few photos in front of the Tumi wall, dropped my IG handle in a PR manager’s phone, and made a mental note to post a story later. But even as the night carried on and the music got louder, I couldn’t shake that feeling. That he was here. In the same room. Breathing the same air. Probably not even knowing I existed.

After a while, the room started to feel a little too warm, the mingling a little too rehearsed. My heels were still fine—thankfully—but my social battery? Not so much.

“I’m stepping out for air,” I murmured to Tiara, who gave me a thumbs-up without missing a beat in her conversation.

I found a side door that led to a quieter courtyard terrace, where the sounds of the party dulled into the background. The night air was cool against my skin, and I inhaled deeply, letting my shoulders drop. Out here, I could finally breathe.

I leaned against the railing, phone in hand, debating whether to scroll or just enjoy the moment. Then I heard footsteps behind me. I didn’t turn around at first—plenty of people needed a break from the party. It wasn’t unusual.

But then a voice spoke, low and British, too familiar and real, I nearly dropped my phone.

“Didn’t expect anyone else out here,” he said. Casual. Kind of amused. “Bit loud in there, huh?”

I turned slowly, carefully schooling my expression.

There he was. In the dim courtyard light. Just him and me.

Lando Norris.

“Oh—yeah,” I said, praying my voice didn’t crack. “Needed to escape the networking gauntlet.”

He smiled. “You too, huh? I’ve shaken so many hands I’m pretty sure I’ve lost circulation.”

I laughed—because what else was I supposed to do? “Occupational hazard.”

He stepped closer, just enough to close the awkward distance but not enough to make it weird. “I’m Lando, by the way,” he said, extending a hand.

“I know,” I replied before I could stop myself.

His smile widened just a little, amused. “Right. Guess I walked into that one.”

I shook his hand, keeping my face neutral. “Y/N.”

His brow lifted a little, like he was trying to place me. “Nice to meet you. Are you with the brand?”

“Sort of. I’m a part time fashion and lifestyle content creator,” I said, pausing just long enough before adding, “And also a part time cardiothoracic surgery resident.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Seriously? That’s intense.”

“Tell me about it,” I smirked. “Between 12-hour shifts and flatlays, I barely have time to breathe.”

He laughed, and it was genuine. Warm.

“I don’t think I’ve met a doctor-influencer before.”

“I’m a niche market.”

We stood in a moment of comfortable quiet, and I felt the strangest thing—calm. Maybe because there was no audience out here. No flashes, no glances. Just two people who had unknowingly been orbiting each other from entirely different worlds.

“You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “it’s kind of refreshing meeting someone who didn’t immediately want a selfie.”

I smiled, folding my arms. “I mean, the night’s still young.”

He laughed again, eyes glinting. “Fair enough.”

The quiet hum of the city wrapped around us as the noise from inside faded further into the background. Lando leaned lightly against the stone railing, arms relaxed, suit jacket open like he wasn’t just the reason half the event was losing their minds.

“You’re really a cardiology resident?” he asked after a pause, like he still couldn’t believe it.

“Cardiothoracic surgery, we uh, basically do surgery on people’s hearts.” I corrected him. “It’s my third year. It’s intense, but I love it.”

“That’s mad,” he said, eyes wide with genuine awe. “I can’t imagine having people’s actual hearts in your hands. Literally.”

“Well, not literally every day,” I said with a laugh.

“And you do content on top of that?”

“I never really planned to,” I admitted. “It started with me posting outfit pics during call nights to stay sane. Somehow, it blew up.”

He leaned back against the railing beside me, just close enough that I could feel his presence without it overwhelming the moment. “Must be intense.”

“It is,” I said softly. “But I like it that way.”

There was something curious in his expression. Not flirty. Not flashy. Just… intrigued. We stood in silence again, the kind that doesn’t need explaining. The kind that feels a little too comfortable for strangers.

“You into F1?” he asked after a while, almost cautiously.

I gave him a slow, measured look. “Oh, I follow.”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s just say I know the difference between understeer and tire deg.”

His brows lifted, impressed. “Well, alright, doctor.”

“I’ve been watching for a few years,” I added.

“Let me guess,” he said, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “Ferrari fan?”

“I’m a Mercedes fan.”

That made him laugh again, louder this time. “Ouch.”

Another beat of quiet passed, and this one lingered. I could feel it settling in the space between us—the unspoken curiosity. He didn’t know who I was—not the girl who posted race-day looks, not the one who debated tire strategy in the close friend’s story, not the one who pretended not to notice him every time he appeared on her screen. And yet, standing here with him, I felt seen in a way that had nothing to do with recognition.

“It's weird,” I said quietly, “how the sport changes on you.”

Lando looked over, his profile soft in the terrace light. “What do you mean?”

I ran a finger along the edge of my glass, tracing nothing. “I started rooting for Mercedes because of Lewis Hamilton. Not because they were winning—well, maybe at first. But more because of him. The way he carried himself. Composed. Relentless. Loud in the ways that mattered and quiet in the ways that didn’t. He made the whole thing feel like art.”

Lando didn’t speak. He listened, eyes steady.

“I think I needed someone like that back then,” I continued. “During med school, when everything felt like it was falling apart, there was this guy out there, making every race look like poetry and still showing up for more than just himself. He was… I don’t know. Constant.”

“You said was,” Lando said softly.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

A silence stretched again, thicker this time.

“When he announced he was leaving for Ferrari…” I paused, exhaling slowly. “I felt like the ground shifted.”

Lando’s expression didn’t change, but there was something thoughtful in it. “Everyone’s still adjusting.”

“Sure. But for me, it wasn’t just a driver changing teams. It was like the foundation cracked.” I looked up at him. “You spend so long tying yourself to one thing—one team, one identity—and then suddenly it changes. And you’re just… left figuring out who you are without it.”

He was quiet for a moment. “That’s heavy.”

I gave a small, sheepish smile. “Sorry. That was a little too existential for a brand dinner.”

“No,” he said quickly, gently. “I get it.”

“Do you?” I asked, unsure if I was pushing.

He shrugged, gaze slipping back out toward the skyline. “You think being a driver means you get to choose who you are in all this. But sometimes… you’re just trying to keep up with who everyone thinks you should be. Sometimes you don't even know who you're racing for anymore. Yourself? The team? The headlines?”

That surprised me—how quietly he said it. How real it sounded.

“I guess we’re all just trying to hang on to what makes us feel like ourselves,” I said.

He looked at me again. “And what’s that for you?”

I hesitated. The question was too sharp and too soft at once.

“Honestly?” I said finally. “Right now… maybe standing out here, talking to someone who sees the chaos from the other side.”

His lips curved into a faint smile. “You don’t seem like someone who likes chaos.”

“I don’t,” I said.

He looked at me—not like someone just trying to place me, but like someone trying to understand the shape of me.

“You ever think of switching teams?” he asked, his voice lighter now, teasing.

I laughed softly. “Lando Norris trying to recruit me to McLaren?”

He smirked. “No harm in asking.”

“Let’s just say… I’m open to change.”

And this time, the silence that followed didn’t need to be filled at all.

I took another sip of my drink, letting the quiet wrap around us again. Lando glanced at his phone—not in a rude way, more like he’d just remembered where he was, who he was supposed to be. The smile that had rested so easily on his lips began to slip back into something more practiced.

“I should probably head back in,” he said, quietly.

I nodded. “Of course. You’ve got a room full of people to... charm.”

He smiled at that, but it didn’t reach his eyes the same way it had before. He took a slow step back, then paused. Like he wanted to say something else but wasn’t sure if he should.

Instead, he simply said, “It was really good meeting you, Y/N.”

My name sounded different coming from him. Softer. Like he’d memorized the shape of it just in case.

“You too,” I said, more gently than I meant to. “Thanks for the… quiet.”

He hesitated, just for a breath, then gave me one final look. A glance that felt like a question left unanswered. And then he turned and walked back into the golden light of the terrace doors, swallowed by the noise, the cameras, the curated chaos. I stayed out there a little longer, letting the night press gently against my skin, the city stretching quiet around me. There was no music now. Just memory.

No glowing terrace lights, no shared silence, no subtle look across the railing like we’d both seen something in each other we weren’t ready to name. Just the sterile buzz of fluorescent lights. A surgical mask pressed to my face. And the weight of clipped, focused voices calling out vital stats over the beep of monitors. If last night hadn’t been etched into my mind like a strange, golden dream, I’d almost believe it didn’t happen.

The thing about being a CT resident is, it doesn’t care about who you talked to the night before. It doesn’t wait for you to process anything. You scrub in, focus up, and hold a human heart in your hands like it’s the only thing that matters. Because it is.

Rounds were brutal that morning. Two back-to-back valve replacements, one trauma case that rolled in unexpectedly at 4 a.m., and an attending who seemed personally offended by anyone who’d gotten more than three hours of sleep. I moved on autopilot. Efficient. Precise. Calm.

But every now and then, during a lull—when I checked a vitals screen or scrubbing my hands for the next case—my mind drifted.

"It was really good meeting you, Y/N." "You too. Thanks for the… quiet."

I hadn’t followed him. Not after that night. Not even when I’d seen tagged photos pop up from the event, his name trending again that weekend. It felt too fragile to touch. Like acknowledging it publicly would make the memory evaporate.

Exactly two months later, I was in Rome.

I’d flown in for an international cardiothoracic seminar I never imagined I’d get selected for, let alone present at. It had taken weeks of prepping slides, coordinating surgical footage, polishing up every word of my case report until it sang.

And somehow, it worked. My name was called. My report was named the best presentation of the entire conference. Applause rang out in that massive, echoing hall. My mentor squeezed my shoulder. My hands, usually so steady in an OR, trembled slightly as I accepted the plaque.

Later, in the hotel room, I propped my phone against a lamp and snapped a photo—the plaque tucked in my lap, still in my formal outfit, dark circles under my eyes, but glowing. Proud. Real. I posted it to Instagram along with a snippet of video my fellow resident took of me while i was presenting my case report on stage with a caption that didn’t overthink it.

Today was loud in all the right ways. Grateful to be doing what I love, even when I forget to sleep.🫀🇮🇹✨ #CTSurgery #WomenInMedicine

I closed the app without refreshing it and drifted to my sleep.

The next morning, I opened my phone while waiting for my espresso in the hotel café. Notifications stacked higher than usual. Comments. Story mentions. DMs. My med-following engaged, a few comments from fellow residents, some reposts. A couple of med pages reshared it. Some surgical meme accounts reposted it with the caption “CT Barbie strikes again.”

And then I saw it, that faint heart icon from someone I hadn’t seen on my feed, maybe intentionally avoided, in weeks.

@lando liked your post.

I stared at it for a second longer than necessary.

Then I swiped up. He’d followed me. Not just liked the photo. Followed.

I froze, thumb hovering over the screen. The room suddenly felt too small. I stared at the screen like it had betrayed me. His profile picture, the blue checkmark. That name. There was no message. No comment. Just a like. A quiet digital fingerprint on a life he wasn’t supposed to remember.

And yet… He did.

Or maybe he’d just stumbled across the post by accident. Explore pages were unpredictable. But deep down, I knew better. Something about the timing, the quiet of it, the way it felt—not loud or performative. Just a quiet nod, like he’d looked and thought, there she is.

My heart thudded once, low and solid. And I did the only thing that made sense. I followed him back.

I'd just arrived from Rome last night and the reality of residency had kicked in. The show must go on. The early follow-ups, lab-ordering, rounds with the attendings, and back-to-back heart surgeries. This morning started the way most mornings did—too early, too cold, and with Tiara poking her head into my bedroom like an overly caffeinated storm cloud.

"Did you see it?” she asked.

I groaned, face still buried in my pillow. “If this is about my missed laundry pickup, I already hate myself.”

“No,” she said, sliding onto the edge of my bed, phone in hand. “Lando.”

That woke me up. I lifted my head just enough to see the screen. A clip from a race weekend interview—one of those soft, casual paddock setups, with the usual “rapid fire” questions that drivers either deflect or accidentally get too real with.

The interviewer asked, “Anyone outside of F1 who’s impressed you lately?”

And there he was. Looking thoughtful. A little tired, like they’d caught him between commitments. Lando smiled, soft, crooked, barely there.

“Met someone recently,” he said. “Not from this world. Completely different, actually. But smart. Focused. You can tell when someone’s used to pressure. She… surprised me.”

Tiara turned to me slowly, mouth already open. “Smart, someone used to pressure. Y/N, he’s clearly talking about you.”

I blinked, sitting up. “You don’t know that.”

“Girl, you are the only CT resident he’s had a moonlight chat with on a brand dinner terrace. Just admit it. You are his mysterious ‘not from this world’ girl.”

I didn’t respond. Mostly because part of me wanted it to be true. And the other part was terrified it was.

Hours later, I was back in my actual world—under too bright hospital lights, halfway through rounds, no makeup, hair in a half-frizzed ponytail, scrubs wrinkled from walking around the hospital for too many consults this early morning.

I’d just finished morning notes and slipped outside to grab a coffee from the tiny café around the corner. It wasn’t fancy—just a very good espresso, low noise, and no crowd seen. I had one AirPod in, my tote slung over one shoulder, phone open to patient labs, brain already a dozen miles ahead, partly still thinking about the interview Tiara showed me this morning.

The barista was halfway through ringing me up when I heard it, “Didn’t think you were real until I saw the badge.”

I turned.

There he was. Hoodie. Joggers. Hat pulled low. No PR team. No cameras. Yet, I recognized that smile anywhere.

Lando.

My heart felt like it dropped to the floor. “Shouldn’t you be in Monaco or Milan or… not standing behind me in a hospital café?” I asked, voice low.

He smiled, that same half-smile he wore in the interview clip. “Flight delayed. So I had time to kill and someone on the team recommended this brand. Googled it, and found the nearest one from my hotel. Saw the reviews, said the coffee saves lives.”

“It saves mine,” I said, trying to keep it light.

Then his eyes flicked down to my ID badge. My name. The hospital crest. My scrub top–creased, definitely unglamorous, still faintly coffee-stained from pre-rounds.

“You look different,” he said.

I winced. “Bad different?”

“No.” He shook his head, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “Just… real. Like this is your grid.”

I laughed, cheeks warm. “You mean exhausted and slightly overwhelmed?”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “But also confident. Focused.”

My coffee came up. I reached for it, trying not to let my hand shake.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” I admitted, voice lower now.

“Same,” he said. We stood there for a moment in that weird, suspended quiet—the kind of quiet that happens when something’s shifting and neither of you wants to be the first to name it.

Finally, he reached for his coffee, then nodded toward the door. “You have time to sit?”

I glanced at the clock. Twenty-five minutes until my next consult. Not long. Not nearly enough. But I nodded. “Yeah. A few.”

He smiled, “Then let’s sit in your world for a bit.”

We slipped into a corner table near the window, tiny, wobbly, barely enough space for two coffees and the weight of whatever this was between us. I set my drink down, unwrapped the corner of a protein bar, and leaned back in my chair, trying to play it cool despite the fact that I was sitting across from Lando Norris in scrubs and no lipstick.

He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he kept looking at me like this was the version of me he’d been trying to find since that night on the terrace.

“Do you always start your mornings like this?” he asked, glancing around the small café.

“More or less. Surgery, caffeine, maybe a protein bar if I remember I’m a human with needs.”

He smirked. “And yet somehow you still look like you belong in a magazine.”

I gave him a look. “This?” I motioned to myself. “This is the opposite of Vogue.”

He shook his head, smiling behind his cup. “Still. There’s something about the way you carry all of it. Like… you know exactly where you’re going. Even when you’re sleep-deprived.”

I took a sip of my coffee, avoiding his eyes, those green eyes, for a beat. It was flattering. But also disarming.

“So,” I said finally, setting my cup down. “That interview.”

He didn’t flinch, but I could tell by the way his thumb tapped the side of his drink that he knew exactly what I meant.

“Tiara, my best friend and manager, woke me up at 5 am showing me the clip ,” I added. “She was convinced you were talking about me.”

He met my eyes then. “Was she wrong?”

I held his gaze, let the silence stretch.

“I don’t know,” I said quietly. “I think if it wasn’t me, you’re either dating a pilot or having deep talks with your Uber drivers.”

Lando laughed. That warm, unguarded kind of laugh that made his eyes squint. “Fair.”

There was a beat. Then he said, more seriously, “It was you.”

I watched him for a moment—this person who lived in a world of constant spotlight and chaos, now sitting across from me in a quiet café like we did this all the time.

“You didn’t have to say that,” I said.

“I know.”

“So why did you?”

He leaned back slightly, shoulders relaxed, tone softer. “Because when we talked that night, it stuck with me. You weren’t trying to impress anyone. You weren’t performing. You just… were.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And that impressed you?”

He nodded. “Yeah. A lot more than people pretending to have it all figured out.”

There was something deeply sincere about the way he said it. Like it wasn’t part of a game. Like he didn’t want anything from me except the truth.

“So,” he added after a moment, “what did you think? About what I said.”

I considered that for a long second.

“I think… I’ve spent so much of my life trying to prove I belong in this field. In the OR, on the rotation list, on conference stages. And somewhere along the way, I forgot that it’s okay to let people see me outside of that, in all the mess and exhaustion and…” I gestured to my coffee, my tired eyes, my stained scrubs. “This.”

He smiled again, more tender this time. “I don’t think it’s mess. I think it’s real. That’s rare.”

“Especially in your world,” I said.

He nodded. “That’s why yours stood out.”

I looked down at the sleeve of my coffee cup. The moment felt full — not rushed, not loud, but weighted. And honest.

He glanced out the window, then back at me. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“Did I make it into any interviews?”

I gave a soft laugh. “Not yet. I’ve been a little busy doing heart surgery and accidentally going viral.”

His grin returned. “Right. The case report win.”

I paused. “Oh, you saw that?”

“Of course,” he said, sipping his coffee like it was obvious. “It popped up on my explore page, and then suddenly your name was everywhere. Reposts, medical blogs, even a ‘Hot Doctors of Instagram’ list, which—by the way—terrible photo crop.”

I flushed. “You did a deep dive?”

He grinned. “A shallow scroll. But yeah, I saw it. That was impressive.”

I softened. “Thanks. That case meant a lot to me. The kid we operated on was thirteen. Rare congenital defect. She’s doing well.”

Lando didn’t joke or deflect. Just gave a small nod, like he was processing more than he let on. “That’s a lot to hold.”

“It is,” I said quietly, almost to myself. “But it’s the weight I signed up for.”

He leaned back slightly, swirling the coffee in his cup. “Kind of wild, isn't it?”

“What is?”

“That people trust you with all that,” he said, glancing at me over the rim of his cup, casual on the surface but something else flickering underneath. “Like...you just show up and do it.”

I tilted my head. “I could say the same about you.”

“Eh,” he smirked. “I get help from a fast car and a very good team.”

“And I get help from caffeine and very good fellow residents and very experienced attendings.”

He laughed—low, easy. “You know, I wasn’t sure what I’d find when I saw you again. But scrubs? Kind of iconic.”

“Iconic?” I raised a brow.

“Yeah,” he said, half-shrugging. “Honestly? You might pull them off better than I do my race suit.”

I gave him a look. “That’s a bold statement.”

He leaned in just slightly, grinning. “Terrifying for my ego, really.”

I laughed, shaking my head. The kind of laugh that slipped out before I could catch it. Then, quieter, I added, “I didn’t think I’d see you again, either.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just met my eyes, something unreadable there. Then he said, lightly, “Yeah. Thought you’d disappear back into the OR and never look back.”

“Almost did.”

His smile was crooked now. “Guess I got lucky.”

The silence between us stretched, calm and unhurried. It felt like we were both aware of something hanging just out of reach—but neither of us wanted to pull it down too fast.

Then the sharp buzz of my pager inside my tote bag cut through it. I glanced down. “Consult in fifteen.”

He stood with me, brushing his hand through his hair. “Back to real life, huh?”

I nodded, slipping my phone into my coat pocket. “Always.”

As I reached for the door, he followed a few steps behind, then spoke, easy, offhand, like he wasn’t sure if he meant it as an invitation or just a thought said aloud.

“If you ever feel like stepping out of this world for a bit…” A pause. “I know one with slightly worse coffee. And way more noise.”

I turned, a smile already forming. “That your way of offering a paddock pass?”

He shrugged, all mock innocence. “Could be. Could also just be coffee. Somewhere quieter. No pagers allowed.”

I looked at him for a moment, really looked. The way he wore calm like armor. The way his grin never quite gave away everything he was thinking.

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

“Fair enough.”

I stepped out into the hallway, coffee in one hand and my pager buzzing in the other, still half-processing what had just happened. I hadn’t expected to see Lando again—especially not here, in the middle of my chaotic, unfiltered reality. But there he was, showing up in a space that wasn’t curated or polished, and somehow that made it mean more. I felt an unexpected sense of relief. He’d seen me exactly as I was—tired, wrinkled scrubs, zero glamour—and he hadn’t flinched. No cameras, no performance, just a quiet kind of presence that lingered even after he was gone. And in that moment, it felt more intimate than anything that came with spotlights.

The DMs started sporadically. A reaction here. A comment there. A joke about terrible coffee or the chaos of hospital vending machines. Nothing serious. Nothing obvious.

But it became a rhythm.

When I posted a photo of the CT team post-surgery, hair tied back, mask line still faint on my cheeks, Lando replied to my DM.

@lando : can’t tell if this is a flex or a cry for help.

@you: it’s both. we survived three surgeries and one cafeteria meatloaf.

@lando: that’s championship-level endurance.

When Lando posted a mid-week race prep selfie, helmet tucked under his arm, eyes serious, I replied:

@you: that face says “I’m pretending to listen to strategy notes.”

@lando: you’d be correct.

@you: you need flashcards.

@lando: you offering to tutor?

The pace was easy. Undemanding. And somehow, it became routine.

I’d find myself checking my phone after long cases, smiling at his messages without thinking. He’d send voice notes at odd hours. One while waiting on a delayed flight, another from the driver’s room after a rainy quali. Sometimes I responded with text, sometimes a photo of me half-asleep with a post-it on my forehead that said "Charting. Mentally gone."

Still, neither of us named whatever this was.

Until one night, two months after our coffee. I posted a selfie on my Story—legs kicked up on couch, pizza in hand, hair loose for once, and the caption “First day of annual leave: achieved.”

Less than a minute later, his name popped up.

@lando: Wait, you’re finally off? Like, not going to crack open a sternum tomorrow?

@you: Wild, I know. Two weeks. Already forgetting how to hold a scalpel.

@lando: So you’re saying there’s a window where you’re not tied to a hospital?

@you: Technically yes. Why? Need heart surgery?

@lando: Not today. But... there’s a race next weekend. Silverstone. Home turf.

@you: I know. I watch F1 even when I'm in my on-call room.

@lando: Then maybe… @lando: Come watch it from this side of the fence?

I blinked at the screen. Read it twice. Then once more.

@you: You inviting me?

@lando: I mean… yeah. @lando: I’d like you there. @lando: No fireproof or scrubs required.

I hesitated—not because i didn’t want to go, but because it suddenly felt real. The kind of invitation that wasn’t just playful DMs or stolen café moments. The kind that made me wonder what this was becoming.

@you: I’ll think about it.

@lando: I figured you’d say that. @lando: So I already told my team you might say yes.

I rolled my eyes.

@you: Arrogant.

@lando: Confident.

And just beneath that message, a second one popped up:

@lando: Would be good to see you again, Y/N. @lando: Off the grid, but maybe not so off-limits this time.

The inside of the McLaren hospitality suite felt like walking into a universe that ran on its own frequency. Sleek, fast-moving, humming with quiet intensity. Engineers moved between rooms, screens blinked with data I didn’t pretend to understand, and everyone wore the same focused expression she recognized from pre-op mornings.

“This is insane,” I whispered, watching someone walk by with three radios clipped to their belt and an iPad tucked under one arm.

Lando glanced at me. “You’re literally training to become a heart surgeon and this is what impresses you?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “My OR doesn’t have telemetry data and tire warmers. You’ve basically built a spaceship garage.”

