#making these phone calls. trying to coordinate

[sixeyesonathiel]

satoru has appointed himself as your personal weather app and takes this responsibility very seriously.

like seriously seriously. we're talking obsessive refresh rates on three different weather apps, color-coded charts he's made in his notes app, and a literal spreadsheet tracking precipitation patterns in your area. you didn't ask for this. you didn't sign up for this. but here you are, getting updates every three hours like you're launching a space mission instead of walking to the grocery store.

“baby, it's gonna be cloudy at 2 pm, bring a jacket.”

“satoru, it's 85 degrees outside.”

“but what if the clouds make you cold? what if you get a chill? what if the sun disappears and you're left shivering and jacketless and i'm not there to warm you up?”

this man can see through buildings, can teleport across dimensions, can level city blocks with a flick of his wrist—but cannot trust you to dress yourself appropriately for the weather. the same person who will casually stroll into a category-5 cursed spirit domain wearing nothing but a smirk and overconfidence thinks you need a weather briefing to walk to the mailbox.

your phone buzzes at 6 am. “good morning beautiful! it's currently 72 degrees with a gentle breeze from the southwest. humidity is at 64%. uv index is moderate. wear sunscreen. i love you. also there's a 12% chance of scattered showers around 4 pm so maybe bring an umbrella? or don't go out. actually just stay inside. i miss you.”

you're still in bed. you haven't even opened your eyes. but satoru has already consulted four meteorologists and nasa's satellite imagery just to make sure you don't get slightly damp on your way to work.

he's got weather widgets covering his entire phone screen. animated radar maps bookmarked on his laptop. he follows local meteorologists on social media and has notifications turned on for weather emergencies within a 50-mile radius of your location. there's a barometric pressure app that sends him alerts when storms are brewing three days out.

“why don't you just check the weather yourself?” you ask, watching him frantically scroll through hourly forecasts like he's reading scripture. his hair is doing that thing where it sticks up in seventeen different directions, like he's been running his fingers through it while cross-referencing doppler radar.

“because i'm better at it,” he says, dead serious. his eyes do this weird shift thing when he's being particularly stubborn—like looking at ice through clear water, all refracted and impossible to pin down. “i cross-reference multiple sources. i analyze patterns. i care about accuracy. what if your weather app is wrong? what if it says sunny but there's actually a rogue cloud hovering over your exact coordinates? what if—”

“satoru.”

“what if you get caught in a surprise drizzle and your hair gets frizzy and you're sad about it? i can't let that happen. that's bad husband behavior.”

the dedication is honestly impressive. and slightly concerning. he's got backup plans for your backup plans. if there's a 20% chance of rain, he's already ordered you three different umbrellas and a waterproof jacket. if it's going to be windy, he's sending you hair ties and a gentle reminder to “please don't let the breeze bully you, baby.”

he's started leaving jackets in your car. in your office. in your gym bag. strategically placed hoodies throughout your life like little fabric safety nets. your friends have started calling him “weather dad” because he's somehow managed to text them about bringing jackets when you're all going out together.

“it's going to drop five degrees after sunset,” he announces, appearing in your doorway with a sweater draped over his arm like he's presenting royal robes. his mouth is doing that thing where it looks like he's trying not to smile but failing spectacularly. “i know you think you're fine but your body temperature runs low and i won't have you catching pneumonia on my watch.”

“it's july.”

“pneumonia doesn't follow a calendar, sweetheart.”

the worst part? he's usually right. that random tuesday when he insisted you bring a jacket even though it was 80 degrees and sunny? sudden thunderstorm at 3 pm. the day he made you pack an umbrella for your “quick coffee run”? surprise shower that lasted exactly seventeen minutes. he's got some kind of supernatural meteorological intuition that would be impressive if it weren't so much.

your weather app has become obsolete. why check when you've got your own personal early warning system who texts you things like “baby the barometric pressure is dropping can you feel it in your bones? are you experiencing any joint discomfort? should i come home early and make you soup?”

he's got your zip code memorized. your work address. your gym. your favorite coffee shop. he's got weather alerts set for every single location you visit regularly because what if there's a microclimate situation? what if it's sunny at home but somehow snowing at target?

“you know i survived twenty-plus years without a personal meteorologist,” you tell him, watching him check his phone for the fifteenth time during dinner. his thumb moves in these quick, anxious little taps across the screen, and the weather radar reflects in those ridiculous lashes that are somehow longer than yours.

“barely,” he says, not looking up from the extended ten-day forecast. when he concentrates like this, his hair falls forward in these soft, uneven pieces that catch the light like fresh snow in sunbeams. “look at this. 40% chance of rain on thursday. we need to start planning.”

“planning for what?”

“your outfit. your mood. your hair routine. your route to work. your—”

“satoru.”

“your happiness and general wellbeing which is directly tied to weather-related preparedness.”

you stare at him. he stares back with the most serious expression you've ever seen on his face, jaw set like he's about to negotiate world peace instead of discussing thursday's precipitation probability. there's this little crease between his eyebrows that only shows up when he's being particularly ridiculous about something he considers life-or-death important.

“thursday is five days away.”

“exactly. we're already behind schedule.”

the thing is, underneath all the meteorological madness, it's actually the sweetest thing in the world. he's not just checking the weather—he's checking on you. making sure you're comfortable, prepared, safe. he's weaponizing forecasts as an excuse to take care of you, and honestly? it's working.

so when thursday rolls around and you're perfectly dry under the umbrella he made you bring, when you're cozy in the jacket he insisted you grab, when you're prepared for the day because someone loves you enough to obsess over cloud formations—you can't even be mad about it.

“told you so,” he says smugly, wrapping his arms around you while rain patters against the window. his chin hooks over your shoulder, and you can feel his satisfied little hum vibrate through his chest.