He grinned, slowing his pace so I could take it in. “Want the grand tour?”

“You mean the one that ends with me somehow accidentally breaking a wing mirror and owing McLaren several million?”

“I’ll keep you away from the carbon fiber,” he promised.

They weaved through corridors, and he showed me where the team debriefs happened, the simulator space, the briefing room I wasn’t technically allowed in—but he still opened the door with a wink.

At some point, a few mechanics passed by and nodded at me with curious smiles. Just as I was admiring a display of past liveries, a familiar voice sounded from behind them. “So you’re the doctor.”

I turned, pulse quick. Oscar Piastri strolled over, wearing his race suit half unzipped and a look that was either neutral or mildly amused, I couldn’t quite tell.

“This is Y/N,” Lando said. “A surgeon. Came to make sure I don’t pass out mid-turn eight.”

I gave Oscar a half-nod, trying to summon cool professionalism but ending up somewhere between a smile and a please don’t notice I’m internally combusting expression. “Cardiothoracic resident,” I clarified. “Not a full surgeon yet.”

“Oh, I know who you are.”

I blinked. “You… do?”

He shrugged, totally unfazed. “Instagram algorithm loves you. My girlfriend showed me a video of your fit checks in the hospital, she said you have energy of a vampire, being a surgeon yet still doing contents. And Lando mentioned you a while back — said you beat five guys in tuxedos at a case report seminar.”

Lando groaned. “Okay, I told that story once.”

“You told it twice,” Oscar replied. Then, to me: “Nice to finally meet the doctor who apparently has better lap time under pressure than Lando on mediums.”

I laughed, maybe a little too hard. “I don’t know about that. I just talk fast when I’m nervous.”

Oscar gave a small, approving nod, then glanced at Lando. “Good luck today.”

And then he was gone.

I turned to Lando. “You told people about me?”

He gave me a lopsided grin. “I might’ve mentioned you in passing.”

“In passing?”

“Very quick passing. Like, turn-two kind of quick.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Uh-huh.”

I was still recovering from that moment when we stepped outside toward the other motorhomes, just as a familiar figure passed by—flanked by cameras and handlers, sleek in a red polo and sunglasses.

Lewis.

Lewis Hamilton.

I barely had time to register the Ferrari logo on his chest before he caught my eye with the briefest flicker of recognition—probably because I was staring like he was the second coming.

“Lewis!” Lando called out to him from the entrance of the hospitality while I’m internally trying hard not to freak out. Lewis walked our way, and Lando gave him a quick nod. “Lewis. This is Y/N, she's a big fan.”

Lewis smiled and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

I shook it, praying my palm wasn’t sweating like a med student on their first day in the OR.

“You’re the surgeon, right?” Lewis asked, casual as anything.

I blinked. “I—uh, yeah. How do you…?”

“Your seminar clip popped up on my feed,” he said. “That case with the congenital defect? Nicely handled. Takes a lot of clarity under pressure.”

I think I blacked out for a second. I didn’t expect that instagram post of mine was this.. viral.

“Thanks,” I managed, heart thudding. “That… means a lot. You were the reason I started watching Formula 1, actually.”

Lewis smiled—wide and warm and humble. “That’s good to hear. Maybe next time we'll chat more. So nice to meet you. Sorry—gotta run. Team debrief.” He gestured vaguely toward the scarlet motorhome behind him.

“No worries,” I said, heart thudding in my chest like an over-caffeinated metronome. “Big fan. Of everything.”

He gave a small laugh, already turning away. “Stay out of the heat.”

And then he was gone.

Once Lewis walked off and the initial shock wore off just enough for me to start breathing like a normal human being, I turned to Lando, completely dazed.

“I just shook hands with Lewis Hamilton,” I whispered.

“You did,” he said, smug.

“And he complimented my case report,” I added.

“He did.”

"He looked pretty good in red,"

Lando sneered at me, "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

“I’m going to sit down before I faint.”

He laughed softly and nudged his head toward a quieter spot behind the hospitality suite—a small bench overlooking the back part of the paddock, away from the main media flow. “Come on. Take a pit stop.”

We sat in a kind of bubble—close enough to hear the background hum of crew radios and tire warmers, but just far enough that no one was really paying attention to us. For a minute, neither of us said anything.

I sipped a cup of coffee someone had pressed into my hand without me noticing. My palms were still a little clammy. “I still can’t believe you invited me,” I said finally, voice low.

He glanced over, one arm slung across the back of the bench. “Why not?”

I shrugged, eyes still fixed ahead. “You didn’t have to.”

“Exactly why I did.”

I turned to look at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone.

“You looked like you needed air that night,” he added, more lightly. “And now here you are, inhaling brake dust and I've warned you, our coffee here isn't the best.”

I laughed under my breath. “It’s a weird kind of paradise.”

“You get used to it,” he said. “But I figured if you were going to take a break from your world, it should be somewhere that doesn’t ask anything from you.”

My throat caught, just a little. It wasn’t a big gesture. Not loud. Not grand. But in a life where everything had been so rigidly scheduled, measured, timed to the minute—this, whatever it was, felt like a pause I hadn’t realized I needed.

The sky hung low and heavy, a deep silver stretched across the horizon. The kind of rain only Silverstone knows how to summon. The air was thick with the scent of wet asphalt and electricity, every heartbeat around me syncing to the growl of engines waiting to be unleashed. I stood just beyond the garage, headset idle in my hand, watching the grid form beneath the mist. Max at the front. Oscar beside him. And Lando, third, just as he said he would be. His home race, and he was right in the thick of it.

The downpour came like a curtain, sudden and unrelenting. Rain turned the track into a mirror, reflecting the blinking start lights above like tiny stars trembling in water. Everything blurred, the outlines of helmets, the streaks of color, the boundary between nerves and awe. I gripped the headset tighter, though I had no role to play. I was just there to feel it. And God, I felt everything.

The lights went out, and the cars surged forward like unleashed storms. Max took the early lead, but Oscar moved like a blade through water, slipping ahead with calculated grace. And then Lando, steady, patiently found his moment. A sharp breath caught in my throat as he swept into second, fluid and fearless. My chest swelled with something too big for words.

The storm thickened. The safety car was called. Pit crews danced in the chaos, tires changed with choreography that defied the rain. Lando held his ground. Oscar widened his lead, until a penalty rewrote the script, and suddenly, Lando was first.

The final laps blurred into something dreamlike. Raindrops hit the tarmac like applause. Every corner felt like it could tilt the world. I didn’t know I was holding my breath until I saw the flag, that checkered promise slicing through the storm.

Lando had won. He won the British Grand Prix, his home race.

The crowd roared, but I could barely hear it over the wild beat of my own heart. McLaren spilled into the pit lane, arms raised, faces soaked in rain and joy. Confetti tangled with droplets in the air, a strange kind of magic. I leaned back against the cold wall, still trembling from it all—the tension, the beauty, the impossible victory that felt so utterly right.

This wasn’t just the race I had always dreamed of attending. It was his moment. And somehow, impossibly, I had been there to see it from the inside.

Parc Fermé was an electric blur.

Rain still misted down like it hadn’t gotten the memo that the race was over, and yet no one cared. Crew members were yelling, hugging, crying, soaked through and grinning like fools. Cameras surged toward the cars and the winning driver, Lando, helmet off, hair damp and curling at the edges, absolutely radiant with disbelief.

I hovered near the back of the McLaren crowd, not wanting to intrude. My heart was still racing, as if I’d driven the last fifteen laps myself. I’d screamed into the headset so hard during the final overtakes I was surprised I hadn’t broken it.

He climbed out of the car slowly, like it took a moment for his brain to catch up to what had just happened. He tore off his gloves, tossed them aside, and let the cheers wash over him.

And then—he turned. Not to the cameras. Not to the reporters. But to someone just outside the barrier. His mother.

I recognized her immediately. He’d posted about her once—on Mother’s Day, I think—and the resemblance was undeniable. Her expression was nothing short of overwhelming joy, pride etched in every line of her face as she leaned over the barrier to wrap her arms around him.

He melted into her hug like a kid again, helmet pressed against her shoulder. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, not with all the chaos around us, but I saw him nod, saw his hand squeeze hers, saw her brush a damp strand of hair from his forehead before pulling back with a teary smile.

He laughed, and then turned back into the swirl of the crowd.And that’s when his eyes found me.

I was still half-hidden behind a line of engineers, hands shoved in my coat pockets, trying not to look like I’d just lived through a spiritual experience. But when our eyes met, the noise seemed to dim. He didn’t hesitate. Just started walking toward me, like everything else could wait. And as he got closer, I noticed it—the glint in his eyes that wasn’t just adrenaline or victory. It was something softer. Calmer.

“Hi,” he said, just above the noise, still slightly breathless.

“Hi,” I replied, blinking rain out of my lashes. “Nice little drive.”

He huffed a laugh, cheeks flushed from effort and cold. “Could’ve been worse.”

“You made Verstappen look slow.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” he teased, but his smile faltered a little—turned thoughtful. “I kept wondering… if you’d stayed through the whole thing.”

I tilted my head. “I wasn’t going to miss your first home win.”

His mouth twitched. “Wasn’t sure if it’d ever happen, to be honest.”

“Well,” I said, stepping a little closer, “you made history. In the rain. At Silverstone.”

The moment held—not loud, not dramatic. Just full.

And when he finally pulled me into a damp, exhausted, elated hug, I realized I didn’t care about the cameras or the cold or how wild this all was. Because I was here. And so was he.

The crowd roared as Lando stepped onto the top step of the podium, rain still falling in that classic Silverstone drizzle—light but ever-present, like the British weather was weeping with pride.

I stood off to the side with the team, tucked under a sea of orange jackets and champagne-soaked flags. The cheers were deafening, but my smile felt louder. He looked up as the anthem played, face tilted toward the sky, big smile etched to his face. His name echoed through the speakers, through the grandstands, through my chest.

“First time?” a voice said beside me, light and amused.

I turned—and froze.

His mother.

She had the same warmth in her eyes as her son, the same wry half-smile, like she already knew something you didn’t. She was dressed casually but elegant, rain mist clinging to her curls, and she was watching the podium like her heart was right up there with him.

“I—uh, yes,” I said, suddenly self-conscious. “To the Grand Prix. Not… not life.”

She chuckled. “You’re Y/N, right?”

My brain short-circuited. “He… mentioned me?”

She gave me a knowing look. “He doesn’t shut up, actually.”

That made me laugh—genuinely. The tension in my shoulders slipped just a little.

“I’m—sorry,” I said, holding out a damp hand. “I should’ve introduced myself earlier. I didn’t want to—well, it’s his moment.”

“It still is,” she said kindly, shaking my hand. “And you’re part of it, aren’t you?”

I didn’t know what to say to that. But I smiled, and I hoped it said enough. We stood there together, watching him raise the trophy over his head like it weighed nothing, the crowd roaring his name. And for the first time since arriving, I didn’t feel like I was intruding. I felt like I belonged.

I woke up to over two hundred unread notifications, a slightly damp McLaren hoodie draped over the armchair, and the distinct post-race high that hadn’t quite worn off. The silence in the room felt unnatural after the roar of Silverstone the day before, like my body was still waiting for another engine to rev, another crowd to scream. My phone buzzed again. Probably the seventh time since I opened my eyes.

And then it rang.

Tiara. FaceTime. Of course.

I answered without thinking, still rubbing sleep from my eyes.

Her face filled the screen immediately—wide-eyed, fully dressed, holding a smoothie she clearly wasn’t drinking.

“Don’t even try to pretend nothing happened,” she snapped. “You—you—are in a full-on F1 fanfic and didn’t tell me?!”

“I literally texted you ‘I survived’ at midnight.”

“You survived a victory hug from Lando Norris that’s now a trending GIF on Twitter,” she deadpanned. “You think I’m talking about your survival?”

I groaned, rolling onto my back. “It wasn’t a hug-hug. It was just… we were both soaked. Emotional. You had to be there.”

“Oh, I was,” she said, tapping her screen. “Courtesy of this HIGH-DEF footage of you two at Parc Fermé. He spotted you across a crowd like some rom-com lead. It’s giving British Golden Retriever sees girl who understands cardiovascular surgery.”

I buried my face in the pillow. “Oh my God.”

Tiara wasn’t done.

“And don’t think I missed the Race Day Fit Check post either. You looked fire, babe. Leather jacket, tailored trousers, white trainers — very off-duty surgeon meets paddock princess. The timeline’s obsessed.”

I sat up finally, switching app to my instagram. She wasn’t lying.

My Instagram post from yesterday was just a simple mirror pic captioned “On leave. Let the engines do the stitching today 🏁🫀” had blown up.

Fashion accounts were reposting it under #OffDutyGridMuse, and I had DMs from people asking for the links to my outfit. Apparently, my second slide—a short video clip of me walking along the McLaren hospitality line, lanyard swaying, hair slicked back, sunnies on—had also hit explore.

But that wasn’t even the main event.

Everywhere I looked, people were posting clips of Lando’s hug. The way his eyes had found me. The fact that, soaked and trembling with adrenaline, he’d walked straight past the cameras to me.

There were side-by-side comparison edits already. Me in my scrubs. Me in McLaren orange. Headlines like:

“Who is Y/N? The CT surgeon-turned-style icon quietly taking over Silverstone.”

“From ORs to Overtakes — Dr. Y/N and Lando’s Rainy Moment Sparks Internet Buzz”

“Lando Norris Celebrates Home Win With Emotional Hug – Not With Teammates, But a Certain Doctor?”

I blinked, still processing.

“Okay,” I mumbled, “this is insane.”

“No, you’re insane for not warning me this was even on the table,” Tiara said. “Also, side note, your smile in that video? That wasn’t your 'friend' smile. That was your ‘I have a pulse because he makes it race’ smile.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Lando Norris liked your post.

I just stared at the screen, my own OOTD post sitting there—still getting comments, likes ticking upward faster than I could read them—when the notification came through. For a moment, it felt like the online world and my real one had crashed into each other.

And then—a DM came through.

@lando: So... race-day fit rating 10/10 @lando: Surgeon x paddock runway walk? Untouchable. @lando: Also @lando: If you’re not on a plane yet… breakfast?

I smiled. Not the camera kind. The kind that starts behind your ribs and works its way up. Tiara narrowed her eyes at me through the screen. “That’s his name popping up, isn’t it?”

“I have to go,” I said, biting back a grin.

“Oh my god, you’re going.”

“I’m just getting food.”

“With Lando. Norris.”

I didn’t deny it. I just stood up, grabbed my towel before beelining for the bathroom. “Wish me luck.”

Tiara was grinning like she’d manifested this entire storyline herself. “You don’t need luck, babe. You’ve already got pole position.”

The café was small—the kind with handwritten menus, slightly chipped mugs, and windows that fogged easily from the warmth inside. It smelled like espresso and sourdough toast. The only people around were a couple with a toddler in the corner and a server who clearly didn’t care about anyone’s fame level.

Which was, I realized, exactly the point.

Lando was already there when I arrived. Hoodie pulled over damp curls, cap low, eyes on the window like he was still processing the race in slow motion. But when I stepped inside, he looked up and smiled—the kind of smile that wasn’t just reflex.

“You came,” he said.

“I thought about ghosting you,” I teased, pulling off my coat.

“But?”

“But you look like someone who forgets to eat post-victory, so I figured I had to be here.”

“Not wrong,” he muttered, eyes flicking down to the coffee in front of him. “You want something?”

I nodded, and he flagged the server down. When I slid into the seat across from him, he gave me a once-over. “You look different.”

“Better or worse?”

He smiled. “Just… not the grid version of you. It’s nice.”

“Same,” I said, nodding to his hoodie. “No helmet. No microphones. You’re kind of quiet without the noise.”

He laughed into his cup. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” I said. “I like quiet.”

His gaze lingered on me, serious for a beat longer than I expected. Then he reached for the sugar packet and shrugged like he needed to lighten the air.

“I almost missed my press call last night,” he said.

“Why?”

“Kept wondering if I should’ve kissed you.”

I choked on my coffee.

He grinned. “Relax, I didn’t.”

“Obviously.”

“But I thought about it.”

I stared at him, trying not to smile. “Why?”

He leaned back. “Honestly? I don’t know. You were just there. And I’d been in the car for almost two hours and all I could think about was the tumi dinner where I first met you, and the hospital cafe, and how you make a race feel quieter. Like, less... frantic.”

My chest tightened at that — because I knew exactly what he meant. That thing we hadn’t said out loud yet.

“So,” I said softly, “why didn’t you?”

He shrugged again, slower this time. “Didn’t want to make it a moment you’d regret.”

I looked down, tracing the edge of my spoon. “And now?”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Now I’m having breakfast with a girl who slices open hearts for a living and still showed up to Silverstone looking like a Vogue spread.”

“And?”

“And I think I should let her finish her coffee before I consider kissing her again.”

My mouth curved without meaning to. “So considerate.”

He raised a brow. “I’m patient. Also mildly terrified of you.”

“Good.” I gave him a simple smile, despite the butterflies. We sat there, quiet again. But this time, it wasn’t full of tension or nerves. It was steady. Grounded. Like we had time to figure this out.

“I cannot believe I left it,” I muttered for the third time that morning, thumbing uselessly through my camera roll, where I had taken a photo of the last chapter of a book I read like it might magically reappear.

Lando glanced over from the driver’s seat, amused. “Still talking about that book?”

“Yes,” I groaned. “I was two chapters from the end. Two. And it was just getting brutal in the best way.”

He didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth pulled. “You sound like you just left your kid at an airport.”

“Close. Except my kid is fictional and probably about to die in the snow.”

He chuckled then, soft and teasing. “Well, we can’t have that.”

I assumed he’d let the conversation drop, but ten minutes later, when we took an exit off the motorway, I realized we weren’t headed back to my hotel.

“Where are we—?”

“You’ll see.”

It wasn’t until he parallel-parked (impressively well, to my surprise), that I looked up and saw it. An old brick storefront tucked between a florist and a bakery. Wooden windows. Worn navy awning. The kind of place you’d miss if you blinked.

Wren Books. Since 1968.

I turned to him slowly. “Did you just bring me to a bookstore?”

He slid his sunglasses onto his cap. “You said you were in pain.”

I blinked. “That was a dramatic exaggeration.”

“Didn’t sound like it.”

The tiny bell above the door jingled as we stepped inside. The air smelled like dust, lavender, and ink. Floor-to-ceiling shelves. Narrow aisles. A rolling ladder I was absolutely going to climb.

“You come here often?” I whispered, like we were in a church.

He nodded. “Sometimes. It’s quiet. No one ever really recognizes me in here. And the old man who runs it thinks F1 is a fancy vacuum brand.”

I laughed under my breath and let my fingertips trail across the spines. Hardcover. Softcover. Gold-foiled titles. A bookshop that made time feel soft and slow. Lando trailed behind me, hands in his pockets, content to let me browse.

It felt strange, in the best way, to be seen like this. Not scrubbed in. Not wearing a pass around my neck. Just… a girl chasing the last two chapters of her story, and a boy who made sure she didn’t have to do it alone.

“Found it,” I breathed, yanking a familiar cover off the shelf like a lifeline. Same edition. Same dog-eared chapter.

Lando appeared behind me, peering over my shoulder. “You gonna finish it right here?”

“Tempting.”

He smiled. “Want a coffee with that?”

“Are you bribing me into reading next to you?”

“Obviously.”

I smirked, holding the book close to my chest. “You really don’t mind doing something this… slow?”

He looked at me, really looked at me, and shrugged. “With you? It doesn’t feel slow.”

The back of the bookstore opened into a little indoor garden, with barely more than three mismatched tables. An elderly barista with faded tattoos slid two mugs across the counter without asking for names—just smiled like she’d already decided we were harmless.

“Didn’t even order,” I whispered, amused.

“They know,” Lando said, taking the seat across from me. “I’m a creature of habit.”

“Let me guess. Black coffee, no sugar?”

“Flat white. Two sugars. Don’t stereotype me.”

I laughed as I settled into the seat beside the window, tucking my knees up and cracking open my book. It felt almost surreal, like I’d stepped out of a sprint and into a still frame. Outside the window, the sky was silver with low clouds. Inside, it was just warm light, soft pages, and the gentle clink of mugs against worn wood.

Lando didn’t pull out his phone. He didn’t even pretend to be checking the time.

Instead, he watched me read for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely, like he was content just being there. With me.

“Okay,” he said eventually, voice low. “Tell me what happens.”

“I can’t,” I murmured. “You have to read it yourself.”

“I hate not knowing.”

“Welcome to my life.”

I turned a page, then added, “Besides, you strike me as the kind of person who skips ahead to see who dies.”

He looked mildly offended. “I do not. I skim.”

“Same thing.”

He reached for his coffee, clearly not planning to argue. “If you ever publish something, though—like, I don’t know, a book of medical essays or a memoir—you’d better tell me what happens.”

I raised a brow over the top of my book. “You think I’m going to write a memoir?”

“I’d read it. Especially if there’s a chapter about the time you made a race car driver wait while you finished a novel.”

I smiled without meaning to, eyes scanning the page—but the words were starting to blur. Because the truth was, I wasn’t really reading anymore. Not in the usual way.

I was memorizing this moment. The way he stirred his drink without thinking. The way his leg bounced lightly under the table. The way he looked at me like I wasn’t some story he had to figure out, but one he wanted to keep unfolding.

“This is nice,” I murmured, half to myself.

He didn’t respond right away. Then, “Yeah. You’re kind of… dangerous like this.”

I glanced up. “What do you mean?”

“Calm. Soft-spoken. Reading in an old bookstore. That’s how people fall in love in movies.”

My breath caught, not because it was a grand declaration, but because it wasn’t. It was a tease, barely a flicker of a grin, but there was something behind it. Like a door left cracked open.

“And you?” I asked, a little too steady. “You fall in love at bookstores?”

He looked at me, the faintest trace of heat behind his lashes. “No. But I think I’d come back for this.”

We didn’t rush.

The bookshop café let us linger, long past the last sip of coffee. At some point, I stopped pretending to read, and he stopped pretending not to watch me. The silence between us wasn't awkward, it was charged. Like a thread stretched between two pins, tightening just enough to make us both aware of how close we were and how easily we could pull away.

But we didn’t.

When we stepped outside, the world had softened. A fine mist had settled over the street, the kind that clung to your skin instead of falling like proper rain. Lando pulled up his hood; I didn’t bother. My cheeks were already warm.

“Where to now?” I asked.

He shrugged, hands in his pockets. “You’ve got your book. I’ve got time.”

We walked, without direction, even when we saw Lando’s car parked outside the bookstore, we still walked without talking, just the quiet rhythm of our steps echoing off the pavement. The street curved gently past ivy-covered flats and flickering old lanterns that hadn’t been updated to LED yet. It felt like walking through a city that had forgotten what century it belonged to.

“I like it here,” I said, finally. “It’s… still.”

“I thought you might.” His voice was soft, and he glanced sideways at me. “You talk fast when you’re nervous. But when it’s quiet? You don’t fill the space.”

I gave a small smile. “Neither do you.”

“Not with you.”

That sentence hung there, fog-wrapped and feather-light—and yet somehow heavier than anything either of us had said all day.

We turned a corner, and our shoulders brushed—not on purpose, but not entirely by accident either. I didn’t move away.

“I was trying not to like you, you know,” I said, eyes still ahead.

“I know,” he replied. “You did a terrible job.”

I laughed, and he smiled. That slow, lopsided one that made me want to pause in the middle of the street and forget every reason I’d ever built a wall in the first place.

“Can I tell you something?” he said after a few more steps.

I nodded.

“I thought that morning at the hospital's café would be it. You in your scrub, mid-shift, looking like you didn’t have five seconds to breathe. And me, standing there like I accidentally crossed timelines. It felt like one of those weird little moments the calendar forgets. Something out of order. Unexpected, but… unforgettable.”

My chest tightened. Not because it was grand or poetic, but because it was true.

“And now?”

He looked at me then, like he wasn’t quite sure whether to say what came next — but also knew he couldn’t not.

“Now I think about you in places where you don’t belong. Like the paddock. The grid. On a Sunday morning when I’m supposed to be mentally prepping, and instead I’m wondering if you’re making coffee in your kitchen reading a latest journal in your iPad in a messy bun.”

I swallowed, heart in my throat. The mist curled between us like breath. Cold on my skin. Warm in my chest.

“So what happens now?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

He looked down at me, still walking, close enough that I could see the glints in his green eyes, close enough to see the white mist that came out of his mouth each time he exhaled, the way his voice stayed low like this was something just for me.

“Now we keep walking,” he said. “Unless you want to stop.”

I did. I stopped.

And he did too, immediately. His eyes searched mine, not startled, but like he knew. Like maybe he’d hoped I’d be the one to stop first.

The space between us tightened. Breathless. I didn’t say anything. I just looked at him, really looked, like I was memorizing the moment before it unraveled. And then he smiled. Small. Crooked. Not the smile for fans or cameras. The one that meant, you don’t scare me, you undo me.

“So?” he asked, voice barely a thread. “Why’d you stop?”

My pulse tripped over itself.

“Because I’m tired of pretending this doesn’t feel different,” I whispered.

And before I could second-guess it, I took a step closer. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch or breathe too loud. But his gaze softened. Like he already knew what I was about to do and was letting me have the moment.

So I reached up, slowly, fingers grazing the edge of his jacket.  Not pulling, just anchoring. Just saying I’m still here. And then, without another word, I leaned in.

Our nose brushed first. Barely. My lips lingered, like I was testing gravity. And then I kissed him.

Gently.

No rush. No tilt of urgency. Just a slow, steady press, like punctuation at the end of a sentence I’d been writing for months without realizing.

His hand came up to cradle the side of my neck, warm even in the chill, and he kissed me back with the same stillness. Not cautious. Not unsure. His thumb brushed just under my jaw, and I let my eyes close. The rain didn’t matter. The street didn’t matter. Time, for once, didn’t matter.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss that demanded a future. It was the kind that honored everything that had already happened–the almosts, the timing, the pages in between.

And when we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine. “Finally,” he murmured, voice low and slightly hoarse, like the word had been waiting at the back of his throat for weeks.

I pulled back just enough to see his face. His eyes were soft, crinkled at the corners. That boyish grin was there too, not smug, not teasing. Just real.

“Was starting to think I imagined all of it,” he added, brushing a raindrop from my cheek with his thumb.

“You didn’t,” I whispered.

He smiled a little wider. “Good. Because if you had chosen to walk again, I might’ve let you… but I wouldn’t have liked it.”

That made me laugh, quietly, into the space between us.

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” I said.

And I meant it.

People always ask how it started. Like they’re expecting a moment, a grand ask, a rose-tinted “Will you be my girlfriend?” over dinner or after a race or under fairy lights. But that’s not how it happened.

Lando never really asked me out.

Not in the way people expect.

There was no question, no label. Just… a beginning. A slow, steady unfolding that felt more like a choice we made quietly, over time. Like people who had lived enough lives separately to know that love doesn’t always need a declaration. Just presence.

He kept showing up. In texts. In coffee shop corners. In flights he didn’t tell his team about until after he booked them. And I kept letting him in. Carefully, but willingly.

We didn’t rush to name it. We were busy, his world spun at 300 kilometers an hour, mine cracked chests open and stitched them back together. But between grid calls and ORs, airports and after-round coffees, we built something that was ours.

We didn’t try to hide it, exactly. We just didn’t parade it around.

It was easier that way. Simpler to keep the world out. Tiara called it “the perfect soft-launch relationship.” I called it safe.

And then... the jacket incident happened.

It was Monza, where I was free from the on-call schedule all weekend and decided coming to his race was better than spending the weekend in my bed hibernating. It was wet, windy, and I was miserable. I had no idea the cameras were rolling, F1’s content team was filming behind-the-scenes moments, team footage, crew interactions. Lando had lent me his McLaren jacket cause the rain decided to soak me from top to bottom. My hair was losing its curls. My sneakers were ruined. I looked like someone’s exhausted sister, not a romantic interest.

I didn’t even realize I’d made it into the background of the final cut–just a quick frame of me laughing with a race engineer, my face a bit blurry, half-draped in Lando’s soaked orange jacket. Nothing glamorous. Just… human.

But the internet noticed.

The next day, my phone exploded. Someone posted a still on twitter, “Who’s that girl?? Wearing Lando’s jacket??”

That would’ve been enough. But two hours later, a TikTok fan edit surfaced: a slowed-down frame of me in the jacket, followed by a split-screen comparison—the same smile, same posture, as the viral hug video from silverstone.

Comments went wild: “Did they just hard-launch in 0.2 seconds??” “So silverstone wasn't a friendly hug??” “Why is this the softest reveal I’ve ever seen??” "Isn't that the doctor from silverstone??" “Not Lando dating a literal surgeon goddess, I’m sobbing.” “Finally WAG with a real job.”

It was over. We were officially found.

Lando texted me a screenshot of a tweet with 40k likes. Just the words, “he’s soft-launching a surgeon. i can’t breathe.”

You: you gave me the jacket. that’s on you.

Lando: bold of you to assume i wasn’t planning it.

I could’ve panicked, yet I didn’t. Because by then, we already knew what we were.

No posts. No statement. No “Instagram official.” Just the quiet knowledge that somehow, without either of us needing to say it out loud, we had chosen each other.

The media storm had burned through most of the morning. I hadn’t opened Twitter. Lando had–for research, he claimed–and immediately regretted it. Tiara had sent seventeen screenshots, all with the caption: “YOU HAVE 8 SECONDS TO EXPLAIN.”

Now, I was sitting beside Lando on a low couch in McLaren’s motorhome. Across from us sat Julia, his PR manager, expression somewhere between mildly impressed and professionally panicked.

Julia set her tablet down, folded her hands. “So. Let’s talk about… whatever this is.”

I didn’t flinch. “That wasn’t a rollout plan, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Julia offered a tight smile. “I figured. But the algorithm doesn’t care about your rollout strategy, unfortunately.”

Lando leaned back, arms stretched across the back of the couch. “Is it bad?”

Julia raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘bad.’”

He winced. “Okay.”

I glanced at him, then back to Julia. “We weren’t trying to hide it. We were just… keeping it ours.”

Julia nodded. “And honestly? It shows. The response is overwhelmingly positive. Curious. Intrigued. But positive.”

She flipped the tablet around to show them a few headlines.  “F1’s Quietest Power Couple?”  “Surgeon, Influencer, McLaren Soft-Launch Queen?”  “Lando’s Jacket Might Be the Real Main Character of the Italian GP.”

Lando snorted. “They’re not wrong.”

Julia gave me a more pointed look. “You’re already media-trained by default, your hospital interviews, your fashion work, your seminars. You’re polished. That helps.”

I tilted my head. “But?”

“There’s always a but.” Julia paused. “There will be questions. Requests. Invitations. Maybe even some articles about your past. People will want to define you by your proximity to him.”

I didn’t look away. “They’ll learn quickly I don’t orbit anyone.”

Julia smiled at that. “Good. Then we have two options.”

She held up two fingers. “One: you both say nothing. Keep it quiet. Let the moment fade. Risk speculation-maybe some ‘are they or aren’t they’ articles every time you’re in the same city.”

“And two?” Lando asked.

“Two: A soft confirmation. One photo. One line. Maybe on your terms–not the media’s.”

Lando turned to me, and for a moment the buzz of the day, the headlines, the chaos—it all fell away. “It’s your call,” he said. “If you’re not ready, I’m not pushing it.”

“My call?” I asked. “You don’t care?”

His expression didn’t shift yet his hand reached mine and holded it. “Of course I care. But it’s your world, too. Your life. Your name.”

There was something so unflinching in that, not indifference, but respect.

Still, I tilted my head. “Okay, but what would you want, if it were just you?”

He gave a small laugh under his breath, eyes flicking away like he hadn’t expected the question to come back at him. “Then I’d want to say it,” he said quietly. “Not because I owe anyone anything. Just because I don’t want to pretend.”

The pen stilled in his hand. “But I also don’t want this to make your life hell. You’ve got an actual career–your patients, your followers, and a thousand people who already think you can’t be both things at once.”

Julia looked between us, silent. I took a breath. The truth was… he wasn’t wrong. I’d spent so long trying to keep the two sides of my life separate–influencer and resident, fashion and medicine, and now here was this third thing: a person who straddled two worlds too. A person who, somehow, felt like belonging in both.

I looked back at the screen. The freeze-frame showed me in the jacket, rain in my hair, laughing like I didn’t know a single lens was turned my way. I didn’t look like a brand. I looked like myself.

“I think,” I said slowly, “if we’re already here… we don’t deny it. We don’t parade it either. No red carpet hard launch. No ‘joint statement.’ Just… let them figure it out.”

Julia tapped her screen. “Understood. Soft confirm, no formal announcement. Just authenticity.”

“Just us,” Lando echoed, still watching me.

The buzz of Monza had faded fast as I was back navigating my life as a resident. I kept replaying the way Lando held my hand, his kisses, soft whispers, the loud garage and roar of the car, which felt so contrasting with the loudness of the hospital that somehow felt lonelier than ever. I fell back into a routine I knew too well, scrubs, rounds, charting, back to scrubs. The comments online hadn’t stopped either. Whispers about my intentions, how I was just like another influencer, that this relationship wouldn't last that they'd give it only two months.

I didn’t respond—not to the noise, and not to the ache of missing him. Because even when Lando texted, FaceTimed, sent photos from his hotel breakfasts or during pre-race training, there was still a distance. Not just in kilometers, but in everything else too. I told myself to focus. I told myself to hold it together. Until I couldn’t anymore.

Some nights don’t end, they just bleed. This one started like that. The hallway outside the NICU smelled like antiseptic and tired decisions. I rubbed sanitizer into my hands until they burned—my fourth coat in under an hour—and blinked back the sting in my eyes from too much air conditioning and not enough sleep.

It was close to midnight when the alarms started. Not the shrill, chaotic kind, but the cold ones—the ones that tell you something has already gone wrong. When the baby’s heart rate began to dip, it was like a warning bell sounding in my chest.

She’d been ours for nearly three months.

Born with a rare congenital heart defect, one I’d written case notes about in med school but never seen up close. I knew her chart like my own reflection. She had survived two surgeries, and had the fiercest will I’d ever seen in a NICU incubator. She had hair like peach fuzz and a grip stronger than her weight in grams should allow. Her parents called her “our little fighter,” and for a long time, she lived up to the name.

Until tonight.

We tried everything. I led the code—compressions with two fingers, switching off with the paeds resident on-duty every two minutes, while our attending called out meds and timers like an orchestra conductor keeping chaos from slipping off rhythm.

I didn’t think. I reacted. Muscle memory. Protocols. Calm voice even when the room stopped breathing. That’s what they teach you. That composure equals clarity.

Fourty-five minutes.

That’s how long we tried to bring her back. To reach ROSC. A heartbeat. We pushed epi. We begged with our hands. I don’t even remember when the attending finally said it, “Time of death: 3:37 a.m.”

The silence that followed wasn’t peace.

It was ruin.

I took off my gloves in the corridor like they weighed double. One of the nurses handed me water I couldn’t drink. Another touched my elbow. I think she meant it kindly.

Then came the worst part.

The family room was dimly lit, too warm. Her parents were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the vinyl couch, eyes puffy, coffee untouched. The mother stood when I entered. The father didn’t.

I told them gently. Clearly. Like I’d practiced. Like the words were surgical tools. Sharp, clean, necessary.

And just like that, their world ended.

They didn’t cry right away. Grief didn’t look like it did in movies. Her mother covered her mouth and sank back down. Her father stared at the wall. Then the voices rose—not at each other, but at me. It wasn’t screaming. It wasn’t unkind. It was anguish disguised as blame.

“You said she was stable.”  “You said she had a chance.”  “You were supposed to help her.”

They didn’t say it to hurt me. But it did.

Because I had said those things. Because I had believed them. Because I had meant every single word.

I didn’t cry. Not when I debriefed with my attending. Not during sign-out. Not even when one of the nurses hugged me a little too long after shift change.

But my hands shook when I changed out of my blood-specked scrubs. And my chest ached when I walked past her empty isolette on the way out.

Outside, the sky was trying to be morning.

I crossed the lobby and thought maybe I’d make it to the parking lot before everything caught up to me. That maybe if I just kept walking, it would stay inside.

Then I saw him.

Lando. In flesh.

Leaning against the far wall near the revolving doors, holding two coffees and wearing that dumb black hoodie that barely covered his curls. He looked up just as I spotted him.

I stopped. My body did before my mind could.

His face shifted when he saw mine.

And then I broke.

No warning. Just shattered.

I stumbled forward like my body gave up on pretending, and I was crying before I reached him—raw, shaking, inconsolable in a way that had nothing to do with physical pain.

He put the coffee on the chair, no, he basically dropped the coffees on instinct. Didn’t hesitate.

His arms came around me in a heartbeat. One around my back, one cradling my head, his chin resting just above my temple like he’d rehearsed this. Like he knew I needed it more than I needed air.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, over and over. “I’ve got you, love.”

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Just sobbed into his chest in the middle of the hospital lobby, as the early shift staff filtered in with badge swipes and takeaway cups, quietly pretending not to notice the resident collapsing into someone’s arms.

But they did notice.

I felt the stares. Heard the silence swell and shift.

Lando must’ve felt it too.

He dipped his head, speaking quietly, almost to himself. “Let’s get you out of here, yeah?”

I nodded. Couldn’t do more.

He guided me gently, one arm firm around my shoulders, steering me toward the car parked near the side entrance. My feet moved because his did. My bones didn’t know how to hold me anymore, but he did.

He opened the passenger door and helped me inside like I was glass. Closed it with a soft click. Then slipped into the driver’s seat beside me without starting the engine.

He didn’t talk. Didn’t press.

Just reached for my hand.

And that’s when I cried all over again—quiet now, exhausted, with nothing left to prove. Letting the weight of a tiny heartbeat lost in the night settle into my bones.

And this time, I didn’t carry it alone.

By the time we got to my apartment, the sky had given way to a dull grey light—that post-night shift haze where everything feels a little too loud and too quiet at the same time.

Lando didn’t say much during the drive, and I was grateful for that. I didn’t have the energy to fill the space, and he didn’t seem to need me to. He just kept one hand on the wheel and the other loosely over mine in the center console, thumb grazing my knuckles like he knew I needed the contact to stay tethered.

When we reached my place, he parked, turned the engine off, and didn’t ask if I wanted him to come up. He just got out, grabbed my bag from the backseat, and waited for me to lead the way.

I unlocked the door with shaky fingers. The apartment smelled faintly like jasmine and stale coffee. My cat blinked at me from the couch, tail flicking once in sleepy judgment before curling back up.

I stood there for a beat too long, keys still in my hand.

Then Lando gently touched the small of my back. “Shoes off,” he said softly, a nudge toward normal. “And drink some water. Doctor’s orders.”

I let out a breath that might have been a laugh. Did as I was told. He followed me in, quiet and careful, setting my bag down and looking at the space like he was trying not to disturb it. Like he knew everything here had been holding something fragile.

I collapsed onto the edge of the couch and curled my legs under me. My body felt like it had been hollowed out.

He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water. Set it on the table in front of me. Then sat on the floor, cross-legged, like getting too close would make it worse.

“You don’t have to talk,” he said, voice low. “Not if you don’t want to.”

I stared down at my hands. My nails were chipped. There was a tiny streak of dried blood near my wrist from where my glove had torn during the code.

“I keep seeing her face,” I whispered.

He didn’t move.

“She had these tiny lashes. Like air.” I swallowed hard. “And after we called time, one of our nurses brushed them with her thumb. Like she was tucking her in.”

The quiet between us wasn’t awkward. It was sacred. Heavy and gentle at once.

“I’ve lost patients before,” I said. “Adults. Older kids. I’ve told families it was over. I’ve even walked out of an OR and thrown up in the stairwell. But this one…” My voice cracked. “I really thought she’d make it.”

Lando’s brows pinched slightly. But he didn’t say sorry. He didn’t try to soften it.

“She was fighting,” I continued, “and we kept asking her to fight harder. And she did. She did everything we asked.”

“You did everything you could.”

I nodded, but it didn’t land. “That’s what everyone says. That we 'did everything'. But there’s always a part of me that thinks if I had done one thing differently—if I’d caught it sooner, if I'd pushed for another test—maybe she'd still be here.”

His eyes didn’t leave mine. “You’re not God, Y/N.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

I looked away.

Lando leaned forward just a little, arms resting on his knees. “You’re allowed to grieve. You’re allowed to be human.”

“I’m supposed to be able to hold it together.”

“Says who?”

“Everyone.”

He shook his head. “That’s crap.”

A pause. Then his voice dropped even lower, quieter. “You held that baby’s heart in your hands. You gave her more time than she would’ve had. Her parents may never see that, but I do. And I know what it’s like to carry the weight of someone else’s expectations. The pressure to be perfect, even when everything’s breaking.”

I blinked at him, something tight uncoiling in my chest.

“Don’t do that alone,” he said.

I didn’t answer. But I didn’t look away, either.

A moment passed. Then I slid down from the couch, curling into him on the rug like it was instinct. His arms came around me immediately, solid and steady, and for the first time since the code, I let myself feel the full weight of it all—what we lost, what I gave, what I couldn’t fix.

We sat like that for a long time. Just breathing. Just being. Just him. Just me. And the quiet understanding between two people from different worlds, learning how to hold space in the middle of the mess.

Yesterday passed like a blink. Or maybe a fog. I couldn’t tell. We didn’t talk about what happened, not really. We didn’t do much of anything. I remembered he basically had to shoved food down to my throat because I refused to get up from the couch. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I woke up with his hoodie around me and the weight of his arm still resting across my waist. My chest ached like I’d run through a war zone. My eyes felt swollen, though I didn’t think I’d cried again.

Grief doesn’t come with an alarm, but duty does, and mine buzzed to life just after 5:00 AM. I’d only gotten a couple hours of restless sleep, the kind where your body rests but your mind keeps reaching for what it lost.

I didn’t want to move.

But Lando stirred beside me. He hadn’t left. He’d curled into the edge of the couch with me the night before, one arm around my waist, our breathing syncing without meaning to. At some point I must’ve shifted, drifted, finally let go, because when I opened my eyes, he was already awake, brushing his thumb lightly across the back of my hand.

“You’ve got to go in,” he said, voice low and soft, like he didn’t want to disturb the quiet that had settled around us.

“I know.” My voice was scratchy, and everything ached.

“I’ll drive.”

“You really don’t have to—”

“I know,” he said again, and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “But I want to.”

The drive was quiet. The kind of silence that didn’t need filling–not uncomfortable, just familiar now. I watched the city wake up through the windshield, street lights blinking off one by one, and wondered how everything could look so normal when something felt permanently altered inside me.

He reached into the center console at a red light and pulled out a small container.

“I made you something,” he said, almost bashful. “Well. I assembled it. I wouldn’t call it cooking.”

I opened the lid and blinked. A sandwich. Peanut butter and banana. Cut diagonally. No frills.

“You remembered I forgot to pack anything.”

“You always forget.”

I smiled, small but real. “This is… actually really sweet.”

“It’s my signature dish,” he deadpanned. “A Norris family classic. Carefully constructed with love and no culinary training.”

I laughed softly—and that laugh, that ache-softening laugh, carried me all the way to the hospital parking lot.

When I stepped through the automatic doors, the lobby looked exactly the same as it did twenty-four hours ago.

But I wasn’t.

My badge clipped to the collar of my clean scrubs. My stethoscope looped around my neck. My expression fixed, practiced. Functional.

Lando didn’t come in with me. He knew better. He just rested a hand on my back before I stepped out of the car, and said, “Text me if you need anything. Or nothing. Or air.”

“I will,” I said. “Thank you.”

“For the sandwich?” he teased.

“For everything.”

Inside, the shift was already moving. Rounds underway. Notes being scribbled. Coffee half-sipped and charts half-read. But the energy shifted when I walked in. Not dramatically. No gasps. No outright questions. But there were glances. Murmured conversations that paused when I passed. The kind of silence that isn’t mean–just too careful.

People knew.

They knew what had happened. Word travels fast in a hospital, especially when someone codes for almost an hour. Especially when it’s a baby. Especially when the resident who led the code collapsed into the arms of a mysterious man in the lobby before sunrise.

I caught one of the interns whispering to a nurse.

“She’s the one who lost the kid last night.” “Yeah. I saw her crying in the lobby, I feel sad for her too.” “That was Lando Norris with her, right? The F1 guy?”

The words hovered in the air like static. But they didn’t sting. No one said anything to me directly. Not about the baby. Not about Lando. And oddly, I was grateful for that. There was mercy in the hush. In the way people lowered their voices and let me slip back into routine without demanding I relive it all.

I moved from one room to the next, listening to heartbeats, checking drains, adjusting meds. I could feel the grief humming beneath my skin, but the motions helped. One foot in front of the other. One chart after the next.

Eventually, during rounds, my attending approached me in the hallway. He was older, seasoned, with a gaze that could cut you open or stitch you together in a sentence.

“You did everything you could last night,” he said, no preamble.

I opened my mouth, unsure whether to argue or thank him, but he held up a hand.

“I’ve been there,” he continued. “And I know the guilt doesn’t leave just because your shift ends. But let me be clear. It wasn’t your fault. The outcome hurts, but the care you gave? That baby passed away wrapped in it.”

My throat tightened. I didn’t speak.

He nodded once. “Take what you need from that. Then keep going.”

It wasn’t a lecture. It wasn’t pity. It was grace. And I held onto it the rest of the day.

Hours later, I found a text waiting for me during a rare ten-minute break.

Lando: You okay? Need me to sneak in and refill your sandwich?

Me: That was the best sandwich I’ve ever had. I might cry again.

Lando: Happy to deliver emotional sandwiches any time. You’re doing great. I mean it.

I smiled, leaning back against the wall of the call room. Exhausted. Hollow. But not entirely alone in it anymore. And maybe that was the difference today. The baby was still gone. The pain hadn’t vanished. But the silence around me wasn’t so isolating. And the person waiting outside my world wasn’t walking away.

We hadn’t been seen together in months. Not at a race. Not in the paddock. Not in the background of a story someone could zoom into. We never made a big announcement. No "soft launch," no black-and-white dinner photo, no inside joke caption for fans to dissect. Just… one slow, unfolding connection that was real and complicated and tucked quietly into the corners of our lives. One that fits between cases and circuits, call rooms and podiums, coffee at 5 a.m. and FaceTime kisses at midnight.

But after a while, the silence started to echo louder.

It had been nearly three months since I’d been to a race.

Three months of unmatched schedules—surgeries stacked on top of each other, international conferences I couldn’t turn down, consults bleeding into weekends, and Lando’s back-to-back race calendar pushing him from continent to continent. Even when we carved out time—stolen moments between hospital shifts and red-eye flights—we were always chasing the clock.

He still came to me after some races, slipped in quietly, stayed a day or two, and left before dawn with a kiss to my forehead. And I still waited up for his calls when he crossed the finish line, heart stuttering when I saw his name light up my screen.

But the public? They didn’t see any of it.

And so the whispers started again.

“Looks like that doctor situation didn’t last.”  “Maybe it was just PR?”  “Told you — people like her don’t date people like him for long.”  “She hasn’t been at a race in months. They’re probably done.”

I didn’t take it personally.

At least not at first.

But some days, after a long shift, I’d open my phone and see a headline questioning my existence—like I’d been a footnote in someone else’s chapter—and something in my chest would twist.

I wasn’t angry. Just… tired of hiding something that had never been a secret to begin with.