“you're insane,” you mutter, but you're leaning back into him anyway, letting his warmth seep through your perfectly weather-appropriate layers. your head finds that spot where his collarbone meets his shoulder, where he always smells like whatever expensive soap he uses and something that's just purely him.

“and accurate,” he says, already checking friday's forecast over your shoulder. the screen casts this weird glow across his face, turns his hair into something that looks like it was spun from winter mornings and impossible things. “oh, look at that. 73 degrees and sunny. perfect hoodie weather. i should probably put one in your car just in case.”

“satoru—”

“and maybe some sunscreen. and a backup hair tie. and—”

you kiss him quiet. because he’s ridiculous and obsessive and treats weather patterns like military intelligence.

his phone clatters to the floor immediately—because of course it does, satoru has never met a phone he couldn’t drop the second your lips touch his. his hands find your face instead, fingers threading through your hair like he's been waiting all day for this exact moment. which, knowing him, he probably has.

“mmph—baby—” he tries to talk between kisses, which is so typical of him, can't even shut up when you’re literally kissing him. “the forecast though—”

“shut up about the forecast,” you laugh against his mouth, and he grins that stupid grin that makes your stomach flip.

“but what if it—”

you kiss him harder. his laugh rumbles through his chest, vibrates against your lips, and suddenly he's backing you against the counter, all long limbs and enthusiastic hands and zero concern for his poor phone that’s probably face-down on the kitchen tiles showing tomorrow’s temperature.

“okay, okay,” he breathes, pulling back just enough to look at you with those impossible eyes, pupils blown wide and hair even messier than before. “weather can wait.”

“weather can wait,” you agree, already pulling him back down.

(his phone buzzes from the floor. severe weather alert. neither of you care enough to hear it.)

[formulafanfics13]

Hi, Can I make a request about Lando had a fight with the reader the day before the race day and the reader decided not to come to the race cause the reader is really upset. Than the reader decided to go home but on the way home the reader got into an car accident and lando find out after the race was finish and he wins the race and decided to call the reader and wanted to apologize about the fight but it straight into voicemail than someone from McLaren team inform him that reader got into a car accident something like that . I mean if you like/wanted to Thanks 🥰

Please don't go - LN4

Masterlist

summary: after a brutal fight, you're absent from the one place you've always been — Lando's race. and when an accident leaves you in hospital, he realises just how fragile everything really is warnings: angst, mention of car accident, medical emergency, hospital setting, emotional breakdown, reconciliation, hurt/comfort, soft fluff, apologies, established relationship

You were always there on race day. Front row in the garage, McLaren hoodie two sizes too big, the one he gave you the day after your first kiss. Phone in hand, fingers crossed. Blowing him a kiss before lights out. Waiting in parc fermé, always. Always. 

But not today. Not after the fight. Not after the way he raised his voice. Not after the things you said. Not after you slept on the couch, and he left for the paddock without saying goodbye.

You weren't there when he pulled into the garage. You weren't on the pit wall. You weren't in the garage, behind the screens. You weren't anywhere.

Lando pretended he didn't notice. Pretended your absence wasn't the tight knot in his throat. Pretended your silence wasn't louder than the entire crowd.

He won the race anyway. Fastest lap. Pole to podium. All the stats, all the glory. And none of it mattered. Not really.

Because you weren't there. And you were always there.

His heart was pounding. Not with adrenaline. Not anymore. With dread. So he grabbed his phone, shoved past the cameras, ducked behind a curtain, and called you. Voicemail. He tried again. Still voicemail.

He stared at the screen. Cold sweat down his back. Mouth dry. He opened your texts. Nothing. Not a single message since yesterday.

He was about to try again when he saw the approach, one of the McLaren logistics coordinators, pale and rushing.

"Lando-"

"What?" he snapped. "Did something happen? Did she-"

The man nodded. "There was a call from the London office. She... she left the paddock this morning. Tried to drive home. There was a- there was a car accident. Her emergency contact was listed with McLaren so they notified us."

Lando dropped the phone. "No."

"She's in hospital. They said- they said it's stable but serious. They're running scans. She-"

He didn't wait to hear the rest. He was gone. Helmet in hand. Radio still clipped to his race suit. Heart in pieces. His win forgotten. Sprinting across the paddock, yelling for his car, his driver, anyone.

His chest was on fire. His throat raw. Because all he wanted to do after the race was call you and say he was sorry. Tell you that the fight was stupid. That he hated how he yelled. That none of it mattered. That he loved you. That he always had.

But you weren't there. And now he didn't know if you'd ever be again.

He sat in the back of the car with shaking hands, staring at the photo of you he kept in his phone case, you in his hoodie, half-asleep, smiling like you belonged in his world.

His voice cracked when he whispered into the empty silence: "Please be okay."

You wake up slowly. The world returns in pieces, the sterile white walls, the soft beeping of machines, the chill of hospital air against your arms. Everything aches. Your mouth is dry. Your throat stings. But none of that matters. Because there's a hand wrapped around yours. Warm. Familiar. Trembling.

And when you blink, Lando's face comes into focus. His eyes are bloodshot. His curls are messy under a hoodie you've never seen him wear on camera. His nails are bitten down. There's stubble on his jaw like he hasn't shaved in days.

He's slumped forward in the visitor chair, head resting against your arm, holding your hand to his chest like a prayer. You try to speak. It comes out a croak. He jerks up instantly.

"Baby-" His voice cracks so hard it doesn't sound like him. His hands fly to your face. "You're awake. Oh my god- you're awake-"

You blink at him. Try to smile. "Hey..."

He chokes on a sound. Laugh or sob, you can't tell. "Hey?" he whispers, voice breaking. "Hey? You nearly died and all you've got for me is hey?"

You laugh, weakly. Then wince. "Ow-okay, that hurts."

"Shit-sorry." He presses his forehead to yours. "Fuck, I'm sorry for everything. Not just now. For yesterday. For the fight. For yelling. For letting you leave."

You shake your head. "I left because I was upset. It wasn't your fault."