Lando never pressured me to post anything, never asked for more than I could give. But I saw it in his eyes sometimes—when fans shoved phones in his face asking about “the mystery girl,” when he was tagged in edits that erased me entirely—the faint twitch of frustration in his jaw.

Still, neither of us spoke it aloud.

Until one quiet night in late-October, when I collapsed into his hoodie on the couch and whispered, “You know I miss it, right? Being there. Seeing you race.”

He turned toward me, brow creasing. “I know. I miss you being there.”

“I’ve got the weekend off,” I said, voice soft. “Next one. Abu Dhabi.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just stared at me. Then he said, “Come with me.”

The paddock buzzed in a way that only a season finale could bring—humid, electric, the kind of energy that vibrated off the asphalt. Flashing cameras. Champagne chilled before the race even began. Team radios crackling like nerves.

And this time, I wasn’t watching it through a screen.

I stood at Lando’s side, fingers laced with his, sunglasses perched on my nose, paddock pass lanyard grazing the hem of my tailored vest. Confident. Grounded. Ready.

I didn’t hang back this time. I didn’t trail five steps behind or duck away from photographers. I didn’t hide behind a McLaren team hoodie or worry about the timing of a headline.

This time, I walked with him. Through the paddock. Onto the grid. Past the cameras that spun toward us like moths drawn to something newly undeniable.

Lando didn’t say anything dramatic. He didn’t look at the cameras. He just squeezed my hand a little tighter, like a quiet “I’ve got you” that traveled through skin and bone.

And I squeezed back.

This was no soft launch. This was a we’re here, we’re real, we don’t need your permission kind of moment.

Later, in the paddock hospitality suite, Tiara sent me a voice note that practically shattered my eardrums.

“OH MY GOD. Y/N. THE PHOTOS. You two look like an Italian Vogue feature. That outfit?? That hand-hold??? You BROKE the internet.”

I opened Instagram and saw it immediately.

The official F1 account had already posted a paddock arrival shot: Lando in his fire suit, sunglasses on, hand in mine, a small smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. And me—steady, chin high, vest cinched at the waist like armor.

The comments were a mix of pure chaos and disbelief:

“WAIT WHAT”  “She’s real???????” "THEYRE STILL GOING STRONG!!"  “Hard launching on last race weekend of the season is so WILD”  “She looks like she performs heart surgery for breakfast and he’s into it”  “Protect this energy at all costs”

And in the middle of it all—Lando had reposted the image with a caption that simply said:

“About time.”

It wasn’t a declaration. It was a confirmation.

Of everything we’d already lived behind closed doors. Of nights he held me through grief and mornings I made him laugh on flights home. Of every late FaceTime, every cold brew drop-off, every race watched from a hospital on-call room.

We didn’t need to say it. We just showed up.

Together.

And this time, we didn’t walk quietly. We walked hand in hand, with the world finally seeing what we already knew. This wasn’t fleeting. This wasn’t a phase. This was us.

The race was chaos.

The kind that lives in your bones long after the engines go quiet—tires screeching, radio static, strategy calls that felt like gambles. But he did it. Lando did it.

World Champion.

And when the final flag waved, when the fireworks burst overhead and the grandstands shook with thunderous cheers, I didn't even realize I was holding my breath until the screen lit up with his name.

P1. Lando Norris.

My knees nearly gave out.

The McLaren garage erupted—mechanics yelling, hugging, sobbing. I stood back in the crowd, a blur of hands and champagne already misting the air, heart pounding against my ribs.

And still, my eyes were only looking for one person.

He parked the car, sounded breathless over the radio, laughter choked with tears. And then he climbed out, helmet still on, arms raised toward the sky as if reaching for something that had always felt a little out of reach.

I wasn’t sure when the tears started. Only that I couldn’t stop them.

He hugged every mechanic. Patted every shoulder. Fell into his engineer’s arms. And then—His mother.

She was the first person he found.

They hugged hard, forehead to forehead. She said something into his ear that he didn’t repeat—only nodded, fiercely, like it meant everything.

Then, He turned.

The helmet was still on. But I knew. Even across the chaos, even across the barrier, even when fans were screaming and cameras were flashing and the whole world was watching.

He was looking for me.

And when he saw me—finally, finally—the tension in his body changed.

He moved. Straight toward me, cutting through crew and crowd, unbothered by the cameras now closing in. The security guard at the edge of parc fermé barely registered me—Lando waved him off without words.

I blinked. “Lando—”

He didn’t say anything. Not at first.

He just stopped in front of me, eyes wide, chest still rising like he couldn’t catch up to the moment.

Then, without breaking eye contact—

He took off his helmet.

One slow, deliberate motion. Pulled it free. Dropped it carelessly to the side. Ran a hand through his sweat-damp curls.

And kissed me.

Hard. Unapologetically. Like a confession that had been burning in his throat for months.

The crowd went feral. The paddock flashed white with a hundred camera shutters. The media burst into chaos. Some people cheered. Others just gasped.

But I didn’t hear it. Because I was kissing him back.

And in the middle of that kiss, just as he pulled back far enough to catch his breath, still holding my face like he didn’t care about a single person watching, he whispered, “I love you.”

My breath caught.

He said it like it had lived inside him too long. Like it finally found its way out.

“I love you,” he said again, louder this time. “I didn’t know how much until you weren’t there every weekend. Until I kept winning, and it didn’t mean anything unless I could find your face at the end of it.”

Tears blurred everything again.

“I’m here,” I managed.

“You always are.” His thumb brushed my cheek. “Even when you’re not in the paddock, you’re with me. In every turn. Every lap. Every quiet.”

I couldn’t say it back fast enough. “I love you too.”

And just like that, in a sea of orange and noise, with champagne in the air and a championship behind him, he kissed me again.

The paddock had emptied. The fireworks were done, the interviews wrapped. The celebratory noise still buzzed somewhere in the distance—team members laughing over drinks, music bleeding from the hospitality suite—but we had slipped away, unnoticed.

Not far. Just far enough.

Lando had taken my hand sometime between the last question and the last photo, and neither of us had let go.

Now, we sat beneath the stars on a low rooftop terrace just above the motorhome. Shoes kicked off. Racing suit had changed to a clean team merch. My hand tucked into his, thumb running small circles along his knuckles. I hadn’t said much since the podium—not after the kiss, not after the sudden onslaught of attention. But I didn’t feel like I need to.

He looked at me now, his curls messy from the wind, his green eyes soft in the moonlight, and smiled like the chaos below belonged to someone else.

“I should feel different,” he murmured, voice low.

I glanced over him. “You don’t?”

“I mean… yeah. It’s everything I’ve ever worked for. But this—” he nodded toward my hand in his “—feels bigger.”

I laughed quietly, the sound more breath than voice. My heart felt like sommer-saulting. “That’s insane.”

“I know,” he said, then looked at me again. “But when I saw you in the crowd, I knew it was all I could ever ask for.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It was full—of shared knowing, of ache and wonder and everything we'd survived to get here.

After a while, I spoke. “You remember when you said I didn’t fill the silence?”

He nodded.

“I think that’s how I knew you are the one. Because the quiet with you never felt empty.”

Lando leaned in then, not for a kiss this time—but to rest his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my skin.

“I love you,” he whispered again.

“I know,” I said, smiling. “I love you too.”

The world spun on. The season had ended. The championship was his. But here, in this small, borrowed sliver of stillness, there was no noise to outrun.

Just two people. Just their shared quiet. And the rest of their forever, beginning softly.

[babybobbysstories]

A Bedwetter's Beginning - Chapter One

Note to the reader; This is the first chapter of the prequel to my Mikey series which can be found in my writing section here. Stay tuned for more chapters to come!

These are the chapters that make up the entire series;

A Bedwetter's Beginning Kendra Training a Sissy A Sissy Becomes a Baby Cuckold Penis Reduction Therapy for Sissies Milking my Sissy on Date Night Taking Control From a Sissy Nana Comes to babysit Two Sissies--One Babysitter A Playdate for Two Sissies Nana's Retribution

Mike was bored stiff.

It was 10:35 in the morning on a Wednesday and as he stared at his work computer screen idly, he wondered, not for the first time, if this was all there was to life.

It was times like these, that Mike’s mind began to wander, and he would start to daydream about the past. This was not a particularly productive diversion, as there were many shameful secrets he really wished he could forget.

Tapping his pen on the mouse pad before him, his cheeks reddened as he recalled one particularly humiliating event or another, mulling over the shameful memories and wishing life had dealt him a different hand.

The fact was, all throughout Mike’s childhood, he had been a chronic bedwetter. After his mom had taken him to several doctors, only to have them pronounce him physically fine, she decided the time-tested solution of diapers and plastic pants was the best way to deal with the situation. After placing several large orders online, she began stocking up on cloth diapers, plastic panties, pins and everything needed to accommodate her incontinent sissy boy. Although disposable diapers were probably the more popular and modern choice, she had chosen traditional cloth for their absorbency and the fact that her boy would be forced to be surrounded by his wetness until she decided to change him, whereas disposables tended to wick away the wetness from the skin, rendering them as less of a deterrent.

Believing that shame was the best method to bring about a change in her errant son’s behavior, his mom had chosen very babyish looking plastic and rubber panties for his diapering. They were in pretty pastel colors and cute nursery prints that would have gladdened the heart of any grandmother with a new baby girl to dote over.

Later that night, his mom led her prissy son into the bedroom where she’d laid out his “protection” for the night. Mike immediately threw a hissy fit, but his mom wasn’t having it—she knew quite well how to handle his childish tantrums and what he needed at that moment was a good, hard spanking. Yanking him over her lap, she paddled the fussy boy until he was repentant and prepared to behave. With his bottom hot, throbbing and stinging, Mike wiped the tears from his face as his mom laid him down for the first time since he was a toddler, on the thick stack of baby-soft diapers she had prepared.

“These will be your underwear each and every night until you decide to stop wetting the bed,” she explained firmly.

Whining and whimpering, he had to lay there as his mom slathered his blazing red cheeks with diaper rash cream before powdering him and pinning the voluminous diapers around his slender hips.

“This is for your own good,” she scolded him as she pulled a cute yellow pair of nursery print plastic panties up his legs.

It took some getting used to; the slippery, soft bulk of his diapers between his legs and the infantile scent of baby powder following him everywhere.

That night, and for the following four nights in a row, Mike completely soaked his diapers—thereby proving without a doubt, his absolute need for them, but at least his bedding remained dry. His mom soon put up a bedwetting chart to monitor his progress (or lack thereof), but she warned him in no uncertain terms that seven wet nights in a row would earn him another trip over her lap. Mike struggled to stay dry, but he nevertheless found himself getting spanked on average at least twice a month.

The fact was, Mike was no stranger to being spanked.

At school, his teacher, Ms. Sterne felt strongly that the best way to remedy an errant student was a good dose of her hard wooden paddle. Mike had been on the receiving end of it numerous times, and he could still painfully recall having to bend over her desk, facing the rest of the class, as she pulled his pee-stained underwear down and gave him thirty blistering swats of her Spencer paddle. Mike would stamp his feet and bawl like a baby as he looked at his classmates through tear-filled eyes, the cruel slaps of the paddle putting a cherry hot glow to his bare bottom.

Her students soon learned that obedience was paramount in Ms. Sterne's class.

On occasion, Mike would also have accidents at school, where he’d come home having wet his pants after a particularly traumatic incident. This often happened when Melissa, one of the cheerleaders, would bully him or when he received a wedgy from one of the toughs hanging out in the hallway. After discovering the front of his pants wet, his mom would threatened to diaper him during the daytime too, but she never actually made good on it.

His aunt, on the other hand, had no such qualms, and there were numerous weekends he had stayed over at her house, pinned into his shameful diapers and plastic panties day and night. This made for some interested (albeit humiliating) conversations whenever his aunt happened to be entertaining visitors. Poor Mike just had to stand there foolishly in his pampers as his aunt explained to her guests, her nephew's chronic bedwetting habit. Not surprisingly, and much to his utter shame, such conversations often led to Mike helplessly wetting his diapers before them.

One particular event stuck out in his mind as Mike pondered his often times humiliating history with his aunt. She had needed to go shopping one weekend and she didn’t trust Mike to be alone in the house without supervision. This was always something that grated on the sissy teen—the notion that he needed a babysitter, but his aunt was firm in her convictions and she didn’t tolerate any back talk from the boy. After changing his wet nighttime diapers and pinning him into a very thick set of new ones, she had given him a thin pair of shorts to wear, and they’d left the house to run her errands. Mike was mortified by her choice of clothes because not only had she chosen a particularly crackly and noisy pair of plastic panties for him, but the thin shorts did nothing whatsoever to hide his diapered condition. Indeed, pretty much without exception, everyone that saw him, stopped to stare at the young man, his hips bulging from the bulky set of diapers pinned around his waist. Most of the older women that saw him, smiled knowingly and he blushed terribly at their attentions.

Alas, it was all too much for the anxious young man and while waiting impatiently beside his aunt in one of the stores, he managed to wet himself. He had hoped to keep it a secret, but just as they were standing in line to be rung up, she reached down and made an obvious point of checking him, slipping a finger inside the legs of his shorts and discovering the soggy wet cotton of his diapers.

Mike blushed furiously and looked away from the others around him.

“I’m sorry but my boy seems to have had an accident and wet himself—is there somewhere I might change his diapers?” she asked the young salesclerk.

Stifling a giggle, the young woman pointed the way to the public changing room in the back of the store.

Mike’s cheeks flushed a deep red with shame as his aunt patiently led him down the aisle and into the empty room which had a raised counter and a package of baby wipes nearby. Lifting the whimpering boy up, she sat him down before pulling his shorts down and off from his wet diapers. Digging into her diaper bag, she reached in to get a new set of fresh cloth diapers for him. With maternal efficiency, she unpinned the soggy trio around his waist and dropped them into a plastic bag, along with his plastic panties. Humming to herself, she swiftly positioned him on the stack of fluffy Birdseye cloth, powdered him with Johnson’s baby powder, and proceeded to pin the layers of bunny-soft cloth around his slim hips.

Pulling out two pairs of plastic panties, she smiled and held them before Mike.

“Today my little sugarplum gets a choice—white with polka dots, or pink nursery print.”

Just then, without notice, another mother abruptly opened the door and came into the room, holding the hand of her four year-old son. She stopped in shock and her mouth opened when she caught sight of the teenaged Mike getting his diapers changed like an infant on the counter and his aunt still holding his plastic panties up before him.

“Oh—I’m so sorry. I thought the room was vacant,” she said, even as she looked Mike up and down appraisingly.

“Not at all—it’s no problem,” his aunt replied breezily, “My nephew just needs his plastic panties put on and then we’re done.

“Come on now, Mikey,” she said, using the pet name for him she was fond of, “Which pair would you prefer?”

Mike’s face and chest blushed crimson and he gulped with shame, unsure what to say as he stared at the ground and swung his feet nervously.

“How about the polka dot pair?” his aunt asked, reveling in his discomfort, “I think you’ll look cute as a button in them.”

Without waiting for a response, she pulled them over his shoes and up his legs, working them over the fat, soft bulk of his diapers as he squealed with embarrassment. The ambient light reflected brightly upon the shiny plastic panties and he looked like an overgrown toddler as they were secured around his waist.

“Isn’t your boy a little old to still be wearing diapers?” the young mother asked incredulously.

“Well, Mikey has very little control—he’s always been a chronic bedwetter and sometimes he wets his pants too, so diapers and plastic panties are very much a necessary part of his life,” she explained patiently, “Some little boys just never outgrown their diapers, do they sweetie?”

Mike was too embarrassed to answer so he kept his eyes on the ground instead.

“Well, we’ve taken enough of this young lady’s time,” his aunt said as she pulled his tan colored shorts up his ankles.

Mike jumped off the counter and he held his aunt’s shoulders to steady himself as she pulled his shorts up his smooth legs and over his big, bulging diapers. Unfortunately, the thin material couldn’t disguise the playful pattern of polka dots on his plastic panties underneath and the young mother watched him with unconcealed interest.

“You’ve got a very caring mommy to make sure you stay dry,” the woman observed, and unconsciously, she gently patted Mike on his fat, diapered bottom affectionately.

Thinking back on this incident still made Mike blush to his roots and he tried desperately to return to his work on his computer but the memories seemed to flood his mind and he couldn’t bring himself to think of anything else…

Mike’s bedwetting, and his mom’s way of handling it, continued all through his high school years until he was finally able to move out. He was able to find a dingy apartment and with his mom’s help to cover the deposit, he was, for the first time in his life, living alone. Unwisely, he chose to discontinue his all important nighttime diapering routine with predictable results; the mattress in his new apartment was soon ruined in the first week and his bedroom started to reek of stale urine.

Living in a state of denial, he chose to simply ignore the problem, putting it out of mind whenever he was home.

This all came to a head about a week later. His mom decided to surprise him by stopping by for a last-minute, unannounced visit to his new apartment. It was when he greeted her at the door—and he tried to prevent her from entering, that she barged her way past him and immediately became aware of what was going on. The strong, pungent aroma of stale pee from his mattress filled the apartment with it''s shameful smell. As her features darkened ominously, she knew there was only one thing to do.

Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her oval-shaped wooden paddle and swiftly yanked her sissy son over her lap. His neighbors were treated to the loud, painful punishment that followed, with every cruel slap of the paddle on his bare bottom easily being heard through the thin walls, to say nothing of Mike's childish wailing.

That afternoon, his mom brought four boxes over from her house containing all of his diapering supplies with strict instructions that he was to resume wearing them each and every night. Just to drive the point home, she decided then and there, to pin him into his thick, sissy diapers and pull his plastic panties up for him, making the young man feel like an incontinent toddler all over again.

Ashamed and defeated, Mike knew she was right and that night, and from then on, he went to bed properly diapered as he was meant to be.

[theh0lylyre]

10 minutes!~

👀

(dante x f!reader, reader is a devil hunter too of course but you are in a relationship with dante, oral (reader is receiving))

💋 dante is stressed out before a meeting, but only you can be the one to relieve his stress.

THIS IS SO CRINGE but anything for the loyal Dante fans 🥰 enjoy~ also i love his eyes sm- I AM LOYAL TO VERGIL I SWEAR🧍‍♂️

Dante's eyes darted around his cluttered desk, his heart racing faster than a Formula 1 car. He was a man on a mission, searching for the elusive paperclip that had decided to play hide and seek at the most inconvenient time. His fingers danced over the mess, pushing aside crumpled pieces of paper, a forgotten strawberry sundae, and a half-eaten pizza. The clock on the wall was a silent yet persistent reminder of the ticking minutes. He had exactly ten more to get ready for the next meeting with the devil hunters.

"Dante, are you okay?" Your soft voice echoed through the doorway. You leaned against the frame, your brow furrowed with concern. You were dressed impeccably, not a single hair out of place, unlike the chaotic scene you found before you. Dante looked up, his cheeks flushing a shade darker than his coat. "Yeah, just...looking for something," he mumbled, hoping you couldn't see his shaking hands.

You stepped into the room, your boots clicking against the wooden floor. "You know the meeting starts in ten minutes, right?" You asked, your tone a blend of amusement and urgency. Dante nodded, his mind racing. He had never been late for anything in his career, and he wasn't about to start now. "I'm almost done," he lied, his voice strained. The paperclip remained elusive, like a mirage in the desert of his desk.

"Let me help," you offered, your eyes scanning the mess. Your hands moved swiftly and efficiently, a stark contrast to Dante's frenzied search. Within seconds, you plucked a shiny paperclip from beneath a stack of files. "Here it is," you said, smiling sweetly. Dante took it with a sigh of relief, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. In that instant, something changed. The tension in the room grew palpable, and the air crackled with an unspoken energy that neither could ignore.

Without warning, Dante's hand shot out, grabbing the back of your neck, and he pulled you into a fierce kiss. You gasped, surprised, but didn't push away. Instead, your arms wrapped around his waist, drawing him closer. The paperclip fell forgotten to the floor, unnoticed. Only a whirlwind of passion, the stress of the impending meeting dissipating like mist in the sun.

Both bodies collided, the desk creaking under the sudden weight. Dante's hand slid down your back, cupping your waist and lifting you onto the desk. The papers scattered, fluttering to the floor like leaves in an autumn breeze. Your legs wrapped around him, your skirt riding up. He felt the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, your breath hot against his ear as you whispered, "We don't have much time."

The urgency in your voice only fueled his desire. He kissed your neck, feeling the rapid beat of your pulse under his lips. His hands roamed up your thighs, the fabric of your stockings smooth and inviting. Your hands were busy too, unbuttoning his black shirt, your nails lightly scratching his chest. You had to be quick, silent, and precise, like ninjas in a library.

Dante leaned back, looking into your eyes, and whispered, "I need this, y/n." You nodded, your own eyes dark with need. You both knew the risk, but the thrill was too much to resist. With a swift movement, you adjust your position, breathing shallow and erratic. You could already hear Trish and Lady chattering outside.

He knelt before you, his hands sliding under your skirt, pushing it aside to reveal your lacy panties. He took a moment to appreciate the sight before him, your bare thighs and the hint of what lay beneath the fabric. With a wicked grin, Dante hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pulled them down, exposing you to the cool air. Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, but you didn't protest, your legs parting slightly in invitation.

He leaned in, his breath hot on your skin, and took a long, lingering lick from the base of your thigh to your clit. You gasped, your hips jerking upwards. The devil hunter took his time, savoring your sweetness and the way you quivered under his touch. His tongue danced around you, teasing and tasting, until you were moaning softly. He could feel the heat of your arousal, the way you grew wetter with every stroke.

Your hands gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white, as you struggled to keep your voice down. Dante knew he had you on the edge and didn't hold back. He buried his face between your thighs, his tongue working you in a rhythm that mirrored the ticking clock on the wall. Your moans grew louder, your body tensing. He could feel your orgasm building, the way you tightened around his mouth. And when you came, it was a silent explosion of pleasure, your body arching and your eyes squeezed shut.

For a moment, you remained frozen, panting and trembling. Then, with a grin, Dante stood up, straightening his coat and smoothing out his shirt. "Now, I think I'm ready for that meeting," he said, his voice low and filled with satisfaction. You slid off the desk, adjusting your own clothing with shaky hands.

[st0nesnglitter]

𝐆𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

a/n: softlaunching myself into writing again with my current man-hyperfixation (#needthat) so here’s just random thoughts I have for him. Lemme know if anything sounds interesting enough for an elaboration <3

also I’m pretty sure i’ve changed tense during this like ten times and i’m so sorry but i’m a notorious rawdogger (not proofread)

fluff / smut 18+ under the cut

afab!reader, no y/n

────୨ৎ────

❀ he’s a gentle (and slightly unaware) giant. He’s tall and buff but doesn’t realize his own size most of the time. When you’re in the kitchen together he’s consistently bumping into you and somehow always in the way when you need to get into the fridge. When you’re about to sleep he has a habit of laying in the middle of the bed so you have to squeeze past him

❀ but with him being so big and strong also comes some advantages. He’ll always help you with stuff on the highest shelf. And if you ever need furniture moved he’s your guy. Plus he can easily pick you up, give you a piggyback ride, or carry you to bed when you fall asleep in front of the tv

❀ George is an excellent cuddler. His warm embrace can lure anyone in and he’s always happy to oblige, more often than not he’s the one asking for it.

“C’mon just a quick lie down” he murmurs, arm slinging around your middle

“George I need to leave in like 10 minutes!”

“Perfect, that’s at least 8 minutes of cuddles”

❀ and with him being so warm he’s like your own portable heater. When the London winter bites at your cheeks and nose he will always lend his hands to warm them back up

❀ his affection is second nature to him. Kissing your forehead, bringing you your favorite drink, expressing how beautiful he thinks you are. He’s practically nonchalant about it because of course you deserve flowers, so he’ll buy you a bouquet of your favorites (and he’ll always keep one for himself to see when they need replacing)

❀ he’s also very observant, especially when it comes to his friends and you. He notices when your lip oil is about to run out and slips a new one into your bag when you’re not looking, he has a list of books you’ve mentioned wanting to read, and before your first sleepover at his place he’d made sure to stock it with your skincare routine + shampoo, conditioner and a nice bodywash

❀ oh and when you’re on your period? He’s an absolute champ. Knows what you need before you even know it, keeps tabs on how many painkillers you’ve taken, and always has a hot water bottle ready for when your cramps become unbearable

❀ he’s not so subtle with hints, and when your relationship was pretty new he really wanted you to have one of his hoodies. His solution when you always (very politely) returned them to him was to hide one in your closet and then trying to convince you it was one of your own

❀ whenever he goes out for drinks with his friends and gets a little tipsy he will bombard you with texts. Little updates on where he is, selfies with his beers, and reminders of how much he loves you

❀ and when he gets back to you he will not leave you alone. He’s like velcro to your back, retelling jokes from the night and kissing your cheeks over and over <3

❀ he’s pretty much insatiable. Not in a horn-dog, never thinks of anything but sex-way, but in a will always be up for it-way. You only need to glance at him with that certain look and he’s ready to go. And a little too long kiss to his neck? He’s looking for the closest room with a door that locks.

❀ his quick mouth and wittiness can sometimes get him in trouble, but he’ll always use that mouth to apologize. On several occasions you’ve been jokingly going back and forth when he’s said something a little too far and even though you often find it funny you milk his guilt. Until he’s resting his cheek against your thigh, giving it soft kisses as he looks up and asks softly “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

❀ oh and this man is a munch. He finds pleasure in it, sometimes calling it his meditation. He’ll push your thighs apart as they’re shaking slightly from overstimulation, lifting his head to look up at you with a shiny chin “just one more yeah? Can you do one more for me?”

❀ he’s not a voyeur per se, but he does like it when he has to tell you to be quiet, to remind you that his roommates are home

“Gotta quiet down darling” he murmurs with a wicked smile, as his hips are slamming into yours with devilish precision

“Don’t want them to hear now do we?”

And if you can’t comply he’ll have to put his hand over your mouth (or something else in it)

❀ and when you are alone in the apartment he loves doing it where you shouldn’t. The couch, the kitchen counter, once even just on the living room floor. He especially likes afterwards when he can whisper reminders of what you’ve done, giving you flashbacks of when he had you bent over the dining table as you’re eating dinner with your friends

❀ absolutely adores praise, especially giving. Even when he tries to be a little rougher he can’t help but throwing in a “you’re doing so good” every now and then. But any giving night you’re showered in it, always reminded of how amazing he thinks you are

“fuckin’ hell you feel so good” “attagirl” “you take me so well darling” “god you look so pretty like this”

[the-fox-with-no-name]

Survival Guide for Rooming with Nicky Hemmick

Written by the Foxes & Associates™ (some traumatized, some in love, most confused)

Trust us. You’re gonna need this.

1. He’s friendly. Like… too friendly.

You’ll start thinking, “Aw, he’s so nice!” and end up in a cuddle pile wondering how you got there.

2. He’s very physically affectionate.

If you sit still too long, you become a chair. Do not be alarmed if he treats your lap like a beanbag. It’s not personal. It’s just Nicky.

3. If you walk in on Nicky doing... something, pretend you saw nothing.

No words. No eye contact. Turn around. Leave. Go pray.

4. He likes video games.

You will be forced to play. Resistance is futile. He’s already has a control and a new profile for you.

5. Couch nap = surprise blanket.

He's sweet. Also terrifying. Accept the gesture. Do not question how he knew you were cold.

6. Nicky’s default outfit is either a crop top, gym shorts, or skin.

If it’s hot and the A/C is broken, your new roommate is now a nudist. Fix it. Fast.

7. He has a massage gun.

Unless you want to find out things about yourself you weren’t ready for, decline politely. Or accept… and immediately DIY.

8. If he asks YOU to use the massage gun on HIM…

Put in earplugs. If the moaning gets through, turn it off and run. Neil helped once. There are still knife holes in the walls. Neil doesn’t talk about it.

9. Don’t let him massage you. Just don’t.

Unless you enjoy emotional confusion followed by unsolicited gifts and shame.

10. Nicky is a snack gremlin.

Stock up like it’s an apocalypse or kiss your granola bars goodbye.

11. Shockingly? He can cook.

Especially spaghetti. Eat it. Compliment it. It’s the one time you’ll see him be humble for five minutes.

12. Power out? LOCK THE FRIDGE.

Panic makes him eat like a raccoon in a dumpster. All Ice cream melted last time and Andrew tried to kill him.

13. Nicky is… unreliable at times.

Going on a trip? Bring extra socks, shirts, dignity, and backup underwear. You’ll need all four.

14. Working out with Nicky = flirty chaos.

He will make innuendos. He will try to sneak a peek. Matt says have a spray bottle om stream mode. You’re not training a cat, but close.

15. He’s allergic to winter. Emotionally.

Extra scarves and layers in the drawer. Blue one’s his fave. Thank Renee for prepping like a mom.

16. Honesty is okay. Just be gentle.

Think: “therapy voice.” Do not use sarcasm unless you want tears and German swear words.

17. He will talk about his family.

A lot. Again. Still. Just nod and toss him his favorite ice cream when he looks sad.

18. There’s a German boyfriend. Name: Erik.

If Nicky starts whispering sweet nothings in German, don’t panic. It’s not Satan. Just his man. Be cool if they FaceTime. Or run.

19. He gets lonely.

There’s a yellow sticky note in the cabinet of “cheer-up supplies.” Add to it. You’ll become his new emotional support human.

20. Do NOT go to Eden’s Twilight without backup.

Only bring Neil, Andrew, or Aaron. Anyone else will not survive. You have been warned.

21. Drunk Nicky is a cryptid.

He will cry, prank call exes, sing ABBA, and snuggle you like a stuffed animal. Pick the top bunk. He won’t climb… probably.

22. If you’re a girl: you’re safe.

If you’re a guy: Good. Freaking. Luck.

23. If he introduces you to Erik… BE. F*CKING. CAREFUL.

One wrong move and you're either part of the family or part of a murder documentary.

24. If you by chance enter a polycule with Nicky and are okay with that…

That’s cute. But you're on your own. You signed up for this. The rest of us are out.

25. Hurt Nicky, and we will kill you.

No metaphor. No hyperbole. No Fox left behind. You've been warned.

Signed the Foxes

[inspired-lesson-plans]

You barely even had to ask, @more-berry!

First, here are some pictures from Nana's limited release cookbook that was published a couple of years ago.

So Nana's cooking is philosophy as much as practice. It's about making the best use of all your ingredients. It's about recipes that are delicious because they're wholesome and wholesome because they're delicious. This is different from "health food", which focuses on limiting fat/sugar/whatever. Nana was never afraid to oil a pan or sweeten a sauce, but never to excess. The "teri" in teriyaki means sweet, so Thursday bento required a sauce made with brown sugar. But it was never as sweet as store-bought sauce, because it didn't need to be. The sauce was flavorful because of the richness of the ingredients.

And this all starts with a simple vegetable stock.

Here's the recipe as it appears in the cookbook, but below is my recollection of how we did it in the restaurant. I'm positive that we never used onion and garlic in the broth. Nana once told me that she didn't want people to have too much onion or garlic at lunch and then have to go back to work with that on their breath.

Ingredients per 4 cups/1L water:

1 large carrot, big as you please (peeled and chopped)

As much celery as carrot (rinsed)

A thumb-sized piece of ginger (scrape off the skin with the edge of a spoon)

1 handspan-sized sheet of Kombu (dried kelp, it's a thick, leathery seaweed)

2 Shitake (dried)

Optional: At least one clove of garlic (cut off the butt-end with a knife, then smash it against your cutting board to make the rest of the skin easy to peel)

Optional: onion makes soup taste better, so peel and slice up, I dunno, 1 medium onion?

It doesn't need to be precise; you're not running a restaurant. You can also use the nubs of any scallions you cut, or any other kitchen scraps you choose. And if you live somewhere without reasonable access to kombu or shitake, you can leave them out without ruining the recipe. They're like the tuba in the orchestra; you'll get the same song, but it will be missing a certain depth.

Low-medium boil (some bubbles, not a lot) for a few hours until the carrots taste like basically nothing.

Strain the broth into another pot where it can gradually lose its heat.

Compost the ginger, carrots and celery (Nana would say they're so cooked they can't even be composted, but I disagree).

Keep the kombu and shitake! Put them into a small pot, add enough soy sauce to cover, and cook on medium-low to reduce the liquid until there's just a little left. I call this shoyukombu (shoyu means soy sauce).

Put the shoyukombu in a food processor (or a bullet blender) and blitz it into paste. This umami paste is more flavorful than soy sauce, and you can add it to rice like a little black button on top.

The shoyukombu is just one example of how this stock is foundational to almost every one of Nana's recipes. It's got some natural umami from the fungi and protista, but on its own there's absolutely nothing remarkable about it. It's an ingredient.

Nana's Miso Soup

1:16 miso paste to broth (or 1 tablespoon miso per 1 cup broth)

Like 5-10 of 1cm cubes of firm tofu

Heat the broth in a pot (microwave is fine, but fire is good for the soul) and stir in the miso paste.

Nana used white miso, but red is fine too. I've tried other soybean pastes and they don't taste quite the same, but the plastic tubs aren't priced at a premium so do as you will.

It's good hot or cold, any time of day. When we had extra soup at the end of the day, I would take it home with me and drink it the next morning as part of my breakfast. Out of a cup, like it was morning coffee.

[chaoscreaturewrites]

Call of duty, fluff, series, Simon Ghost Riley

Tea Time

Link to master post

Summary: Hes infatuated with his adorable neighbor and with the help of Riley shes become a part of his life. Today he goes over with Price and Soap to work on the job.

Note: sorry its been so long since I've made a chapter, life's been to depressing to write fluffy sweetness.

WC: 1.6k

Ch 5

[ we are all free this Friday, does that work for you?]

[Yes, what time?]

[Whenever your ready, we are early risers]

[10, and how many guys and do they have allergies]

[ 2 and no]

[Okay perfect see you then]

(20 minutes later)

[Tell them to bring a change of clothes and towel]

[✅️]

[Aye you found emojis 🥳👏]

[💪]

She's unsure how to interpret that last one but goes with it and smiles at his attempts. Truth is she doesn't like using emojis, so many hidden meanings and misinterpretations she steers clear.

So it's settled in 3 days they'll be coming over and taking care of her duck pond project, thank heavens otherwise she would have just had a big hole in her yard with zero purpose other than Riley's dust bowl. All that's left now is to decide what to cook, she has time to prepare so she grabs a stack of cookbooks and sits on the couch flipping through them.

Most dishes just didn't seem right, if they are anything like Simon then she's going to have 3 big hardworking military men who need a proper big meal. And if they are anything like Simom then they can each eat a truckload on their own.

Tacos, that could work lots of customization to one's tastes but they would each need a bakers dozen, so no.

Roast chicken dish, maybe a few chickens would do the trick, but if someone doesn't like chicken I'm screwed.

Casserole dish, lots of options and could make a few types so something for everyone's tastes, that could work but who really wants a hot dish after doing hard work.

Stir fry dish, maybe some Mongolian beef and caramelized carrots, but again if someone doesn't like it there isn't variety.

Lamb chops and roast corn, possible but again it comes back to needing a lot and I don't know their tastes.

Pizzas, that could work, good size portions and customization. They will be here for a while so I can get their custom orders for personal pizzas, yes that will work

She assess her kitchen and makes up a shopping list, picking a wide variety of topping options, who knows what they like and all she has to go on is ones British and one Scottish but that just makes trying to pick out what they'd like even more confusing.

With the shopping done and fridge fully stocked she tidies up house. Shes nervous about having people other, its something she usually avoids and has very little experience with. All she can do it hope the others are like Simon, easy going, dont make a fuss, and big eaters.

The dough has raised and rested overnight, the pillows are fluffed, ice tea is chilling, eveything is set amd ready but shes still so nervous. She even woke up early, unable go lounge in bed any longer, she couldn't settle till she'd double checked everything, especially with that nightmare about the dough not raising.

[At Simon's house]

Honestly hes nervous about today, not about the work he's sure that will go well, for as much as they can goof around they always get the job done.

Hes worried about them being around her, especially after their last talk. Shes not open to romance and Soap even with all the warnings he won't be able to stop himself from flirting with her, shes to adorable to pass up as Soap would say.

Price isn't a concern hes got a pretty lil thing of his own to coo and awe over, but hes also not one to rein in Soaps delusions so who knows how this will go. He just hopes they won't embarrassed themselves of him to much, hed hate for today to mess things up between them when its already reached a fragile point.

The doorbell rings and just as hes about to open it, open it swings and in comes Soap who takes any excuse to use his emergency key, Price in toe behind him.

S- "So we're here"

P- "Yeah whyd we need to bring a change of clothes"

S- "You plan something fun for us?"

P- "What fun activity requires a pipe cutter?"

S- "I can think of a few "

This is a prime example of why Simon isn't put in charge of memos. He told them when to come over and what to bring but left out the key factor of what they'd be doing. But there is a hidden benefit to him sending memos, no one will refuse, they might all be confused as hell but they'll all be there on time bringing whatever was asked for.

G-"We are making a duck pond"

P-"Ducks?"

S-"Umm you sure about this?"

G-"Yes"

Again the master of vague, forgetting they cant read his mind. But they are used to this so they go along trusting their Lt. has a plan. We'll that is until he walks out the door and gets in his truck, obviously not heading to his backyard, but hey their day is clear and this vauge mission has piqued their interest.

They don't go far, they could have just walked, its not like lugging their tools would have been that difficult or any heavier then their packs, but anyways they are going with the mystery. The mystery has let them to a home that's front yard belongs on the cover of some garden or home magazine, they wonder how Simon's involved in this, what secret has he been keeping from them, what fae has charmed him.

They follow behind him beach bags in hand as he rings the magical sounding door bell, and their suspicion of their gruff Lt. being charmed by a fae is confirmed seeing the adorable women in an apron answers the door.

"No Riley?"

G-"He'd just get in the way and have a repeat of last time"

"True, come on in"

...

"So these must be your friends"

G- "yes, this Johnny and Price"

P- " pleasure to meet ya miss"

S- " yes a true pleasure"

"Nice to meet you too, welcome and thank you for coming over to help"

P- " so your the one getting a duck pond"

"Yes"

Shes getting an odd read from them, its like they walked in her completely unaware of whats happening, but that cant be right, right? She looks up to Simon who seems oblivious to this situation and gives a little huff and head shake.

"Simon you told them why and whats happening today, right?"

G-"Yes of course"

" Did he?"

S- " he just said to bring tools, a change of clothes, a towle and come at 9:50"

P- " yeah he usually a bit light on details but we're used to it"

G- " your here, you got your tools what did i miss?"

S- "you blind man, you missed the pretty lil lass who you seem to be good friends with"

G- "ahh details "

P- " miss why dont you show us where we're working"

"Good idea, follow me"

First meeting went better then she'd expected, it did go a bit uncomfortable with the Scottish guy but that seems to just be his personality and not direct flirting. Luckily the older gentleman stepped in and got us back on track. She is disappointed Riley didn't come with them, in social situations she always does better with an animal.

But now they are in the backyard, the vibe has changed like they have switched into work mode. Lots of walking around, inspecting, and scribbled measurements. But they all exude confidence so shes satisfied that they have a handle on it.

But now shes not sure what to do, its to early to start on food and they just got here so no drinks yet, and its not like she'd be any help with this technical stuff. So now shes left awkward standing on the patio, hands bunching up the fabric of her apron.

Eveything looks good, no hitches and the guys are confident they can do this and that's enough for him. Price practically made his own house to all his wife specifications and Soap is very handy and somehow always makes things work even if its in a rather unorthodox way, and the work should keep him busy and away from her so all his worries are settled.

But her, she doesn't look settled. Hes good at reading her, her emotions are very close to the surface and right now shes got a lil storm brewing around her. He cant leave her like that.

She'd gotten a bit lost in the thoughts pinging around her mind, it wasn't until his shadow was blocking the suns light that she saw him beside her. Hes always like that, able to move so silent and stealthily despite his stature.

"Whats wrong, Johnny bother you?"

"What, no no, just stuck"

"Stuck?"

"Im not sure what to do and I feel bad not helping but I'd be no good at this "

He gets it, standing aside while other do work for her, it goes against her independent can do thing. He doesn't know why or where that complex originates but he has a feeling its deep rooted and causing her current turmoil.

"They'd be more then happy for you to sit by and watch, its okay really"

"When should I bring drinks?"

"I'll let you know"

"Thank you"

The clouds are disapating and her usual calm returning, not completely but that state probably won't be reached with them here, so this is good enough.

"I think I'll do some weeding, I just cant sit by"

"Sounds good"

Tag list

@kentuckyhobbit

@danielle143

@tessakate

@fertilise-me

[gracev0609]

On the Rocks

Danny Wagner X Reader (Sweetheart)

An AU where Danny is a heavily pierced and tattooed bartender with a mutual crush on his coworker.

WC: 6.6k+

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI, Explicit Sex, Heavily pierced Danny and Reader, Heavily tattooed Danny and Reader, Multiple Orgasms,cum kink, this is 90 percent smut, 10 percent plot.

A gracev0609/ @lipstickitty collaboration.

Looking up from the well she was stocking for the evening she saw her coworker saunter in. His polished finger tapping away at the touch screen, clocking in for the evening shift. While he was preoccupied she not so subtly checked him out, her eyes scanned from the black curls cascading down his back to his completely see through black mesh crop top. She could plainly see the black and grey artwork that flowed down the contours of his arms and back disappearing into the waistband of his pants. Danny turned towards her grabbing the new bottle of whiskey, putting on the pour top before stocking it on the shelf.

She noticed the silver glinting underneath his top, a sparkly dermal piercing in his chest, silver barbells through his nipples and one through his belly button.

“It's gonna be real busy tonight. The first day it hasn't poured all week? And it's a Saturday? You ready to break a sweat, sweetheart?” Danny repeated the process with a bottle of bourbon.

“Always Danny.” She giggles, reaching for the bottle of Casamigos Blanco. Her fingers just grazing the bottle, and she feels him behind her, his hips barely grazing her ass as he reaches up and over her body grabbing the heavy glass bottle for her.

“Just ask next time. You don't need that coming out of your paycheck because it slipped out of your fingers,” he winks, raising his hand and wiggling his silver ringed fingers.

Her eyes zero in on his hand, his long fingers making her mind wander briefly, not at all helping her crush on him, before he catches her staring with a knowing smirk.

Her cheeks flushing a bit, she finishes stocking the bar alongside Danny and he kindly doesn’t say anything about catching her staring.

Throughout their shift, they both break a sweat, little beads rolling down their faces. She follows a droplet down Danny’s chest with her eyes for a moment before mentally shaking herself and brushing it off. “Hot, sweetheart?” He asks with a low chuckle, slinging a couple beer bottles across the bar. He pulls a black elastic from his wrist before piling his hair back in a bun, little tendrils falling loose around his face. She can't help but stare at his side profile, beautiful florals inked into his neck flowing up starting along his jawline in front of his ear.

“You have no idea.” She sighs, pushing her damp hair back off her forehead.

Danny grabs the little fan sat at the end of the bar and angles it toward her, letting the breeze cool her heated skin.

“You’re amazing.” She groans, her eyes falling closed as she basks in the cool air for a moment.

“You have no idea.” He laughs then, throwing his head back with it as he takes in her shocked expression.

Seeing her sputtering to come up with a response, Danny continues, “I was looking at the schedule for tomorrow night, looks like you’re off?”

She confirms with a nod and a ‘mhm’, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m playing tomorrow night, well my band and I. Was wondering if you’d like to come out and watch?” His voice lowers a little in pitch and volume, “I’ll make it worth your time, sweetheart, promise.”

His sultry voice entices a shiver to run down her back,”I'd love to. I'll be there.”

He smiles, his canines pointing out as he grins,” Good girl.”

🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸

The music was booming as Danny's band started their first song, the guitarist was electric and the singer had enormous power stored within his small body. She worked her way to the front of the stage with her own tequila soda in her hand. She couldn't help but stare at Danny, the muscles rippling in his arms as he pounds on the drums. His hair flying as he whips his head, his tongue obscenely sticking out of his mouth. His eyes find her, piercing and rimmed with black shadow. She sees him mouth ‘hi sweetheart ‘ and butterflies form in her stomach. Entranced she watches his entire set and before she knew it they were bowing and leaving the stage. Hurriedly she heads to the bar grabbing the attention of the bartender she usually works the opposite shifts to,” Miranda! Can you grab me another tequila soda, double shot, and a Jack and Coke.”

She smiles,” For Danny right?’

Blushing she nods as she watches her make their drinks.

Handing her two cups, one with clear liquid and the other amber,” He's such a flirt! Go get ‘em!”

Laughing she walks back towards the stage, seeing him walking over to where she was.

She extends her arm, offering him the drink,”Thank you sweetheart. Did ya enjoy the show? I saw you eying me up there.”

He grabs the cocktail from her hand, their fingers brushing. She notices the glossy silver polish on his nails and boldly flirts,’ I like that color.” Gesturing to his hand,” It would look really pretty wrapped around my throat.”

A dangerous smirk forms on his lips, his voice dropping low and husky,” Well what do we have here? Someone's a bit eager, huh?”

He steps up, his free hand grazing the skin of her throat, goosebumps forming and her nipples hardening. He leans in, his lips brushing against her ear,” My fingers would look even prettier with you dripping off of them.”

Running on instinct she steps forward pressing her body against his, the liquor swirling in her bloodstream lowering her inhibitions,” Do you want to go find out?”

Danny picks the black cocktail straw out of his drink, throwing the liquid back, finishing it in a few gulps,” Lets go sweetheart.”

🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸

Following Danny into his house, she looks around and notices how Danny everything is- if she’d sat and pictured what his home would look like, her mental picture wouldn’t be very far off from the reality. All black furniture, tasteful decor- it was nice, very fitting.

He leads her to the kitchen by the hand, pulls out a bar stool and gestures for her to take a seat. “Can I get you a drink, sweetheart?” His dark eyes meet hers, a smile still playing on his lips. She takes in his beautiful face, the piercings adorning his eyebrow and nose, the artwork starting at his jaw in front of his ear, trailing down his neck disappearing under his shirt, then reappearing flowing down both arms.

“Whatever you’re having.” She flirts with a wink.

Danny retrieves two glasses from inside a cabinet, filling each with ice from the freezer. From the fridge, he pulls out a bottle of tequila and a can of sprite. “Not quite as stocked as the bar, but it’ll do.” He grins at her, teeth on display as he mixes their drinks.

He leads her over to the couch handing her the drink after she gets settled on the black leather beside him. Taking a sip of her beverage she can't help but blush under his gaze. She knows him, she works with him numerous times a week. They've laughed and joked and flirted for months. She knows despite his appearance he's a good man, last month he caught some piece of shit trying to spike a patrons drink, and Danny swiftly shut it down and kicked him out as well as made sure the woman was alright.

“Are you having fun? Did you like the band? We try to play originals and covers.” Danny asks, his voice soft as she realizes she's been staring into space for a few minutes.

“I loved it! You were amazing, all of you were! But I couldn't keep my eyes off of you, you're magnetic up there.”

Danny grabs the drinks and sets them down on the coffee table in front of him, before shifting a little closer to her.

“You're really sweet ya know that? Everything you say is just sugar coated,” his hand comes up to stroke her cheek and she can feel the cool metal of his rings on her face.” Can I have a taste sweetheart?”

Leaning forward she presses her lips to his, softly she warms up to him, opening her mouth and allowing him access. His warm palm still securely holding her jaw keeping her in place. Little moans slip out when his tongue brushes against hers, causing wetness to start pooling between her legs. His free hand comes up, fingers teasing the heated flesh of her throat before slightly dipping under the neckline of her shirt.

“Can I?” He mumbles against her lips.

“Please.” She utters into his mouth.