"It was," he insists. "I pushed too hard. Said shit I didn't mean. And then you didn't come to the race and I- I thought you were mad. But when you didn't pick up the phone..." His voice trails off.

You reach for him. Weakly. He catches your hand like it's the only thing keeping him upright.

"I was going to call you after the race," he says. "I was going to say I was sorry. Tell you I love you. I won, you know?"

You blink. "You did?"

He nods. But he doesn't smile. "I didn't care," he whispers. "Not for a second. Because you weren't there. You're always there."

You close your eyes. Let the words soak into your skin.

"I thought I lost you," he says. "And I didn't get to say goodbye. Or fix things. Or hold you one more time."

Your voice is hoarse. But strong enough to cut through the noise. "I'm right here, Lan."

His eyes fill again. You curl your fingers into his hoodie. Pull him close. "I love you," you say. "Even when we fight. Even when I storm out."

"I love you more," he says immediately.

You raise an eyebrow. "Don't do the 'more' game."

He leans in. Presses a kiss to your forehead. Your temple. Your hand. "I'll never leave you on read again," he whispers.

You smirk. "That's what you took from this near-death experience?"

"I'll never waste a second again," he says seriously. "Not one. Not a fight. Not a moment. Not a day where I don't say I love you at least three times."

"Three?"

He cups your cheek. "Ten. Twenty. However many it takes."

You close your eyes again. Exhale slowly. Let the warmth of his palm and the soft beep of your heartbeat lull you back to sleep.

This time, he stays. This time, you both will.

[heatlightning-mp3]

oh im cooked

[bakafox]

Today's fun was the supervisor at the placement agency texting me that they have a new lady to place with me starting next week who speaks predominantly spanish but 'some' english.

I texted back asking if this woman spoke at least more english than the last two I had panic attacks over my failures to communicate well with etc, and was told that apparently I am not allowed to reject anyone based on language barriers to keep my help through them and medicaid and that this is my third and final try at a placement, and that if I reject this new lady due to language barriers I will get terminated as a client with their service.

This is the first time anyone has told me in one of these conversations that I have been breaking rules by wanting someone I can talk to and give instructions to without having to use Google Translate on my phone or calling the supervisor at the agency and hoping she actually picks up the phone to act as translator.

It's my 'third strike' and I wasn't even told that I was striking the previous two times.

I pointed out that it would have been nice if anyone had told me that I was going against some kind of rule the last two times and that I was being written up/getting into trouble with the agency, and was told, "I'm sorry you don't remember being told about this. It has always been part of your paperwork."

What paperwork, Janice, the paperwork I fucking signed 8 years ago and haven't read to refresh myself on since then and don't even know where it is so I can't dig it up easily to see if you're even telling me the fucking truth?

Because even if it is in that paperwork who the fuck regularly rereads all the way through dense contracts to spot anything they missed the first time and doesn't need reminders? Definitely not my fucking disabled and mentally ill neurodivergent ass.

They are seriously trying to make me doubt my memory as to whether or not I have gotten any warnings in the last year or two about this apparent rule and trying to pretend that it's the most normal thing in the world to not issue verbal warnings until it's the last chance.

I have never had a problem with this agency before, in my mind. In my mind they were always trying their best and I was very happy with them

I am so fucking unhappy with them at this moment it is off the charts.

[kirnet]

Does anyone know if there’s a fix to an iPhone suddenly not being able to take or make calls or FaceTimes anymore? I haven’t been able to for 2 days now, which is really worrying bc I’m the only caretaker for my brother for the next week. I’ve tried turning it on and off but that’s not doing anything

[clovermoters]

anytime, anywhere - lando norris x childhood sweetheart!reader

summary - lando fell in love when he was ten years old, heres small moments of that love over the years.

warnings - kisses, panic attacks, small amount of violence & lando being a SAP

wc : 8k

some music - work song, hozier | my love mine all mine, mitski | love of my life, harry styles | pov, ariana grande | super rich kids, frank ocean.

authors note - hi! as always, enjoy! reblogs & likes are always hugely appreciated!! lots of love, clove!

ten - the meeting

The fluorescent lights of the afterschool program shined bright as you were sitting at the snack table, quietly picking away at the food your mom packed for you this morning. It was 5:30, most kids had been picked up by their parents or siblings. Leaving you and four other kids left, one was a curly haired boy who was sitting not far across from you. Working away at his homework. 

You remembered he was in your class. Lando, you remember, was his name. He was quiet, and he sat far across the room from you, so you haven't spoken to him much since meeting him in september. 

One of the coordinators for the program, Allie walks into the room, having left minutes prior to take a phone call, she looks at you with a sympathetic look on her face before sitting down next to you carefully.

You already know what she's going to say 

“Hi sweetie, that was your mum” she began, taking a deep breath trying to keep her voice low. “Your parents are going to be a bit late today, your mum said dad will get here as quick as possible” she continued. 

This wasn't the first time your parents have called, they were late most days, you tried to understand that they have unpredictable jobs, with both your mum and dad being doctors at one of the top hospitals in the country. 

You huffed, nodding before pulling out a colouring book that was given to you by your teacher as homework, the same homework the brunette across the room was doing. 

Down the table, the other three boys seemed to have heard your conversation with allie. 

“Ooooohhh y/n’s parents abandoned her!” one of them taunts, the boys burst into giggles before Allie sends them a stern face. they don't let up. 

“Isn't this like the third time this week? They must forget about you alot” they poke while their laughter grows louder 

You see out of the corner of your eye, Lando looks up from his book, his eyes looking to you while your head stays down, trying to focus on your coloring.  

Tears prick your eyes as Allie sends them to the hallway, probably to tell them off, some more. The sound of your sniffles fill the room and Lando watches you wipe your tears with your sleeve before he stands up and makes his way across the room and places himself right next to you. 

“I like your colouring” he says shyly, like he isn't sure what to say. You turn to him, his green eyes looking into yours as he offers you a warm, genuine smile. You find yourself smiling softly back at him, like it was contagious. 

“Thanks, yours is okay” you giggle mischievously, looking down to see his work. His colours were slightly different than yours, but you both had the same idea with shades and detail, his jaw dropped in faux offense. 

“Hey! They look the same!” he says, you both break out into a fit of giggles, playfully chatting while you continue with your artwork. 

When Allie returns, she finds you two in a very in depth conversation about the movie you watched in class today. Crayons scattered around the abandoned colouring books, she smiled softly at the two ten year olds as she watched a special bond form between them. 

You chatted about everything, Lando told you about his newly found hobby in karting. How he wanted to try competing and was mostly excited to miss school for races. You told him small details about you, his attention never wavering as you spoke. 

You both chatted until the rest of the kids had left, leaving just you two and Allie, who was sitting quietly in the corner playing some game on her phone. 

“You should come to one of my races” he declares, “i'll let you drive my kart” you cringe slightly, frowning at the boy. the thought of operating the machinery scares you slightly. “When you win a race I'll go karting with you.” You say shaking your head at him, 

The door opened and in walked a lady whose eyes found lando almost instantly, lando had his back to the door since he was fully immersed in his conversation with you. 

“I think your mums here” you say as Lando whips his head around to see his mum. He smiled, getting up from his seat and hugging her tight. You felt your shoulders drop as you realized lando would now go home, leaving you alone. 

“Hi sweetheart, ready to go home?” she asks her son, who hesitates before he answers. Lando made eye contact with you, the girl he’d found a new friend in and felt quite sad to leave her here, when he got to go home. 

Looking at his mum, he shakes his head “no i wanna stay with y/n until her dad comes.” 

His mum looked at you, shrinking into your chair with all eyes on you. She had a sparkle in her eye as she watched him make his way back to you. She could tell her son had grown fond of you by seeing how he continued your conversation as if his mum wasn't there.

“so, if I win a race, you will come karting with me. deal?” he holds his small hand out, you smile, showing him a toothy smile that made his ten eight year old brain stop in time. Wanting to freeze frame it and paste it onto his eyelids. 

You shake his hand 

“deal.” 

Fifteen  - the unofficial first date

You were anxiously scuffing your feet into the asphalt of your local karting track. Lando had won his first karting race long ago, he was actually set to win his first series this year. But you two had never gotten around to getting you into a kart and on track with him. 

Since that day five years ago, you two had been inseparable. He took you to races on the weekend, and you had helped him catch up in school when he needed help. 

You even started going home with him after school and your parents began to just pick you up at Landos. 

Lando knew he liked you, he had known since he met you. Since your hand brushed against his when you both reached for the same crayon. Your smile was contagious and he swore you grew flowers wherever you walked. 

What started as a small elementary crush– over the years had bloomed into something bigger, something Lando couldn't explain just yet. 

Lando was so excited to show you karting, you could see it on his face. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet while he pulled you through the garage with his hand held in yours. You tried to ignore the butterflies that have made home in your stomach years ago when Lando started getting touchy like this with you. It started with his hand lightly brushing your shoulder in conversations, hugs that lasted longer than they should’ve while his head was tucked snugly in the crook of your neck. 

he leads you to a small single seater that you assumed was yours for the afternoon, “this is what you’ll be driving, i'll be in my kart with you the whole time” he explains, showing you how to control it and the proper steering technique, while throwing in a couple tips. His hand is still laced with yours as he tells you about his own kart. 

You loved seeing him in his element. Watching him race was your favourite thing. You admired his face as he spoke, the freckles you've grown to love topped with his curls that he was still learning to care for properly (after you had begged him too). 

“You with me?” he nudges your arm, shaking you out of your daydream. You nod 

“yeah, just zoned out a bit.” you reply, 

When you walked out in fireproofs and a karting suit, Lando felt like time froze, the world around him spinning to a halt as his gaze found you. He thought you looked beautiful everyday, but seeing you in a race uniform made his mind go fuzzy. 

His breath caught in his throat as he watched you walk over to him, holding a helmet and gloves. His green eyes sparkling at you, like you were the only girl in the world.  

He helped you with your helmet, his fingers brushing under your chin as he clipped the chinstrap, sending shockwaves down your spine. When you were secured he gave you a light tap on the side of your head before you both got in your karts, starting your engines. 

-

You were slowly getting the hang of the machinery, the kart vibrating underneath you as you took each corner with more confidence as you went, Lando staying steadily out in front of you. Turning his neck around to check in on you when you two would rush down the straights. You understood why he enjoyed this so much, the thrill of taking a corner slightly too fast, pushing the kart to its limit. 

You almost enjoyed it too much. 

The barrier came quickly, you hit a dead spot on the track, your kart skidding straight into the make-shift padded wall. When Lando watched the yellow flag fly out, he immediately felt his stomach drop, turning around to see you wobbling slightly in your kart. 

Stopping his kart safely off the track, his feet hit the ground as he sprinted to you, dropping in front of you, flicking his and your visor up, his eyes scanning yours frantically as he watched tears brim your eyes. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, his concern evident in his voice as he checks you over. “Where does it hurt?” you groan as he moves your arm slightly, cringing as your muscles contract from the sudden shock. 

“Im okay, just annoyed, im sorry” you huff, tears threatening to fall from your eyes, you knew how much lando wanted to take you karting and show you his world. And now you've ruined it by crashing. 

“No, no none of that.” he soothes, helping you out of the kart and back to the garage. Sitting you down and helping you take your helmet off. You looked adorable when he saw your messy hair from the balaclava. Lando had never wanted to kiss anyone yet, but at this moment he was coming very close to kissing you. 

It was like an itch that surged his whole body, the desire he felt to do all the things a couple does. He wanted to try them, with you. The hand holding while walking to classes, the nights spent wrapping in eachothers arms, he wanted all of you. 

 he wanted to learn what being in love was like, and he only saw himself learning with you. 