His fingers slip down her shirt, under the cup of her bra, brushing against her pebbled nipple. His eyes widen in surprise as his fingers find a barbell pierced through them.

He pulls his mouth away to speak, fingers still rubbing across the nub,” Sweetheart, what a surprise. Why do you keep these hidden away? I didn't even know you had them. Ya know you'd make more tips with them on display.”

“I don't know, I kind of like them to be a mystery, especially when I get to see pretty boys reactions.”

She moans as he pinches them in between his fingers, making his hard cock pound beneath his jeans.

“Can I put my mouth on them?” He pleads, needing it more than anything in the moment.

Wordlessly she peels her top off and unhooks her bra letting it fall to the floor. She sits in front of him, letting his eyes feast on her partially unclothed body. He notices more tattoos than the ones he could previously see on her arms, the biggest piece being an underboob tattoo that drapes across her sternum and her ribcage. Danny nudges her back against the cushions bringing his lips to her inked skin before sucking her nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirling around the hard bud sending shockwaves through her core. She's almost sure she has soaked through her pants by this point. Danny licks and sucks and drags his teeth against her sensitive skin, tugging at the piercings. He swaps back and forth between her breasts, stimulating them both.

“Danny, don't stop baby. I think I'm gonna cum like this.” She pants into the humid air surrounding their bodies. Danny whines, continuing to suck on her oversensitive chest, not changing a thing as her moans grow pitchy and her body shakes below him. When she finally relaxes into the pillows he disconnects from her body placing kisses against her soft breasts.

“Fuck baby. That was so fuckin hot, let me do it again, let me make you cum again.”

She looks at his eager expression through hooded eyes, still feeling floaty from her orgasm,” Show me your bedroom Danny.”

Both glasses being left on the bar to be forgotten about, Danny takes her hand and leads her to the bedroom. A grin stretches across his lips as she takes her hand from his and situates herself on his bed, the plush comforter feeling soft and luxurious against her bare skin.

She reclines back against the pillows, her hair fanned out around her as she pats the bed next to her, growing increasingly impatient the longer she waits for Danny to join her.

“Let’s get comfy, sweetheart.” His voice comes out low, a sultry whisper as his skilled fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, his tattoos barely peeking out from under the material. Finally, painfully slowly, he drags the material up and over his head, ruffling his curls a little in the process.

She’s taken aback by his beauty all over again, her eyes raking over every inch of the inked flesh that she’s itching to feel against her fingertips, her lips. The barbells pierced through his nipples keeping them peaked, she can barely wait to run her tongue over them, suck them into her mouth. The twinkling gem in his navel catches the light just right, the sparkles standing out perfectly against the dark smattering of hair that resides on his lower tummy.

Danny’s hands trail down his torso, thumbs tweaking his nipples just a bit making his hips just barely jolt forward, a shaky breath leaving his plush pink lips as his inked fingers dance over the waistband of his low rise pants.

Danny knows he’s being a tease, he just can’t help himself with her hungrily staring him down, watching her tongue trail across her full bottom lip. He has her full attention when finally his nimble fingers pop open the button and slowly slide the zipper down, inching the material down to the tops of his thighs. She bites her lip, overwhelmed with need as she takes in the prominent bulge in the front of his boxers, a growing damp spot in the material showing her how badly he needs her too.

“All the way Danny. Let me see all of you.” She purrs from her spot nestled in his pillows.

He smiles, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers before slowly tugging them down his hips. Swirls of ink frame his hips, blurring into the patch of hair at his base. She huffs, wordlessly telling him to pick up the pace. He pulls the material down further, exposing his length decorated with purplish veins that complimented the artwork around his groin. Finally, he frees himself, his cock bobs obscenely and she takes in every inch. Her gaze honing in on a sparkly silver piercing resting along the top of his head. A single bead of precum beading along the silver ball threatening to drip down onto the sheets.

She smirks,” I guess we both have some surprises.”

He grasps his length in his hand, slowly stroking himself,” Your turn sweetheart. Let me see all of you. And spread em.”

Hooking her fingers in her panties she pulls them down her legs before tossing them at him, bringing her knees up before opening them wide so he can gaze at her.

“For fucks sake.” He growls, crawling on the bed, his body begging for a closer look. Taking her two fingers she gently pulls up on her mound, letting him peer at the dainty ring pierced through the hood of her clit.

She can hear him panting, already out of breath as arousal courses through his veins.

“Surprise.” She coos gently rubbing her fingers over her oversensitive clit.

Danny lowers himself to his stomach between her legs, his lips ghosting along her inner thighs. Her body tingles with anticipation as he's so close yet so far from where she needs him.

“Sweetheart? Need you to tell me if there are any hard no's.” He asks lifting his head from her soft skin.

She taps on her chin,” Hmm… well I don't typically do anal when I'm just hooking up with someone. That's third date material.”

Danny laughs gently, shaking his head,” No anal yet, got it.”

He dips his head down kissing the short trimmed hair above her slit,” You're really something else, ya know that?”

His lips leave a trail of kisses down her groin, staying away from her most sensitive skin.

Groaning she threads her fingers in his hair,” Fuck, just eat me out Danny.”

“Gonna let me put your pretty little clit in my mouth sweetheart? I just know you taste so sweet.”

“Just do it, fuck!” She whines, pushing her hips up begging for him.

He licks a broad stripe from her entrance to her clit, gently lapping at it making her piercing flick against his tongue. Softly he wraps his lips around it, sucking lightly, not knowing exactly how sensitive she is.

Whining she pants,” Harder, just a little harder. Fuck feels so good Danny!”

He follows her directions, sucking her between his lips a little harsher, and he gently prods his fingers against her entrance. Pushing in until his first knuckle and pulling them back out again, he can feel her clenching around him desperately trying to suck him in further.

He continues to tease her until she's gasping,” Fuck Danny, hmm I'm gonna- shit.”

Swirling his tongue around her clit as she shakes and a gush of warm slick wetness coats his fingers that are barely inside of her. Gently he places more kisses on her clit,” Do you always cum this easily or am I just that good.”

She leans up, cheeks flushed, her hair sticking to her face around her hairline,” A little bit of both if I'm being honest.”

He smiles at her, his mouth glistening in the low light of his bedroom,” You're so fucking sexy.” His fingers gently glide up and down teasing her slit,” Can I eat you out some more? I love the way you taste.”

She relaxes back into the pillows telling him to go ahead. He immediately dives back in his tongue reaching as far into her entrance as it can go, his hands holding her open wide, his silver polished nails glinting against her skin, his chunky metal rings biting against the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. Shivering against him as he moans into her heat, fully immersing himself in her. He licks his way back up to her clit before gently tugging on the piercing with his teeth and nudging his fingers in much farther this time, relishing in the way she squeezes around them. It doesn't take her long to feel the familiar tingling in her lower stomach yet again as he gently guides her through yet another orgasm.

Finally he removes himself from her, chucking asking if she's alright as she lays there, limbs loose and dazed. Her head still in the clouds. Lazily she smiles,” I'm more than alright. My turn, let me play with you, I know you're aching by now.”

Danny rolls to his back, pulling his hair back to flow against his dark silk pillowcases getting situated. She watches as his red flushed cock moves as he gets comfortable and she can practically feel herself salivating at the thought of having him in her mouth. Sultrily she crawls in between his legs letting a string of spit fall from her lips onto the tip of his cock. Bending down he quickly gathers her hair in his fist keeping it out of her face as she goes to work, she licks up the underside of his cock purposely avoiding his pierced head. He huffs a breath as her hot tongue caresses the sensitive skin, she's warm and wet and his mind is already spinning. After what feels like forever she places an open mouthed kiss to his slit, the silver ball gently knocking against her front teeth. She can taste his salty arousal on his skin from how much he's already leaked in his excitement. She moans around his tip as she takes him a bit farther, feeling his piercing nudge against her top lip and then bump against the roof of her mouth. Humming around him he cries out, the head of his cock extremely sensitive.

“Fuck you're so good at that sweetheart. You can go harder, you're not gonna hurt me.” He pants, his fingers softly rubbing her scalp in encouragement.

Taking that as her go ahead she suckles his tip, feeling him swell and harden further. Her doe eyes bore into his as she somehow makes sucking cock look incredibly innocent. And he has to close his eyes for a moment, swearing that if he looks at her any longer he's going to blow his load.

When she takes more of his throbbing length down her throat he shudders a shaky breath, his ringed fingers gripping her hair a bit tighter as his hips flex involuntarily.

She can feel the cool metal of his piercing softly nudging the walls of her throat, a unique sensation she finds a lot more enjoyable than she thought it might be. His whimpers and low groans are some of the prettiest sounds she’s ever heard and she wants to hear more and more of them streaming from his lips like liquid sugar.

“You think I’m gonna feel it, when you fuck me?” She pants with her lips brushing his sensitive head and the jewelry adorning it, punctuating her words with a sweet kiss to his tip before sharply flicking her tongue across his slit.

“I assure you you will, sweetheart.” He chuckles through his nose, gently tugging on her hair prompting her to straddle his waist and bring her back up to his lips for a kiss.

As Danny’s tongue explores her mouth, he lets her taste herself on his tongue mixing with the slight hint of his arousal on her own. When her hips grind down into his, the cool metal of the barbell through his tip catches her hypersensitive swollen clit, a moan tearing from her chest.

“Keep going, sweetheart. Think you can cum just like this?” His whisper raises goosebumps on the tender flesh of her neck where his warm breath hits and she whines, letting her head fall into the crook of his neck. Her breaths fanning over the sensitive skin beneath his ear makes him shiver as she nods slightly into his neck, another soft moan escaping as her hips roll into his.

The direct stimulation to his sensitive head is almost too much, his pretty face flushing red as more sweat accumulates on his chest. His kiss-swollen lips still slick from her tongue running over them, the bottom one bitten into his mouth as he focuses on how she feels, dripping down onto his cock, his lower abdomen slick with a combination of their juices and sweat.

Her eyes roll as she continues to rock her hips against him, absolutely drenching him. Pressing herself down even further she angles her swollen clit against him pushing herself even closer. A few more thrusts of her hips and the coil in her stomach snaps as she falls apart on top of him. Pressing her forehead against the tacky skin of his neck she shudders, orgasmic aftershocks wracking her body.

“Good girl, that's it baby. Catch your breath.” Danny coos in her ear as his large hands wrap around her, holding her body close to him. Gently his fingers knead her damp skin, bringing her back to him. He cranes his neck bringing his lips to her head, placing a few kisses on her hair. After a few moments she stirs, leaning in to place a searing kiss on his lips. He continues to place a few pecks to her lips before murmuring,” Ready for me now baby?”

“So ready.”

He leans over, opening the drawer in his nightstand fishing for a condom. She places her hand on his chest,” Before you put that on… I want to feel you.”

Danny put the small foil packet down on the table top and he smirked,” Go ahead sweetheart, take it it's yours.”

He leans back slightly, grasping his shaft holding it up for her to climb on. Positioning herself above him he angles his tip directly against her entrance. Slowly she lowers down, feeling the rounded metal on his tip enter her. She shivers as it rubs against her insides in a strange but pleasurable way as she lowers herself down. Whimpering as she adjusted to his size, his hands caressing her body, coming up to rub circles over her nipples. She clenches around him at first when the jolts of pleasure run down her spine, her back arching pushing her breasts into his palms. Needing more she starts rocking her hips, loving the way she can feel him fully.

Once she’s fully seated on Danny’s cock she plants one hand on his abdomen to steady herself and the other comes up to tease his nipple, lightly pinching it making him choke out a moan. “You feel so fucking good sweetheart.”

She moans in agreement, grinding her hips feeling her pierced clit rubbing against his base. He lets his hips buck up into hers, the cold metal just brushing her cervix making her cry out.

“You feel that baby? Feel that cool piece of metal kissing your insides?”

It comes out as a chant, a prayer, “yes, yes, yes.”

“Feel it so deep? That’s how much I fill that beautiful tight pussy. Fuck, you’re taking me so well.” The praise lights a fire low in her belly, finding a rhythm bouncing in his lap, the jewelry decorating his tip brushing her velvety walls.

Her fingers pinching a little harder at his other nipple now, she feels his cock twitch deep inside of her as a high pitched whine leaves his lips. “Fuck, baby. Feels so good!” His eyes lock on to hers, his talented fingers tracing up the expanse of her bare stomach, tracing the outline of the artwork inked into her skin.

“Cum on my cock baby and then I'll put the condom on.”

She whines in protest, jutting out her bottom lip in a pout.

“Trust me sweetheart, I'm not gonna want to pull out.”

His words make her clench around him, tightening like a vice as her hips glide on his.

Danny smirks,” Did you like that sweetheart?”

She lays her head on his shoulder yet again speaking softly,” Mmhmm. I like cum. Can you maybe talk about cumming in me, it'll get me there faster.”

Danny grits his teeth as his cock throbs, twitching deep inside of her,” Yeah. I can talk about cumming in you,” his hands find purchase on her hips guiding her movements,” Wanna hear how bad I want to fill you up? Want me to paint your pretty insides white? God, I want to cum in you so fuckin deep.”

She writhes on his lap, gasping and moaning so close to unraveling,” More! Keep talking.”

“Fuck sweetheart, I wanna give you all I've got, fill you up until it's dripping out of you with nowhere else to go.” His hands squeeze her hips holding himself back,” Yeah baby? Are you gonna beg me to cum in that tight pussy? Beg me to make it mine?”

“Fuck!” Her hips jolt as her high comes crashing down, soaking his cock in her hot silky release.

“Good girl, fuck- that's it, pretty pussy is trying to milk me,” He flashes her a smile,” But I'm not there yet honey.”

Gently she settles in his lap, the muscles in her legs quivering as she tires from exerting herself. He softly pets her damp hair back from her face,” Are you getting tired baby?”

She hums in response,” Yeah, but you feel so good.”

He strokes her cheek, moving her to look in his eyes,” You came so hard and so pretty for me. Let me take care of you now, get on your back sweetheart.”

Gently lifts her hips helping her onto the mattress, her limbs are like jello and her mind is in a haze totally drunk on him. Reaching over he grabs the foil packet, ripping it before taking the rubber out. Swiftly he rolls it down his length, discarding the trash on his nightstand to be worried about later. He climbs between her legs, her face is flushed and her eyes are slits totally blissed out. Softly he pushes in, bottoming out. His hips find a rhythm fast enough to start getting him closer as she whines and sighs beneath him caught up in the pleasurable sensation of him fucking her.

Danny leans down and connects their lips in a fierce kiss, bracing himself on his forearms on either side of her head. The change in angle has a moan catching in her throat, feeling the slick skin of his chest sliding against her own as he pounds into her. Their lips part from each other but he remains close, pressing his forehead to hers. Simply not able to resist any longer, she sinks her teeth roughly into his pectoral muscle, eliciting a hiss from between his gritted teeth as his cock throbs inside of her.

His piercing hitting her cervix has her seeing stars, the painful pleasure unlike anything else she’s ever felt. Her head dips to lick up the side of his neck, tracing the lines of the artwork there and tasting the salty sweat from his heated skin before biting into the sensitive skin beneath his ear. The whine he lets out has her melting, her walls clenching around him impossibly tighter.

Her hand snakes between their bodies to lightly pinch his nipple between her thumb and first finger, his gasped, ‘harder’ setting her insides ablaze, who is she to deny him? She squeezes harder, gently tugging on the bar in his other nipple with her other hand.

“Fuck, just like that.” He groans, his cock twitching deep within her walls. He swoops down and takes one of her breasts in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the pebbled flesh as his teeth gently tug at the bar.

Feeling her squeezing him tighter and tighter, Danny knows she’s close again, and he wants nothing more than to feel her come undone around him one more time before he lets go.

“Gonna cum again for me, sweetheart? Need you to cum all over me one last time, baby. You can do it, be a good girl and give me one more.”

Leaning down he places his mouth over her nipple and sucks hard, his teeth grazing her super sensitive skin as her nails rake red lines down his back, a colorful addition to the black swirls. The pain of her nails combined with how tight she's squeezing him as she crashes into her high for another time tonight has him seeing stars. His brows furrow and his eyes screw shut as his cock swells and throbs inside of her, he knows there's no coming back from the edge this time as he starts to spurt filling the condom with his own wet hot release.

“Fuck Danny! I feel it, fuck I can feel you cumming.” She groans thrashing her head back and forth on his pillow.

His hips stutter as he continues to fill the rubber as he fucks himself through his orgasm. After what feels like forever his hips finally still and he remains tucked inside. Her hands find his face, softly cupping his strong jaw as she pulls him down to meet her lips,” You were right. You are good at that.”

He chuckles softly before placing more kisses to her still kiss swollen lips,” ‘mgonna pull out now, okay sweetheart?”

She nods her head and grits her teeth as the overwhelming feeling of being empty washes over her.

With a sigh and protest from his tired body he stands from the bed, one hand lightly gripping the condom on his shaft so as not to make a mess on the carpet and the other outstretched waiting for her to grab it,”Let me show you where the bathroom is. Wanna shower with me?’

He grabs his hand letting him pull her from the bed and letting her crash her weight into his side, steadying her,” Please. We're kinda sweaty and gross.” She laughs, lifting her arm pretending to sniff her armpit,” I'm sure I stink.”

Danny giggles,” Stink? Nah, if anything I like it.” Leading her to his ensuite bathroom lit in a warm glow of some nightlights. Not bothering to turn the overhead lights on he walks over to turn on his shower nice and hot. She admires the way his tattoos frame his ass and work their way down his strong legs. She continues to watch him as he goes to stand above the small plastic bag lined wastebasket as he carefully pulls the condom off before tying it and putting it in the trash. Her eyes take in the way he looks soft and for whatever reason it brings a smile to her face,” It's cute.” He turns his head, cocking his eyebrow,” Your dick. It's cute.”

Danny laughs and lets his head fall back with a fake exasperated groan,” Why would you say that to me. It's not supposed to be cute.”

He pulls back the shower curtain and motions for her to get in, once he steps inside she wraps her arms around him moving into the hot spray of the water. Resting her head on his chest they stand like that for a few moments. Quietly Danny speaks,” You wanna stay? I want you to stay. I had a lot of fun, and I checked the schedule and I know we're both off tomorrow.”

She smiles, maneuvering away from him and pumping some of his body wash into her hands to start cleaning herself up,” I'd love to stay. I had a really good time too. Can we do it again?”

Danny smiles, grabbing a palm full of body wash before sudsing up his own body,” I'd really like to do it again. Maybe it could even be a regular thing.”

She watches his hands caress his body, washing his chest and stomach, sliding down to clean his package, being especially cautious around his piercings.

Her eyes flick to his, already wide and dilated at the thought,” I'm on birth control so next time you could… could you cum in me?”

Danny's hands stop moving for a moment as her words sink in, and he smiles,” Sure sweetheart, I can do that.”

They giggle and exchange kisses and soft touches under the spray of water until their eyes begin to grow heavy, then Danny shuts the water off and grabs each of them a towel. He wraps her in hers before securing his own around his waist, then pulls a pack of makeup wipes out of the cabinet for both of them to cleanse their faces before bed.

Leading her back into his bedroom, he finds a well worn, baggy tshirt from his closet and passes it to her to slip on while he pulls on a pair of boxers and lightly towels off his dripping curls.

Once both towels are deposited in the laundry basket to be dealt with later, Danny pulls back the covers and lets her get situated in the bed, making his way to the kitchen to retrieve two bottles of water. He hands her hers and climbs into bed next to her, taking a big swig from the bottle before depositing it onto the nightstand. Once she’s finished with her own bottle, he pulls her into his chest, cool water droplets dripping from the ends of her hair onto his skin raising goosebumps.

Her head resting in the crook of his neck, she places a soft kiss there, nuzzling her nose into his skin. His warm hands stroke up and down her spine, slowly coaxing her to sleep in his arms as his own eyes flutter closed.

The next morning she wakes with a thin layer of sweat on her forehead, realizing she’s blanketed in both Danny’s burning heat and his thick, fluffy comforter. She tries to squirm away just enough to let some air flow to cool her heated skin but his arms tighten around her waist, locking her in place against him.

She can feel his hardened cock, pressing hot and heavy into her ass as his hips subconsciously rock into hers. She bites her lip, unable to stop herself from grinding back against him, eyes still sleepy but her every cell is burning with need for him.

She feels his muscles jerk in his sleep, his lips parted, feels him twitch against her as a breathy moan leaves his lips. Turning her head she can see his cheeks are flushed pink with sleep and arousal, his eyes slowly fluttering open.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” The sleepy tone of his voice rumbles in his chest, she feels the vibrations in her own. She reaches her hand between their bodies to slip under his waistband, grasping his thick cock and giving him a few slow tugs. He hums happily, leaning over her body his lips finding hers in a deep kiss laced with desire and the remnants of sleep still clinging to them.

Breaking the kiss, she pulls his tshirt off over her head before tugging his boxers down to his mid thigh, letting him kick them the rest of the way off.

Both fully bare, she grinds her wet pussy against him, the friction of his pierced tip against her hypersensitive clit making her shiver. Danny’s hand grips himself at his base, lining himself up with her dripping entrance before slowly pushing inside.

His thick length stretching her again, the cool metal bar brushing her insides, his weight firm against her back, everything is so delicious.

“Danny.” She gasps, her eyes rolling feeling him fully buried in her once more.

“You take me so well, sweetheart. Feels so good.” He groans, tattooed fingers inching up her torso to knead and massage her pretty pierced tits, steadily rocking his hips into her ass. One hand slides down to grip her thigh, bending her knee up for a better angle allowing him to hit the perfect spot inside of her with every roll of his hips.

“F-fuck, Danny!” She cries as his hand slides up her leg to her center, his skilled fingers rolling over her clit expertly. He can feel the smooth surface of her piercing under his fingertips, feel her walls fluttering around his throbbing cock as he coaxes her closer and closer to her end. She feels every ridge and vein perfectly as he moves within her, swearing she’ll never get used to the feeling of his pierced head caressing her insides. She knows she’ll never grow tired of the feeling of him filling her so perfectly.

“Need you to cum for me, baby. Gotta feel you soaking my cock so I can fill you up.” Danny whispers in her ear, his voice husky and deep as he holds himself back.

A loud whine leaves her at his words, just knowing he’s about to fill her up is enough to get her close. “W-with you, need to cum with you. Please Danny, give it to me, need to feel your cum so deep inside.” She pants out, her hips bucking wildly, torn between pushing back on his cock and forward towards the delicious pressure of his fingers swirling around her swollen clit.

“You want it inside? Fuck, baby, here you go.” He groans, hips losing their rhythm as he gives a few more shallow thrusts before falling apart, hot ropes of his release spurting deep inside of her. The feeling of him filling her until it starts leaking out around his cock still moving shallowly inside of her walls sends her crashing over the edge, clenching like a vice around him, milking every last drop of his release as he shudders.

“Fuck Danny feels so good!” She groans out in the morning quietness of his bedroom,” So full.”

His hands unclench around her waist, choosing to rub soothing circles instead and he places gentle kisses against her shoulder as he softens inside of her.

Danny's hand, covered in black ink, trails down to her lower stomach,”Are you satisfied just cumming once this time? I can keep going if you're not-”

“Once? We have the whole rest of the day Danny. We're just getting started.”

Danny cradles her head in his hand leaning over her body placing a fiery kiss to her lip, his tongue slipping out colliding with hers.

Gruffly he responds,” Want me to make you breakfast? I can fuck you on the countertop while it's in the oven.”

She smiles, her teeth white and sparkly,” Lead the way baby.”

Taglist ❤️ @sanguinebats @peaceloveunitygvf @cheersdannyx2 @grassmowersstuff @iluvjoshkiszka @lightsofthe-living-gvf @musicislove3389 @losfacedevil

[vitaminseetarot]

PAC Pick a Picture: Yes or No (or Maybe) 💚💙💜

Hey y'all, I'm back in time for the end of May with another pick a card reading. I thought that since it's been almost a year since my last yes or no reading, that now would be a good time to do my second one. Today, perhaps because of the last day of Mermay in part, I'm inspired by the colors green and blue (and some purple thrown in). I'll be using Mermaid Tarot for this reading. 🌎🧜‍♀️

Below, there are 12 images for you to choose from in a random color assortment, from left to right. Take a deep breath, pause, and relax all tension in your body before deciding what your question is. There are a lot of piles to choose from, so if you have a lot of questions, feel free to select them one at a time and read in any order you want.