“Are you sure you're okay?” he asks cautiously, concerned that your adrenaline hasn't allowed you to fully feel any pain you might be in. 

“Yeah, i think i'll just be sore” you sigh, taking a sip from the water bottle he retrieved from the cooler for you, sitting himself on the floor in front of you. He's looking up to you like he's mesmerizing every inch of your face, studying every mole and freckle. 

Lando chuckles, “oh yea, you're gonna hurt like hell tomorrow” he jokes, you kick him lightly as you break into a fit of giggles, your laughs filling the garage with a sense of joy. 

The mechanics nearby smile at the two of you, infatuated with the way Lando acted in your presence. On a normal race weekend, he was focused, almost unable to see past the task at hand. With you, he was light, laughing, almost as if you showed him what happiness was. 

Your laughs die down and you catch yourself staring at the way his nose crinkled as he smiled. How his curls sit perfectly even after being smushed in his helmet. Your cheeks go flush while you fidget with the hem of your fireproof. 

Lando gaze locked onto you, he watches as your face focuses on your fingers, smiling softly before he stands up, offering his hand out to you. 

“c’mon, lets make my dad get us ice cream” 

You break out into a smile, linking your fingers with his before standing up, you two making your way to find Landos dad. 

Even though karting didn't go how he had planned, Lando felt today was a successful day nonetheless. Because he got to spend his day with you, showing you his other world he loved, the world he was building and working towards, imagining what the future would be when he climbs his way to the top, and he knew he wanted you to be right there with him when he did.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue” you say playfully as you walk with him towards the car, he just smiles, his curls bouncing as he strolls beside you.

“Anytime, anywhere.” 

Seventeen - bruise knuckles with a side of love  

The lights were dimmed as you walked into the house of your friend's house, music was pumping through the speakers providing background noise to the conversations you could hear flowing throughout the room. 

Your eyes scanned the room, looking for the familiar head of chocolate curls who you refused to admit was the whole reason you had come. Lando had been away karting for the past week and you haven't seen him, when you spot him, he has his back turned to you fully engrossed in a conversation with Max Fewtrell. 

Max's eyes catch your from over landos shoulder, a small smirk creeping into his face as he announces your entrance.

“ayeee!! There she is!” he shouts, landos head whips around, slightly confused to who Max is referring to, when he spots you, his eyes light up. You two lock eyes and it's like the world falls away for a moment as you take each other in. He noticed you had straightened your hair differently, training a soft curl at the end of your hair, framing your face perfectly. 

He's on his feet in seconds, making his way across the room to close what felt like a ravine between you. Mumbling a soft hey while engulfing you in a hug, it felt like coming home after a horrible day. His arms squeezing you softly as he tucks his head into your shoulder. You hug him back, closing your eyes as you both linger in the hug for a moment. 

You don't realize that it's been long until Max is next to you, he clears his throat loudly, startling you guys apart. He smiles, greeting you with a brief hug that has Lando sending him a slight glare. You failed to notice the brunette pinching his friend's side afterwards, max letting out a small whine. 

You told Lando how much he missed school, he shrugged it off with a laugh, you both knew he had given up on completing school. Joking that you were getting the degree for both of them. The three of you had always been close, going through schooling together since you were young. Though Max knew there was a bond between you and Lando that he would never be able to fully understand. 

You two understood each other without even having to speak, if Lando was upset with a race, Max often would text you as they drove home, you’d be waiting for them on the porch with snacks and a movie. Lando falling into your embrace before you settled on your own end of the couch, one of his favorite films playing on the tv. 

If Max looked over to you two, he’d see Lando absentmindedly playing with your fingers, he’d see you slowly running your hand through his curls, something you knew would calm him down 

You always knew lando needed comfort after a bad result, but you failed to understand that all he ever really needed was you. 

 “I'm gonna go grab a drink, do you want anything?” you ask softly, pointing to the small mini bar that was set up in the corner, one of the guests dramatically pouring non-alcoholic drinks as if you were in a club. 

“Monster pleasee” he drawls, smiling widely as if mimicking a little kid asking for candy. You roll your eyes with a smile before turning to Max, who shows you his already half drunk redbull. 

You turn away, sauntering your way to grab the beverages, lando and max watch you as you make your way. Once you're out of earshot, Max drops his smile before turning to smack lando in the arm. The boy yelps in pain, grabbing his arm with an unamused look on his face

“Oww!” Lando groans as Maxs face stays serious. 

“Why haven't you told her” he asked, leaving no room for bullshit. Lando and you had been dancing around the idea of a relationship for years, and he was tired of it. He was tired of seeing his two best friends hopelessly in love with each other and choosing to ignore it. 

“It's just not the right time,” Lando argues, his voice small. He tried so many times to tell you, to blurt his feelings out like a case of word vomit, to just scream i love you in your face. But every time, the words died in his throat at the possibility of you not returning his feelings. 

“Bullshit.” max counters “you two have been all heart eyes since we were what? twelve? I don't care whatever story you’ve run in your head, she loves you Lando and you both need to open your eyes and see it” he commands, sending a blow straight to Landos heart as he exhales with a sigh, his gaze fixed on you chatting with the boy handing out drinks. 

“What if it doesn't work out? I'm never here anymore max, how is that fair to her?” Lando says, a sense of longing evident in his eyes while he looks at you.

 Max’s offense crumbles slightly, but he didn't let up “she loves you enough to fight for it. She just needs to know you're willing to fight for it too.” he offers, you make your return, holding two cans of monster, the two boys staring slightly.  Like they had just been caught doing something they shouldn't. You frown slightly, your hand rising to cover your face.

“Do I have something on my face?” you ask worried, your hand rubbing along your features as you search frantically. Lando chuckles, lightly grabbing your wrists to halt your movements 

“No no,-” he breathes through a laugh, his touch sending sparks up your forearms  “you look beautiful” he said lowly, like it was only for you to hear. 

 You exhale deeply with a small laugh, sending him a soft, genuine smile that had Lando seeing double. 

This boy was done for. 

– 

The atmosphere had shifted since you arrived, the party was now in full swing as bodies filled the house, the base of the song vibrating underneath the floor. You and Lando were standing in a corner, your conversation light as you both nursed your drinks. 

Lando was explaining the new video game he and max had started playing when he was– quite rudely– interrupted by a boy approaching you, it was the same boy from the drink bar, whose name you learned was james 

“hi y/n, i just wanted to say that i enjoyed our conversation earlier. It's always a pleasure chatting with you” he smiles, one of those smiles that has a cheshire cat behind it, one that makes you slightly stiff next to lando. James didn't acknowledge landos presence, acting as if you were standing next to a plant pot. 

“Oh, thank you james.” you say, noticing lando’s eyes have turned to the black and neon can in his hand, fiddling with the pull tab. He's trying not to listen, but the way you shifted towards him slightly as James kept talking to you made him wary. 

“–hey you wanna get outta here?” James offers. 

Something in lando snaps when he sees the cocky smirk on his face.

“Woah,woah,woah, let's slow your roll here, mate.” he steps slightly in front of you, puffing his chest. 

“Last time I checked I wasn't talking to you” James barks back. his voice became louder as you hid behind lando. 

 “she clearly doesn’t want to be talking with you” he argues, you could see Landos fists balling at his sides. the monster abandoned on the windowsill behind you. Landos neck grows red as the anger bubbles underneath his skin. 

“Yk’what, why don't you let me and the lady have a conversation, yeah?” he says trying to push past Lando, his tone dripping with smugness. 

Oh that had Lando seeing red.

His fist connects with James' jaw, then his nose. Sending him to the floor, you gasp as James groans, before getting up and raising his fist. He doesn't have the time to think before Lando sends another blow to his chest, knocking him down for good. 

Two guests go to James, picking him up to place him on the couch as Max rushes over to you and Lando, his eyes falling to Landos hand.

“Shit mate–” he exhales, scanning the room for a way out “–c’mon let's go get some ice and fix that, you have to drive this weekend.” 

He leads you upstairs to a somewhat secluded bathroom, shutting the door as Lando sits on the sink, the pain from his hand evident in his movements. 

You haven't spoken since the fight, slightly shaken up from watching your best friend almost did beat the living daylights out of someone. You didn't want to think about what could've happened if James was able to land his own punches. 

You press toilet paper to his bleeding knuckles, and Lando hisses from the pain of you pressing on the inflamed flesh. Dropping his head onto your shoulder as max ruffles through the cabinet.

“score!” he exclaims, holding up a bright red first aid kit. He pulls out the alcohol wipes and hands them off to you. 

“m’sorry, this is gonna hurt” you say quietly before you clean the wounds, lando squeezes his eyes shut at the sting, his uninjured hand finds your waist, using it as a lifeline. 

Once the wounds are clean you begin to wrap his hand, your touch light as max hands you gauze, but nothing to secure it with. 

“Max, I need tape or something–” you mumble, focused on the task at hand. Lando watches as your tongue pokes out of your mouth while your eyes –which he's just noticing are slightly glossed over– are focused on carefully covering the wounds. 

Once Max makes his way to find you tape, you and Lando are left in silence, spare from the muffled sound of music still coming from downstairs. You were mumbling soft swears as the gauze would slip in your hold. 

“um- i'm really sorry–” lando breaks the silence, you look to him but he won't meet your eyes, “–i didn't like where he was going with that, but if you–uh..wanted him though, i understand” he says low, his eyes fixed on his lap while you look at him slightly shell shocked.

You scoff, almost like a laugh “you’re an idiot” he looks up, green eyes pouring into yours, hyper aware of the hold you had on his hand and his on your hip.

“Wh-what?” he breathes, confused. You send him a small are you stupid? look before saying what you’ve been trying to build the courage to say for years.

“I don't want him, god did you see his greasy hair?-” you roll your eyes, lando chuckles softly before you continue “i want you, you muppet”

Lando froze, he stared at you with nothing but admiration, you stood in front of him with a smile on your face, he swore he could’ve died right there. He exhaled deeply as a smile grew wide on his face, reaching both ears as he pulled you closer.  

“Thank god because i'm not sure what i would've done if you didn't” he whispers, his eyes flicking to your lips, tilting his head down slightly. You leaned in slightly, his breath fanning across your face before he locked his lips onto yours. 

The kiss was slow, but hard, like the crescendo of a musical piece. Years of longing being poured into it, your lips slotting together perfectly. Moving in sync as your free hand cups his jaw. He pulls you closer by his hold on your waist, humming slightly when you bite his bottom lip.

 The world seemed to have faded away as he deepened the kiss. His tongue swiping across your bottom lip, asking for access you happily granted. You kissed him until you were breathless, smiling against each other's lips, you swore you could see sparkles in landos eyes.

“ten year old me is so happy right now” he mumbled against your lips, smiling so wide as you giggled. You kissed him again, softer this time, drinking in the kiss that you had dreamt about for years.

You kissed him multiple times in that bathroom, the pain in his hand forgotten as his focus was solely on you. 

That was, until the doorknob jingled before Max opened the door, holding tape and a bag of ice. You step back quickly as Max halts his movement, it didn't take an idiot to put two and two together. Your puffy lips, landos slightly messy hair, and his poorly wrapped hand that had been perfectly wrapped when he left moments ago.  

All he did was smile, before handing lando the ice to hold to his hand. He hands you the tape before moving back to the door, lingering in it before he leaves.

“I am so, so, fucking happy for you both.” is all he says before shutting the door, leaving you alone once again. 