Pile 1 - Hot Air Balloon Pile 2 - Peacock Tail Pile 3 - Plumbago Flowers (Light Blue) Pile 4 - Azurite Pile 5 - Grass Field Pile 6 - Lily Pad Pile 7 - Damselfly Pile 8 - Gentian Flowers (Dark Blue) Pile 9 - Blueberries Pile 10 - Blue Jay Pile 11 - Butterfly Pile 12- Mountain Bluebird

apologies for the misalignment in pics; this stock photo collage was initially for fun

Pile 1 - Hot Air Balloon

IX Hermit, 9 of Swords, 6 of Swords, XIII Death; 24 - Heal Thyself, 15. Adrift in Shallow Water

This pile is a No. You may be wanting to move forward with something, but the energy I'm picking up on is too closed inward and focused on the worst possible outcomes. You may need to detach from the situation if a decision is called for. Answers will more likely come to you when you are given the quietude and privacy needed to listen to your inner guidance system. It knows a lot more than it may let on, but you won't be able to hear it amidst the chaos.

"Take a few deep breaths and reconnect to your inner peace." This card is talking about using mindfulness to recenter the self. It is very difficult to make important decisions and move forward from a place of anxiety. Things are more likely to move in the direction you desire when you make plans from a calm and positive outlook. Once you're fully ready to move on, the tides will turn for you.

Pile 2 - Peacock Tail

4 of Pentacles, 4 of Cups, 6 of Cups, 7 of Pentacles; 13 - Awareness, 5. Change Direction With Ease

For you, this is a big Maybe. Your reading starts with two 4 cards which can indicate a state of stagnancy and lack of motion. With 6 of cups, you may be more focused on what's happened before than what could happen next. Remember that cycles don't always repeat themselves perfectly and giving something another go can reap potential success if you put in the proper dedication for it.

"You may be in for a surprise." 4 of Cups can talk about unforeseen surprises around the corner, so if you're able to keep your mind more ahead into the present and future rather than the past, you may be prepared to catch this surprise. This surprise could be the key to allowing things to flow through to a more desired resolution. Stay present for what's to come.

Pile 3 - Plumbago Flowers

XIX The Sun, XVIII The Moon, 3 of Cups, Queen of Cups; 7 - Clear Aura, 49. Be Insightful and Established

So this is a definite Yes with the Sun card coming out first! But then the Moon card popped up, which definitely surprised me. This combo doesn't often happen a lot! I think with this particular yes, you may be very excited to jump the gun and celebrate. But the Moon wants to remind you that as alluring as it may be to throw caution in the wind, it's important to keep your emotions leveled and even keeled. Your friends or community may also be affecting the choice or outcome; never mind their energy and stay true to what's in your own cup. Your intuition will guide you.

"Ground and realign your energy." Give yourself a clean fresh head start and look before you leap into anything. Lighten yourself from heavier energies. Make decisions from a place of solid reason rather than through the emotional frenzy that may surround you.

Pile 4 - Azurite

4 of Pentacles, Page of Swords, 2 of Cups, 5 of Pentacles; 14 - Grace, 42. Gentle Moderation

This pile is a very likely No. When I drew these cards, it was like rapid fire. All these cards came out at once. I feel there may be a lot of impatience, especially with the 4 of Pentacles. You may feel you've been waiting too long for something to come to fruition and you may be getting frustrated by the lack of results. With Page of Swords and 2 of Cups, I sense that there is an important lesson you must grasp before you can move ahead with this. It may have to do with communicating to your partner, friend, or coworker, or even asking for assistance.

"Take your time." Time is greatly emphasized in this pile. Before I drew this card and I saw Grace, I thought, "grace period." So you may be in or soon getting a grace period which will allow you to have the ability to ease back and think carefully about how you want to go forward. I get that it sucks when things don't show up when we've desire it for so long, but the cards want to remind you that you have more time than you think to get the results you're after.

Pile 5 - Grass Field

Knight of Pentacles, 8 of Cups, I Magician, 9 of Swords; 30 - Practical Intuition, 5. Change Direction With Ease

This pile looks to be a No, for at least this moment. This is something that may take a while to accomplish, but because you may be holding on to something no longer needed, it could be taking longer than necessary. The Magician card wants to remind you of your power to take control of the situation. Do not listen to the fears that disguise themselves as your intuition. Practical Intuition is about grounding your psychic energy into the material world. Remind yourself that your intuition works for you, not against you. When you're able to let go of old fears and worries, you'll be able to step forward with more confidence.

"It is a time to reconsider what you are wanting." Take some time to get clear on your intentions before you work your magic. The more you paint your worries as being realistic, the more likely they are to become real. Use your intuitive gifts for your benefit. You are not powerless in this situation. But it's ultimately up to you to change how this will all play out!

Pile 6 - Lily Pad Page of Wands, III of Swords, X Wheel of Fortune, 8 of Swords; 9 - Self Acceptance, 29. Empower Yourself

This pile is a Maybe because I almost took out the World card after 8 of Swords. I think with this pile, you need to take account of who you are and what you're capable of doing. You may get this sense that things are totally out of your hands and up to the universe to decide, but the cards are advising you to not default to that reasoning with this question. While it's one thing to recognize when things are out of our hands, this should not be confused with helplessness.

"Allow yourself to be the strong, beautiful person you are capable of being." I'm getting that some of you may be really harsh on yourselves when things don't turn out right. But resorting to negative self talk when things go wrong and positive talk about the universe when things go right, is an imbalanced way of perceiving this. You are powerful, and this situation can resolve itself in part thanks to your efforts. But you must be kinder with yourself to see this power first.

Pile 7 - Damselfly

XIII Death, XI Justice, XVIII The Moon, Page of Wands; 13 - Awareness; 3. In the Light of the Moon

This pile is a No. Something must be done away with here, something must be remain in the past. This is something that needs to occur inevitably, even if it's hard. Whatever it is, things seem to not be going to plan. Ultimately, this No will be in your personal favor, though it doesn't seem that way right now, because letting go will set things into better balance. You may be feeling lost with this, uncertain of how to proceed. But you are gently being guided to your next chapter in life. It's okay if you are feeling down right now, allow yourself to process the emotions (even if you're feeling disconnected from emotion) by doing what you find enjoyable to you as this all unfolds.

I find it interesting how the full moon shows up three times in this reading. I find this magically significant. Do you by chance work with lunar magic, or do you simply follow your emotional energy closely as the moon waxes and wanes? The number 13 appearing twice is also to be noted here. I'm getting that this will have to do with some kind of specific timing, like 13 days from now, or on the 13th of a month. Pay attention to your dreams for further insight and clues. Don't be afraid to shed the old to welcome in the new. Even if this doesn't work out, you carry so much magical potential in you that whatever comes next will be nothing short of wondrously transformative.

Pile 8 - Gentian Flowers

King of Pentacles, 2 of Swords, X Wheel of Fortune, King of Cups; 25 - Truth, 42. Gentle Moderation

This is a likely Yes, but there are signs of some wavering here. The message I channeled was to be true to yourself no matter what decision you may take. You may be dealing with too many conflicting opinions weighing in on something that may be important mainly for you. I'm getting practical needs vs. emotional needs. You must come to your own conclusions about how much you'll factor in one need compared to the other. If you decide both that are important, then you will need to figure out how to get the two needs to cooperate.

"Pressure from others or yourself can be released by renegotiating what you are trying to accomplish." One King to hold the wheel, the other to hold the compass. You are both the guide and the driver of this choice. Once you come to conclusions about what your personal Truth is, let that be your map to a more harmonious outcome.

Pile 9 - Blueberries

XII Hanged Man, 5 of Cups, Knight of Pentacles, XV The Devil; 29 - Nurture, 26. Where You Need to Be

This pile is a No. I'm getting a lot of nervous energy from this pile, I'm needing to take my time and breathe between each card. It may help for you to also take time out and breathe deeply. This could be something that has been stressing you out, keeping you in limbo. This is your sign to take it easy. Be gentle with yourself. You're being asked to see the difference between needing to be patient for things to manifest, and needing to rely on your own energy to overcome this. But you cannot use that energy if you cannot see it for yourself.

"Have faith the Universe will take care of a current concern by providing the best possible outcome for all involved." Just because something doesn't turn out now doesn't mean it won't be for later. You're on the right path, don't let this temporary situation sway you. In the meantime, your current focus needs to be on personal self care. You must tend to your garden and provide yourself with the healing you need to take on the things that are within your grasp.

Pile 10 - Blue Jay

2 of Wands, Ace of Wands, King of Swords, IV The Emperor; 21 - Shadow Treasures, 7. Dancing in the Rainbow

This pile is a strong Yes. You got what it takes to see this through. There is a passion lighting up from within you, and by keeping your head high and focusing on the outcome you desire, you will be given the tools you need to succeed in this. But all this won't happen on its own. You are being asked to do a majority of the work and organizing needed to pull this off. This may be a solo effort for the most part. But rest assured that you got the motivation and integrity to do it right.

"Break free from whatever you feel is holding you back." Your mind, the King of Swords, may try to freeze this fiery passion by giving you reasons that it isn't plausible or reasonable. But the 2 of wands says "this and more." Release the dichotomy of being rational and enthusiastic and embrace both, for they both have gifts to offer.

Pile 11 - Butterfly

8 of Cups, Page of Wands, King of Cups, Page of Swords; 3 - Strength, 5. Change Direction with Ease

This one is a soft Yes. It seems like there is something you need to work through first, however. You may be feeling like you need to hone in on specific skills or internal resources for the best results. You need to be confident in yourself that something must fall away if you want to begin a new with something else. Make peace with where you are now and see that you have an inner reservoir of talent and ambitions to tap into.

"This is a time for change, shapeshifting, or your soul's evolution." There is something telling you that the next stage to come will help you grow and become more well rounded. You've already mastered the art of staying calm under the tension of seeking greater and greater heights, now it's time to play into your passions and find new ways to learn and expand your knowledge.

Pile 12- Mountain Bluebird

Knight of Cups, Six of Wands, XI Justice, VIII Strength; 6 - Freedom, 11. Persistent Drive

This one is a strong Yes. Now is the exact time to make the move. Try to visualize or imagine your most desired outcome, first. Which one makes the most sense to you. Which one utilizes your greatest strengths? Which one gives you the emotional freedom to pursue your goals while abandoning all restrictions from the past that still try to tie you down? And, last but not least, which one recreates that joyful spark that lights up the dreams within you? Step out into the world and don't be afraid of a little bit of risk.

"See what you desire and move toward that goal." Be completely sure of where you want to go or want to do next. Set a practical target, one that you can easily see. Take a calculated risk, but don't get cocky or too brash. If all goes well, stay humble and pass the good vibes on.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2024, @VitaminseeTarot ™

[luvstarss]

can I have a request with jj maybank x shy! reader where you work at the beach in a bar or something like that and stares at him all the time bc you're afraid to ask him out and he gives a typical jj answer for stalking him and you're upset & avoiding him. until kie tells JJ he's wrong it's just you're in awe? Fluff ending please 🥺

You can write it like you want, just an idea! Love it anyway

Oblivious

JJxReader

Warnings:Alchohol.Talk about sex I guess?

I'm working behind the counter as I watch JJ pick out some surf gear "You're staring"my co-worker Leah chimes in "Hm what?"I say as I snap out of my train of thought. She just laughs and continues to stock shelves.

JJ had been coming into the store almost every day for the last few weeks buying random shit like surf wax or a new shark necklace. He comes up to the counter "Just them please" he says as he looks at me with a smile "You've been coming here a lot recently"I giggle with a smile "Surf season coming up good waves and shit I gotta prepare" he replies with a cheesy grin.

I round up his items "fifteen dollars fifty"I say as I open the register "fuck I've only got 10 hold em' for me ?I'll come back to pay for the rest" he replies as he looks through his pockets embarrassment painted on his face."you're good"I say with a small smile "what?"he says looking up “don't worry about it take it as my discount"I say "oh-Thankyou so much"he says  with a warm smile as I give him his stuff and he leaves the surf shop.

Timeskip

“You sure I look okay Ames?”I say in an unsure tone to my best friend Amy as I look in the mirror pulling my dress down and doing what I can to make myself feel more comfortable in the short skin tight material “bitch you look so fucking good” she says as she stares back at me through the reflecting in the mirror.

“don’t worry JJ will love it” she adds with a teasing grin. I give her an unimpressed look through the mirror “I fucking hate the fact I like him” I reply as I brush out the curls in my hair “Can’t help true love” she says with the same teasing grin still painted on her face.

Me and Amy finish up getting ready and head to the boneyard. As we walk onto the sand the sweet smell of alcohol and weed fills my senses. We go over to the keg and fill up our cups. As I look around grasping my surroundings I lock eyes with a familiar blonde boy standing with his usual group of friends wearing his signature grey cargo shorts and black tank top. I immediately look away and turn back to Amy.

“are u even listening?”she scoffs “I-yeah”I reply my tone sounding a lot more unsure than I intended “girl go over there”she grins as she follows my gaze to JJ “No way shut up”I respond with an eye roll.

Somehow throughout the night me and Amy had migrated around the bomb fire with JJ and his group of friends just laughing and talking to each other the alcohol taking slight effect slowly but surely. Me and Jj keep catching each other’s eyes but I ignore it and keep talking to other people surrounding us.

“JJ you just can never admit you’re in the wrong dumbass” Kiara giggles as she sips her drink. “No, she practically tried to fuck me on the fucking sand!”He defends “I mean I wouldn’t have said no to a hot kook” he adds with his signature toothy grin. I feel my cheeks rush in slight jealousy. Amy gives me a look. “JJ you need to get over her” John B. chimes in “Her dad's like a rich kook who owns the whole entire neighbourhood “John b adds deflating JJ's ego.

I get up and go back over to the keg to fill up my cup. Amy jogs over to me “You okay?” she says scanning my face for a signal of how I feel “What? oh yeah, all good” I reply with a small smile “He’s being an ass don’t worry” She says referring to jj talking about that girl “Amy me and JJ have had like two conversations I have no right at all to be jealous and shit “I reply as I run my hand through my hair “so your jealous?” she clocks with a smirk “bitch shut up” I scoff with a grin as we go back over to the group.JJ shouts my name “Hm?”I respond confused as I look at the blonde .

He looks at Kiara then back at me “Your a kook if you were my girl-“He begins clearly trying to prove another point to John B or some shit before he can finish Kiara hits him in the arm “what did I do!”he responds in a defensive tone. I laugh it off as I sip my drink.

Me and Amy end up wondering off from the group I see Kiara talking to JJ.

“JJ she obviously fucking likes you!”Kiara says as she hits JJ arm “Stop fucking hitting me!and no she doesn’t!”he says defending himself“you’re so oblivious”Kiara sighs “You don’t see it because your a guy”she adds “I-cam does not like me your just being weird”he scoffs “fucking talk to her JJ”Kiara adds as she goes off to talk to John B.

Im just stood with Amy as we talk and sip on our drink when I see the blonde slightly stumble over to us “Cam can I talk to you?”JJ speaks as he look between me and Amy . Me and Amy just give each other a look “I-um sure”I reply confused . Amy nods as she walks away back over to the bombfire. “What’s up?”I say confusion still laced in my voice . “Do u like me?shit- I don’t know how do do all this shit-Kiara said you liked me”he says as I runs his hand over his face in embarrassment .

“I-well -“I begin. “I like you and I feel really bad talking about that girl in front of you earlier. Kiara told me and it was a total dick move”he says as he scans my face for a sign of hesitance “wow JJ captain of hookups actually likes a girl?”I grin teasingly.He gives me a look with a grin spread on his face “I like you too Maybank”I laugh “Soo does this mean free shit from the surf shop?”He grins as he throws an arm around me .

Hate the ending of this sooo much. I hope this fits the request enough I tried. Thankyou for the request 💞

[sulemio-week-official]

Tumblr President Sulemio is back🍅✨🍅✨🍅✨

We're doing a 100 themes of sulemio challenge! Tag the account and/or use the tag #sulemio100 so we can reblog your work! Check the link for more info🍅

You can make any content (edits, amvs, fanfiction, art, cosplay etc). 🍅

If your work is nsfw please tag it appropriately for us to retweet.

There is no time limit to this event, we will keep retweeting as long as you use #sulemio100 and or tag the account🫧

If you're posting on ao3 you can add it to the collection archiveofourown.org/collections/100_themes_of_sulemio_challenge

You can interpret these prompts however you want!✨

This event will happen parallel on twitter so be sure to check it out🌈

You do not need to do all the prompts.👍🏼

Have fun!

The link will have FAQs🎈

If you have any questions give us an ask or a message✨

Prompts:

1- Prologue 2- Angel 3- Gaming 4- Syzygy 5- Ocean 6- Gurgle 7- Childhood 8- Supplication 9- Picnic 10- Desert 11- Cereal 12- Hot Chocolate 13- Trespassing 14- Princess 15- Harpy 16- Summer 17- Forest 18- Crepes 19- Birthday 20- Interpreter 21- Cooking 22- Boat 23- Ikea 24- Lifetime 25- Yuri 26- Vibraphone 27- Date 28- Mountain 29- Popcorn 30- Goldfish 31- Collar 32- Hound 33- Cuddles 34- Hiccups 35- Thunderstorms 36- Mercenary 37- Enamel 38- Donuts 39- Psychopomp 40- Debauchery 41- Gunpla 42- Shapeshifter 43- Fatherhood 44- Kaiju 45- Couch 46- Sex 47- Prohibition 48- Lies 49- Hobby 50- Wallpaper 51- Video Game 52- Sky 53- Skiing 54- Hotdog 55- Rome 56- Alcohol 57- Gamer 58- Stockings 59- Kiss 60- Christmas 61- Tattoo 62- Ruins 63- Flowers 64- Nature 65- Codependence 66- Kamasutra 67- Azure 68- Poof 69- Snowball 70- Magic 71- Break 72- Nostalgia 73- Doomed 74- Cozy 75- Heaven 76- Family 77- Virtual 78- Desperation 79- Mental 80- Misanthropic 81- Musical 82- Trainspotting 83- Gardening 84- Stupid 85- Oblivious 86- Thief 87- Jealousy 88- Forearms 89- Eri 90- Forever 91- Yearning 92- Surfing 93- Neck 94- Pining 95- Headpats 96- Cassowary 97- Forgiveness 98- Metanarrative 99- Overstimulation 100- Epilogue

[e1ectricwords]

Fairy Tail Coffee Shop AU:

just bc im swamped with work currently lets spitball some stupid hcs about a coffee shop:

family run - Makarov owns it but is the owner that turns up in a Hawaiian shirt and sits in the back gossiping with the regulars

Laxus is the stressed manager that is barely seen on the shopfloor (it's beneath him obviously) but is always up in the office running through numbers and stock

Erza is the manager who keeps everything in check but has no clue how to handle customer complaints without feeling bad - different if anyone insults her staff then she steps in ready to fight

Gray is the barista so fucking tired with everyone - someone asks for a decaf black americano and he calls it coffee flavoured water - audible screaming when someone asks for an extra hot americano

Natsu eats the floor food

Lucy gets shoved on the tills bc the machines overwhelm her but she memories every single regular and their orders

put Levy or Freed on stock take

Gajeel got fired first day - he now just turns up to fix the machines when they break

Cana is the regular in the corner every day all day

Levy hoards the pens - she comes in with beautiful headscarves and like 3 pens tucked away in her hair, 10 more in her apron. Whenever anyone needs a pen they go to Levy

Natsu only works like once a week and is nearly always late or will randomly turn up hours early

there was a flood whilst Gray and Natsu were closing together once and after the initial screaming at Natsu who tried to mop it up, they just sat on top of a freezer waiting until Gajeel turned up

Reedus does all of the menu art and murals

Bickslow doodles on the cups but badly

Natsu shares his floor food with the stray cats outside

If you liked this, check out the Masterlist

[bloodndirt]

Through My Window-

Frank Castle Short

Pairing Frank Castle (around season 1 of the punisher) x Reader

MDNI! I prefer to keep my page 18+

Warnings: blood, death, violence, fighting, wounds, injuries, pain, mentions of a traumatic events, Frank calls reader “babydoll”. Read at your own discretion.

This was usual for you both.

Blood pooling on the floor, rag already having been rinsed out 10 times at least.

franks hands still covered in blood somehow, the dark crimson liquid caked underneath his fingernails still.

He had been stripped of the body gear he wore, sitting on the edge of your bathtub in a black t-shirt, which was probably also soaked in blood, his or others you weren’t quite sure.

His head hanging low and eyes fixed on your movements as you worked around the bathroom.

Your first aid kit always stocked and ready under your bathroom sink cabinet, you worked quietly.

Grabbing gauze and bandages, to patch up the mess, alcohol and hydrogen peroxide to cleanse any wounds he may have.

You never said much, you did at first, calling him out on how dangerous all of this was. Everything he put himself through, how much it actually scared you to think he may never come back to you one day. You understood the pain he felt, never blamed him for wanting revenge either. Never questioning his endless hours of vigilante work, righting the wrongs he had seen fit.

It didn’t bother you, it pained you.

Knowing the pain he went through, the anguish, the agony, the anger.

You tried to understand, but you cared for his life more than he did apparently.

He never took for granted the things you did for him, always thanking you, never forgetting to place a kiss on your head with a quiet “don’t know what I’d do without ya, babydoll.”

He appreciated you, you knew he did.

You also knew that most of his wounds could be cleaned up by himself, sure he was tired, but he really didn’t need the special treatment from you, he wanted it. You never let him leave hungry either, always fixing him some sort of quick meal, or heating up some left overs.

Most times making a cup of piping hot coffee for him to sip on as he sat at your snack bar. Munching away on the coffee cookies you had made, figuring out they were his favorite long ago.

He cherishes the moments with you, his life seeming quite dismal until his eyes always found your soft lamp glow by your window.

Light left on, always waiting impatiently for him to arrive.

You don’t know of course, but frank made the promise to himself and most importantly to you, that this night you were cleaning him up was going to be the last night. That he would never put himself or you through any of this again, no late night wound cleanups, no going to bed with frank on your couch and waking up to him gone in the morning. He would do anything for you, he’d stop anything for you. He’d begin again for you.

And for you, he will.

———-

Ughhhhhh frank pulls at my heartstrings i swearrrrr :’)

-

I do not approve of my work being stolen, replicated or used in anything to do with AI.

[colonelkaboom]

A prince, a knight & a poet

✦ Chapter 10 - Forced proximity ✦

As you leave for the weekend to attend a seminar on creative writing, Caleb and Xavier are left home alone together for the first time. You know you'll miss them both, but the feeling that weighs on you the most is the fear of what they might do to each other when you're not around to keep them civil. Caleb falls at the first hurdle but when he and Xavier attempt to fix his mistake they find themselves forced to get along...

Chapter 1 ll Chapter 2 ll Chapter 3 ll Chapter 4 ll Chapter 5 ll Chapter 6 ll Chapter 7 ll Chapter 8 ll Chapter 9 ll Chapter 10 ll Chapter 11 ll Chapter 12

✦ Read on ao3 ll Series masterlist ✦ Xavier x Caleb x Reader ✦ Word count: 2.3k ✦ Modern AU setting ✦ Slow burn, friends to lovers, domestic fluff, suggestive themes, sexual tension, voyeurism (?), pre-poly, more to come

Leaving them alone together felt terrifying. The poet did not know what they would choose to do to each other in her absence.  Both her prince and her knight were excited when she announced that she was invited to share her poetry with a neighboring kingdom. They had also eagerly expressed a desire to accompany her, to stay by her side, for safety of course.  The poet had declined them both. Her conscience could not handle the burden of them abandoning their duties in favor of tending to her. No matter how much she longed their company, she could not allow them to do such a thing for her.  As she sat lonely in the horsedrawn carriage, surrounded by the pungent stench radiating from the warm animal, her mind thought not of the many poems she would get to share. The poet instead found herself spinning with unanswered questions and wild theories about the men she left behind unsupervised. 