You turned to each other slowly, staring for a moment before you broke out into giggles. Once you both quiet down, you rewrap his hand, maybe stealing a kiss or two (or three) while you work, making up for all the time you could’ve been kissing him over the years. 

Lando watched you lovingly, thinking to the future. Yes he was scared, he was scared of what this meant with you in school and him racing. But he could see that you wanted this, you wanted him. if he had to die fighting to make you two work, he was gonna sure as hell try. 

Nineteen - through the storm

The crisp autumn air turned your nose red as you walked through the streets of London towards Max and his girlfriend, Pietras’ flat. It was Saturday afternoon and Lando was in Italy, it was Lando’s first year in F1, you two had been dating for two years now, and had your own flat in London you called home. 

Every race weekend, it became a tradition for you to watch qualifying and the race with Max and Pietra. Ordering pizza while you shout at the tv against anyone who dares to overtake your boyfriend. 

Opening the door you waltz in, announcing your arrival before shrugging your shoes off, placing your coat and bag in the mudroom. Your sock clad feet pad across the floor into the living room where Max had set up the broadcast. 

“How's he doing?” you ask, grabbing a blanket and snuggling into the couch. “He's doin’ fine but I'm not sure we're getting out of Q2” he answers, a sigh escaping his lips as you frown. Lando had told you the struggles he's been having recently with the car, not being able to find that balance he needs. 

The media knew it too, it felt like every time you checked your phone, someone had something horrible to say about the man you loved. You knew it was getting to him despite the brave face he put on. 

Your boyfriend was the type of person who wanted everyone to love him, the amount of scrutiny was eating at him while all he did was try his best in the car he was given.

 It wasn't his fault the car he was given was a tractor.

You watched anxiously as the timer ticked down, a minute left in Q2. Lando was setting his final lap, nibbling on your fingernails as he rounded the final sector, crossing the line to land in P14. his teammate Carlos sainz, landing in P7. 

You deflate, knowing lando wouldn’t be happy with himself, you knew him too well. After years of watching him in F3 and F2, you know what was running through his head and it killed you that you couldn’t be there with him. 

When he was home earlier in the month he told you one night how the one thing that scared him was people thinking he didn’t deserve his seat, this result certainly didn't help him with his self doubt. 

“He's going to be so upset” you mumble, turning your ringer on while you wait for his call. Another small tradition you had was if you weren't in attendance, the minute he had a moment alone, he was on the phone with you.

Max nods silently, Pietra sighing as she makes her way to the kitchen to order pizza for you all, silence stretching throughout the apartment as you watch the final moments of qualifying. 

As the commentators congratulated the pole sitter, raving on about the final laps that had been revolutionary all you could think about was Lando and how he was beating himself up over this. 

You could see the tweets now, the hate, the scrutiny that was going to flood your socials the second you looked, just as you went to pick up your phone, it vibrated from lando calling you, the goofy smile of his contact photo smiling back at you as you answered the call.

“heyy baby!” you say, walking into the guest room for some privacy, sitting down on the foot of the bed. The line was quiet for a moment before Lando responded with a soft “hey” his voice wobbled as he spoke.

“You drove really well lando.. don't beat yourself up over one bad quali” you say softly, keeping your tone light. Soft sniffles came from Landos end of the line, your heart squeezes as you hear him cry softly. Lando wasn’t a crier, so when he did, you knew he was close to his breaking point.

“I can't do this anymore,” he sniffles. “I don't even want to know what they're saying right now.” he cries. You listen to his broken sobs as tears escape your own eyes. You hated being so far away from him while he was hurting like this, he was alone and vulnerable and that made you want to scream. Wishing you could crawl through the phone and get to him. 

You debated telling his trainer, getting someone else in the room with him to make sure he was safe, but you knew he needed to let it out first. You’d tell Jon later, right now you needed to be there for lando. 

Landos breathing starts to become ragged as his sentences come out in short breaths, you hear the panic attack coming before it fully hits him, his voice was shaky as it grew quieter. His words dying in his throat before he could say them, you could hear his breathing becoming more frantic. 

“Lan, baby i need you to breathe for me” He was sending himself deeper into a panic and it only worried you more. You felt useless just listening while he struggled to find a breath.

“I ca- i cant” he chokes out, his sobs echoing through the phone as you begin to frantically text Jon. Your fingers shaking as you message the man, tears flowing down your face.

You: 911!

You: get to landdo now he's habvin a panic attack on the phone wit me 

You: please jon im panicjking myself listning to him

Jon: On it.

You keep assuring him through the phone, trying to say something– anything that will calm him down. Telling him to unzip his race suit, asking him what he can smell, see, hear, or taste. None of it worked, the boy was breaking down in your ears and you felt helpless while waiting for Jon to find him. 

You hear the door open on the other end, the phone falls to the floor as the murmurs of Jons voice filter down the phone. You don't hear much for a few moments, taking the time to compose yourself, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your landos hoodie. 

“hey y/n, he's all good now, i'll have you call him back in a bit. Are you okay?” Jons voice crackles through the phone after a while, you exhale a sigh of relief, clutching a hand to your chest. 

“Yeah… sounds good, thank you jon.” you say softly, hanging up the call.

You splash some water on your face before returning to max and pietra. The two noticed something was off with you immediately. 

“You okay? How is he?” Max asks slowly, you didn't say anything. He could tell something was wrong when tears flooded your eyes. Closing the distance, he pulls you into a hug as a sob escapes your lips, you clutch onto him while you cry. Tears pour down your face as you explain what just happened, Max listens with sympathy written all over his face. 

 Hes silent for a moment, before an idea pops into his head “Let's get you to italy.” he says, determination in his voice as he grabs his phone, immediately googling flights. 

“what- but i don't have anything packed- what if there's no flights” you ramble, slightly shocked he was so set on this idea, he shakes his head, finalized in his decision that you needed to get on a flight as soon as possible and he didn't care how.