“Caleb, how is it possible that she's been gone for less than a day and you’ve already managed to neglect your duties?” Xavier tilted his head in annoyance at the lack of groceries in the fridge.

Caleb was supposed to stock up on all their essentials on his way back from work. Must have slipped his mind… 

“Are you thinkin’ I somehow forgot on purpose? I’m not appreciating that accusatory tone of yours, Xavie.” He doesn't remember when he started using that nickname, but Xavie had accepted it straight away.

“I’m thinking half your head is on a train somewhere, plotting great stories of far away kingdoms. You obviously can’t function properly without her. In all the time I’ve lived here, you’ve never forgotten to buy groceries. But the second she’s not around, you suddenly assume no one else in this household needs to eat anymore?” 

“Don’t say that, makes me sound so needy.”

“That’s because you are needy.” Caleb rolls his eyes, but does not try to argue against the statement. “You know how I get when I haven’t eaten. And you promised me hot pot tonight. I might end up accidentally choking you, blinded by rage and hunger. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Caleb chuckled.

“What?" Xavier’s eyes widened in shock.

“Nothin’.” It was meant to be a joke, he’d made similar ones with Gideon since they were teens.

It felt very different around Xavier though. So many things seemed different around him…

“I just like to take care of her, that’s all.”

"You shouldn’t neglect yourself just because the people you care about aren’t around. You forget about your own needs far too often, Caleb. It’s a bad habit."

Xavier couldn’t deny that he somehow loved that you and Caleb were close. Knowing that Caleb always had your back brought him some strange sense of comfort. But when the lines between friends and something more blurred too far, he needed to step in. 

“But, when my girlfriend is not here, you can take care of me instead. I’m requesting care right now; I’m hungry, I cannot cook like you can, please ensure I go to bed tonight feeling full.” Caleb still needed far too many reminders of who you were actually in a relationship with, but Xavier didn’t mind helping him remember. 

How pathetic of him to be irritated at his roommate for caring too much about you whilst simultaneously appreciating him for those same feelings. Now he had also requested his cooking? This had to be a new low point in his life…

Caleb did promise hot pot though. That adorable pout appeared on Xavier’s face when you left and brought forward Caleb’s need to protect and provide, a need that was usually reserved for you. 

Jealousy was still a merciless companion with sharp hooks buried deep in both their chests. There seemed to be no way to fully escape it. It didn’t matter that Caleb had grown to almost appreciate bearing witness to your happiness, Xavier calling you ‘his’ still made his blood boil. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll cook. Wanna come with me to the store or..?” 

“Sure.” Xavier firmly replied a little bit too quickly.

Accompanied by the sharp jingle of keys, they left the apartment and headed towards the elevator. 

Xavier had been your roommate for quite some time now and Caleb had witnessed your affection for each other bloom into something rather beautiful. It eventually became very obvious how much the two of you had been holding back around him once the normalcy of living together subconsciously relaxed you both. Admittedly, Caleb hadn’t made it very easy for you to be affectionate at first, going to embarrassing lengths to keep you separate. 

Then he’d heard you for the first time, triggering an avalanche of new and terrifying emotions. Shame being a particularly prominent one that often arose to the surface. Screaming violently at him every time he became a secret participant in yours and Xavier’s sexual encounters. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to ignore what was happening in your room, how hard he tried to block out the intoxicating sounds of your moans. Your sweet whimpers of pleasure, Xavier’s praises… He hated it, but loved it at the same time. He wanted it.

Shopping with Xavier was very similar to shopping with you. Eager eyes scanning each shelf for your favorites, although Xavier seemed to have a keener eye for fancy cuts of meat where you’d settle for sweets. It quickly became apparent to him that Caleb would gladly satisfy you both.

“So, have you guys made any plans for valentines day yet?” Caleb asked as they reentered the elevator with their shopping.

“No, not really. We talked about wanting to do a themed event at the bookstore, so that might take up most of our time. Knowing us, I can safely assume we’ll both be too exhausted to make any elaborate evening plans after work.” Xavier explained as he pushed the button to the fifth floor. 

“Hm, that’s a shame, since it’s your first valentines day together and all.” Caleb paused for a moment, wondering if he dared suggest the plan his mind just concocted. “I, uhm… I could cook somethin’ for you and make myself disappear for the evening. If you’d like?”

“You’d do that for us?” Xavier was surprised. Were they not rivals in some way? 

“Yeah, I mean, I’ll admit I’d prefer to partake in the dinner myself, but this way I can at least make sure you’re both unable to spend valentines evening together without thinkin’ of me.” Caleb smugly declared. 

Xavier was stunned for a moment, before smiling and huffing out a soft laugh which Caleb soon joined in on. 

The rare moment of comradery was abruptly cut short when the elevator suddenly shook and the lights violently flickered around them. The elevator stopped moving and there was now nothing more than a single dim white light illuminating the tiny metal box. 

“No, no, no. You’ve got to be kiddin’ me.” Caleb exclaimed frantically, pressing the button to open the elevator door with no success. 

“We’re stuck?” Something stirred inside him at the prospect of being trapped in such a small space, with Caleb.

“Seems like it. Elevator lasted quite a while this time, though. I’d say I was impressed if I wasn’t the one trapped in here.” Giving up on the first button, he instead clicks the emergency button a few times.

“I’ll call someone.” Xavier mutters as he bends down to look at the number printed next to the emergency button before releasing an aggravated sigh as he reads the label. “Between 10 PM and 06 AM the help office is unattended. Press the emergency button and wait. An on call technician will contact you shortly.”

“Great. What is ‘shortly’?” Caleb already felt his heart racing.

“At least we have snacks.” Peeking into one of the bags, Xavier digs out two chocolate bars and holds them out in front of Caleb. “Do you want salted caramel or nuts and berries?”

Caleb rubs the back of his neck, clearly more annoyed by the situation than the man next to him. 

“I’ll take the nuts and berries, thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, you paid for it.” 

“Right, right, m’key. So you should be thanking me then?”

“Thank you Caleb, for this bar of chocolate that will serve as my dinner. I hope it is enough to not make me snap at you in a hunger induced frenzy.”

“Yikes! Being stuck in here with you might actually end me.” 

They both dropped their bags and sat down with their backs resting against the cool metal wall.

Caleb leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment, soaking in the cold bite of his temporary cage. It was too warm in here. Xavier was too close. Caleb’s eyes remained shut until the sound of Xavier ripping the paper off the chocolate bar caught his attention. 

Xavier fiddled with the wrapping a bit more than usual, his shaky fingers struggling to get a firm grip. It was good though, he needed something to busy himself with. He craved the sweet comfort of chocolate to keep himself in check.

Out of the corner of his eye, Caleb followed the chocolate on its journey toward Xavier’s lips. Caleb's own chocolate bar was rapidly melting inside its packaging, clutched too tightly in his overheated hand.

Once Xavier’s lips parted to allow the sweet treat entry, Caleb was sure he’d lost his mind. His thoughts wandered to places they shouldn’t, conjuring images he was not supposed to crave.

Growing more and more uncomfortable by the second, he shifted his legs a bit to allow more room for the unwelcomed pressure building under his jeans. 

Fuck… You’re not even here! He’s not under the familiar spell of your voice or a silent witness to yours and Xavier’s shared pleasure. It was just the two of them here. Caleb and Xavier.

Xavie.

“You’re not claustrophobic or anything, are you?” Xavier questioned, taking note of Caleb’s sudden squirming. 

“No, I’m not. It’s just - ” Caleb’s attempt at an explanation got caught in his throat at the sight of Xavier’s tongue swiping along his bottom lip to collect any stray crumb of chocolate. 

Caleb surged forward, practically lunging himself at Xavier. And once their lips finally joined, Caleb’s body instantly relaxed. The tension that had been building for months finally figured out what it needed to release itself.

His hand reached up to cup Xavier’s cheek and for a moment, they both allowed themselves to simply feel what they had been denying for so long.

Their lips moved in slow timid motions, working together in an attempt to make sense of what was happening. A question they both knew the answer to, but were unwilling to admit.

The kiss tasted of chocolate, caramel, fear and creeping desperation. Caleb wanted more, but he didn’t fully know what that meant. He allowed his hand to wander to the back of Xavier’s neck, hoping to somehow pull him closer. 

It took Xavier far too long to catch up to what was happening. He had no idea he wanted this. Who knew months of aggravated gazes and silent competition would amount to a makeout session while trapped in an elevator?

There was nothing natural about this kiss, nothing like what his first kiss with you felt like. Although kissing Caleb was awkward and clumsy, it felt so good. Like finding a piece of a puzzle he didn’t realize was missing. 

Xavier placed his hand on Caleb’s forearm, securing the hand at the back of his neck into its position while his other one searched for Caleb’s to interlock their fingers. It felt terrifyingly safe. 

In a moment of weakness (or bravery) Xavier gently tugged at Caleb’s lip, pulling a needy moan out of him. In that moment, he knew there was no coming back from this. He had to have more. He needed you both. 

The sound of a male voice through the speaker suddenly engulfed them. Scared by the sudden intrusion, Xavier accidentally bit into Caleb’s bottom lip.

“Ouch!” Caleb exclaimed as a metallic taste now battled the sweet chocolate from Xavier’s kiss.

Then it suddenly dawned on them; they’d kissed. Caleb had turned Xavier into a cheater. They’d cheated on you. How could they call themselves your best friend and your boyfriend if they were willing to do something like this the second you leave them alone?

They were both frozen. Eyes wide and jaws loose. Completely stuck, slowly drowning in guilt and shame. 

“Hello. Is anyone there?” The voice from the speaker questioned.

Only then did the boys realize they were still holding hands. Caleb cleared his throat and quickly rose to his feet, holding Xavier’s hand until he spoke.

“Yeah, we’re here.”

“There is a technician on his way, should be no more than another 10 minutes. Are you ok?”

“Uhm, I - I don’t…" Caleb paused, shooting a glance down at Xavier who looked like he’d seen a ghost. Caleb sighed at the sight, convinced Xavier regretted it already. "Sure. We’re ok.”

The poet had her suspicions. No matter how hard her prince and her knight tried to keep their longing gazes secret, she knew.  She was ashamed to admit how she lusted for them both. How she yearned for both their lips on her body. Two pairs of arms wrapping around her to claim her in the most sinful way.  Words on paper were not enough to fulfill her desires. Although she had diligently tried to write her scandalous thoughts away, hidden behind pretty words and embellished metaphors. Nothing was good enough, for there were simply no words that could capture her true feelings. She wanted them both and there was nothing she could do but wait and hope that when her prince and her knight came to terms with their feelings, they wouldn’t choose each other over her. By leaving them alone to pursue her passion, she risked losing them both.  Perhaps all those guards who had turned her away, before she was welcomed into the prince’s kingdom, had been right after all. Perhaps a young woman's poetry couldn’t be anything other than love letters to the devil. 

AN: Is anyone surprised lol no 😂 This chapter was a bit short, but I have a feeling the next one will be longer and probably a lil angsty. Thanks for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! If anyone is interested in being added to the series taglist, click here 🍎⭐️

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[callmelittlebuttercup]

Peace Offerings Pt.7

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Series Summary: The pair continue on and decide to loot a mall they come across. Reader is injured from a run in with a clicker, and the two are force to seek shelter in a nearby school. Joel blames the Reader's stubbornness for her injury and tensions rise, causing something neither of them expected to happen.

Series Warnings: Slow burn, Age gap (reader is 34, Joel is 56), 18+ Minors DNI, Sexual Themes, Violence, Injuries (depictions of blood, bruising, broken bones), Cursing, Grumpy!Joel, Minimal depictions of reader's appearance (hair color/length.)

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Part Seven

I’d fallen asleep on the couch. Joel placing a mug of coffee onto the table beside me had been my sign to wake up. “What time is it?” I asked while wiping the sleep out of my eyes. “Early. We need to catch up on time.” He said. He was back to his rigid self. I guess last night had been too much for him. I sat up and stretched before taking a sip of the hot, stale liquid. It burned my tongue, but I played it cool. He dropped my backpack in front of me and slung his own over his shoulder. “Be ready in five.” He grunted and turned to walk out the front door. “Aye aye captain.” I mumbled under my breath as I reached for my boots. 

I nearly stumbled out onto the porch, and met Joel at the bottom of the stairs. “Ready.” I said. He stood up with a grunt and we began our trek. The air was beginning to get colder, and soon my sweatshirt wouldn’t be enough. I took stock of the clothing I had left in my bag, and even then, I still wouldn’t make it through the winter. “We should find somewhere for warm clothes.” I suggested. He nodded and replied, “Keep an eye out.” I plucked the map he had tucked into the side pocket of his backpack and opened it up. My eyes scanned the area, and if my eyes weren’t deceiving me, there was a shopping mall about 10 miles north. I relayed the information to Joel, and of course he grabbed the map from me, needing to confirm it for himself. I stood close to him, pointing to where I saw the mall. He nodded and folded up the map before handing it to me to shove back into the pocket. 

It took five hours, but we’d finally caught sight of the mall. After 5 hours of walking, my mind was fried, and I was even convinced the mall could have been a mirage. “You see that too right?” I asked Joel, my words slurring slightly. “Yup.” He answered. “Just making sure.” 

We closed the distance between us and the ginormous building. “This is going to be a bitch to clear.” I sighed. “Just keep it down.” Joel demanded as he pushed the door open with a creak. Memories of my childhood flooded back as I caught sight of the grand entryway to the abandoned mall. “Stay behind me.” He whispered as we entered the building cautiously. I kept my head on a swivel and kept up with Joel’s quickened pace. He stopped at the opening of what looked like a sporting goods store. I followed him inside, and once we deemed the area clear, we untensed and began to load any clothes we saw into our bags. I chose a wind breaker with a sherpa lining and a few sweaters to go underneath. Joel grabbed us each a pair of gloves and a hat. I’d wandered off to see if there was anything else of use, and was eyeing the picked over shoe racks when I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I heard it before I saw it. The familiar raspy breath of an infected. I turned around and caught sight of the nasty thing. It came barreling forward but ran into a rack and sent it flying into me. It slammed against my torso and pinned me to the shoe display. I began to lose vision from the pain of my already cracked ribs being beaten even further. With the little strength I could muster, I pushed the rack off me and used it to keep the distance between the monster and I. It’s arms flailed over the side of the rack as it tried to get a hold of me, but I ducked and dodged each time. I prayed for Joel to find me since I didn’t have the time to take my eyes off of the infected to get my gun from the floor. I stood there fighting the creature as hard as I could all while trying not to collapse from the agony. I finally hurt a gunshot and the creature dropped to the floor. I let go of the rack and paused, ensuring that it was fully dead, and soon after Joel’s hand grabbed my arm and yanked me backwards. “We gotta get out of here. Go!” 

I ran as fast as I could behind Joel, and once he felt that we were far enough away from the mall, he slowed to a jog. “You promised you wouldn’t do that.” He breathed. “I know.” I gasped. “So what the fuck possessed you to?” He questioned, his voice gaining volume from growing anger. “I…I don’t know, I just wanted to see what else we could get.” I stuttered, feeling fear pulse through my abdomen. His dark eyes practically burned holes into me. He said nothing and turned to continue to walk along the path we’d fallen upon. 

About two hours later, we’d come upon a and cleared school to rest in for the night. He’d been silent, clearly angry at me for wandering away from him. I didn’t want to speak to him either. Even if his anger was because of the fact he cared about me, I hated being talked down to and treated like an irresponsible child. He sat across the grimy, dust filled teachers lounge and bore his eyes into me. I tried to ignore the pain across the right side of my stomach, but it got worse with each breath, and would soon be impossible to ignore. I needed to do something about it, but if Joel saw that I was hurt I would get another lecture. I sat still on the couch, picking at my fingernails to avoid eye contact. “I know you’re hurt.” He grumbled. My eyes shot up to him, “What? I’m fine.” I said defensively. “Then get up and twist to the side.” He demanded. I raised my eyebrows, continuing to act confused, “What the fuck are you on about, Joel? I’m fine, I’m just tired.” I insisted. He stood up and walked over, standing over me and studying my body with his eyes. “Don’t fuckin’ lie to me.” He said, his voice getting lower with impatience. I sighed, my side rippling with pain, and reluctantly sat up while stifling a grunt. I stood, causing Joel to take a step back. “Here’s your proof.” I said as I began to twist to the side. The pain was so bad the wind was knocked out of me and I stumbled backwards, my ass landing on the couch. Joel’s face remained unchanged except for a small glint in his eye. He clearly loved when I was wrong. 

I stared up at him angrily while catching my breath. “Lift up your shirt.” He said. I scoffed, “Woah, Miller, take me out to dinner first.” He unsurprisingly did not laugh at my joke, and sat on the couch next to me, leaving about two feet between us. I rolled my eyes and lifted up my shirt while sucking air through my teeth. Joel’s eyes widened and his lips parted. “Wha-” I began to ask but my breath caught in my throat when I caught sight of the nasty multicolored bruise painted across the right side of my abdomen. “Must’ve broken a rib. A few ribs at least.” He said before absentmindedly moving his calloused fingers up to touch it. I jerked away and spat, “Don’t fucking touch it.” He quickly moved his hand away and muttered, “Sorry.” I pulled my shirt back down and sat back on the couch with a grunt. I looked at him, wondering what his next move would be. He stood up and walked to his backpack on the other side of the room, unzipped it, and pulled out a long-sleeved shirt. “Joel, don’t waste a perfectly good shirt, I’ll be fine.” I said, but he ignored me and I watched him as he ripped it and tied it to make a longer strip of fabric. 

When he was finished, he walked back over to me and gestured for me to stand again. I raised my shirt up for him again and he didn’t move. He cleared his throat and said “It’ll need to go under your shirt.” I nodded and reluctantly pulled my t-shirt off, leaving only my ratty bra to cover my breasts. He unraveled the fabric and began to wrap it around my torso a few times, then looped it over my opposite shoulder. I winced as he pulled it tighter before tying one last knot in the center of my chest. Pulling the fabric had forced our bodies closer together, the warmth of his breath brushing over my face. His head turned down, and his eyes bounced back and forth between my eyes and my lips, and I could have sworn he leaned in closer before pulling away quickly. Embarrassment flooded my cheeks as he took a step back and studied his work, making sure it was tied correctly. The tightness of the wrap pressed into the bruise causing a dull ache, but moving with it on felt much better than nothing. “Thanks.” I said quietly. He nodded and sat back down on the other couch, not thinking to look away as I put my shirt back on. 

“I told you to stay behind me. And now look at you.” He huffed after a minute of silence. “Oh save it, Joel.” I spat. He leaned forward on his knees, “There was no need for you to go and get yourself hurt. We agreed what I say goes, so you need to start actin’ like it.” His eyes were intense, he wasn’t fucking around. I only agreed to that sentiment so he would take me with him to find our brothers in Wyoming. I thought he knew that since I showcased my hardheadedness often. “We both lived, and I’ll be fine.” I said, wanting to end the conversation. “We’re staying here while you heal. Not getting back on the road until you can move correctly again. S’not safe.” I lifted my head off the couch to look at him, “You can’t be serious. My legs are fine! I can walk!” He pressed his lips together and shook his head, “You can’t move your upper body. You can’t fight.” He said. I rolled my eyes and let a puff of air leave my nose, “Staying here will only make the trip longer. I want to get to Wyoming, Joel.” He thought for a minute and then looked up at me, “We’ll get there faster if you take the time to rest.” He argued. I stood up and grabbed my backpack, stifling the grimaces as I gathered my things. “What’re you doing?” He asked, eyeing me as I moved around the room. “I’m getting on the road. Don’t need someone to hold me back.” I muttered as I began to walk towards the door of the lounge. Joel bolted to the door and stood blocking it. I stared daggers at him, “Move.” He shook his head side to side slowly. I pushed on his chest as hard as I could with both of my hands, “Fucking move, asshole!” I winced when he grabbed my arms and pushed me to the side, pinning my back against the wall beside the door. “I can’t let you do that.” He grunted, using his strength to hold me. I tried to struggle against his grip but my side was searing with pain. “You can. I’m a grown woman, Joel. I don’t need you to protect me like some guard dog. I’ll do just fine on my own.” I seethed, “Let go of me. Please I just want to get to my brother.” 

Tears of frustration pooled in my eyes. Joel’s hard gaze softened, and so did his grip. “You will. But you won’t get far with broken ribs. I’m trying to help you.” He said calmly. I looked at him through my tears. Took in his wild brown hair which was sprinkled with grey, his square jaw inhabited by a patchy beard, eyes the color of ground coffee, eyes that were pleading for me to stay. I didn’t know why, but I was beyond attracted to him. Sure, he was older, but what did that matter nowadays? In addition to his looks, his commanding and dark personality intrigued me. He clearly cared about me, but he had walls up. Hard, concrete walls that were going to take maximal effort to break down. But hell was I going to try because I’ve never said no to a challenge. 

“You want me to stay, huh?” I asked, blinking away my tears as a new idea popped into my head. “I don’t want you to get killed.” He said gruffly. I smirked slightly, “Then admit it.” I blurted. His face twisted into an expression that was confusion mixed with fear. He took a step back, letting his arms fall to his sides. “What?” He questioned. “Yeah, that’s right. If you want me to stay so badly, admit that you care about me.” I taunted as I walked towards him. He stumbled over his words, but I cut him off again, “C’mon, Joel, you’ve slaughtered people but you’re afraid to confess your feelings to a woman?” I chuckled. He stood staring at me. His chest rising and falling with his panicked breaths. He said nothing, and my heart fell slightly, but I kept my confident air. “Fine. See you in hell.” I said before turning to walk out of the door. Before my hand could touch the handle, I felt a calloused grip on the back of my neck. The hand pulled me backwards and I turned. I barely had time to process, and suddenly my lips were moving hungrily with Joel’s. 

Warmth and excitement spread through my stomach as his arms gently wrapped around my waist. His hands shakily held onto the small of my back, his fingers clenching into the fabric of my shirt when I let a small moan slip into his mouth. We lost ourselves in each other. Our hands explored places neither of us ever thought we’d touch. His strong hands moved cautiously up my waist and around my shoulders to settle into each crook of my neck. He used his body to push me backwards into the wall. My hands gripped his torso, pulling him closer, using anything but words to ask him for more. His tongue licked my bottom lip and I eagerly let him in. He tasted better than anything I’d imagined. Suddenly, he pulled away. “I can’t.” He grunted as he gently pushed his hands off of my hips and stalked away into the other room, leaving me with swollen lips, heavy breathing, confusion, and rejection. 

I sat on the couch staring at the ground and chewing on my fingernails. I felt embarrassed at how desperate I’d been for him, and for actually thinking he would open up to me. I dropped my head into my hands and let out a frustrated groan. His footsteps caused my head to snap up, and he stood in the doorway. His face was unreadable. “Joel,” I started to speak but he cut me off. “Don’t. It was a mistake. Won’t happen again. Now get some sleep. We’re getting back on the road in the morning.” He said as he laid down on the other couch. I nodded and laid back, turning away from him. My thoughts made sleep seem unreachable. His voice grounding out the word “mistake” over and over in my mind. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was all one huge mistake. Me leaving the QZ for my brother, Joel agreeing to take me with him. But it was too late now. We were so close to Wyoming. I decided I would suck it up, not enage with Joel unless I had to, and stick to his plans no matter what. I just needed to survive, and I would make it to Matthew. 

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Author's Note: Hi hi! We're finally getting some action in this part;) Also, I've had a request to start a tag list so please let me know if you'd like to be added!! I hope you enjoy <3

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