“Go home and pack, you don't need much it's only a night- SCORE” he turns the phone around, showing you a flight to Italy “leaves in four hours, if we hurry.. we can get you there” he says. You two lock eyes, a new sense of determination blooming inside you. You needed to be there for Lando, and you were going to get there.

It all happened so fast, one minute you were packing clothes into a duffle bag, and now you had landed in Italy, the flight was quick, two hours from London to Milan. You sat in the cab, the streetlights fading by as you made your way to landos hotel. 

The hotel was beautiful, wishing you could've come on better circumstances, thinking back to all the times you and Lando would be talking late at night, hushed whispers about what it was going to be like once he reached F1, all the places you’d go together. 

You never expected what reality would end up being. 

You stood in front of landos hotel room, Jon was standing next to you. Since the phone call, you had asked Jon to stay with lando. Explaining to him why incase of an emergency, you wouldn't be available for lando. He immediately agreed and also offered to walk you up to the room upon your arrival. 

Once the door opened, and you saw him. His eyes looked drained, his hair was messy from him running his hands through it. When he locked eyes with you, they widened so big they could’ve popped out of their sockets. 

He stared at you for a moment, trying to decipher whether or not you were really here, actually in front of him at his hotel in Monza. Once he felt you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace, it hit him. 

It hit him hard.

“Oh my god” he breathed as he melted into your arms, his emotions bubbling over again as tears escaped his eyes. He had never felt so relieved to be in your arms, not since that moment in a bathroom years ago, it was like you were an angel sent straight for him. 

He pulled away to get a good look at you, you were wiping his cheeks softly. He still couldn't believe you flew to him. 

“Are you actually here, or am I dreaming?” he asks, a wet chuckle escapes you both as you realize you're also crying. 

“Im here, i'm real” you smile, pulling him back into a hug as you smooth the hair on the back of his neck. “I couldn’t stay in London when you were here in this state. It would’ve killed me.” you sniffled. His hands wrap around you, holding on like if he’d let go, you'd disappear, and he'd wake up from this nightmare with you still in london. 

He pulled back, placing a soft kiss to your lips before mumbling many “i love yous” into your mouth as you kissed him back, soft and slow. Forgetting about Jon standing a few feet away from you two. He turns away slightly, letting you have your moment. 

You pull away echoing a soft “sorry” to Jon who just smiles softly, shaking his head in dismissal as Lando wraps his arms around your waist, activating his clingy-ness. 

You say goodnight to Jon as you and Lando head into bed, the events of the day taking their effect. Lando immediately wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling his face into your shoulder, placing soft kisses on the exposed skin before resting his head on your chest. 

“Thank you, for understanding me more than I do myself” he mumbles sleepily, his breaths even out as he finally looks at peace with his mind. Your smile is warm as you place a light kiss to his forehead before finally resting your eyes, having your boy in your arms. 

And when you wake up to a text message from Jon, attached is a video of you and landos reunion he recorded secretly, you smile, cropping the video properly to post on your instagram story.

Posted is a small 10 second clip of Lando realizing you were standing in front of him, then showing the hug you two shared. Rocking back and forth as intelligible murmurs are exchanged between you two. 

captioned for you, anywhere, anytime. 

Twenty two - a handprint on her heart

The sun was shining down on your face as you perched yourself on a lounge chair on the exquisite yacht you get to call home for the summer break. You sported a bright orange bikini as you read your book while you listened to the waves below you.

It was peaceful, until you heard the stomps of two smaller people, followed by the stomps of a bigger person. You looked to the door to see Mila and Athena squealing as they ran around the deck, followed by none other than your boyfriend, who was chasing them, pretending he was a sea monster. 

“Look! There's auntie, she’ll save us," Mila shouts as the two girls make a beeline for you. You quickly place your book down so the girls can climb on top of you, hiding from their overly enthusiastic uncle. 

“Ohh auntie can't save you now! She's on my side” he says playfully while you begin to tighten your grip around the girls, not strong enough to hurt them, but tight enough to where they would struggle to break free. 

The girls giggle as Lando ‘rounds the couch, the girls wiggling in your arms, sounding cries of betrayal while you laugh at the trio's antics. He makes it to your pile of laughter and starts tickling the two girls until they are breathless.

Once he ceases the tickles attack, you let the girls free. They hop to the ground, their baby feet bouncing off the deck as they make their escape from the tickle monster, but to you he's just lando. 

Lando lets out a sigh as he sets himself down on the couch next to you, placing his arms around your shoulder. You had been on this yacht for a week and he had already worked up a tan, he looked divine, the sun hitting his face perfectly as he turned to look at you before placing a kiss on your temple. 

“y’know, it’ll be nice when we have our own munchkins running around a yacht one day” he says, far too casually, as his hand traces your shoulder. You both knew you wanted kids, but also knew being twenty two, in the height of landos career was not the right time for either of you to even think about creating your own bundle of love. 

Before you could respond to him, Max waltz’s his way onto the deck, sunglasses propped on his face as he spots you two. “Don't you two look cozy” he jokes, acting like you two haven't been head over heels for each other since you were small. It was a running joke for years, Max loves to tease you two about anything and everything.

Today was no different 

“oi! LN,” he says, lightly smacking landos sunburnt shoulder, causing the brunette to wince. “When are you proposing, I've got bets placed man!” he says with a faux serious tone. 

You giggle at him, you had discussed this before, you had an list of milestones that you and lando wanted to complete in a specific order

Championship

Marriage

Kids 

“You act like we haven’t basically been married for years max” you say, playfulness evident in your tone as Lando pulls you closer by the shoulder. Lando knew Max was just joking, but deep down part of him did want to forgo the list years ago and just make you his wife.

He's known since before you were officially dating that he’d marry you, it was obvious to him, you were the only option. The only person he saw his future with, the woman he goes home to, the mother of his children, you checked all the boxes of perfection and he was anxious to put a rock on your finger to solidify it for eternity. Devoting himself to you completely. 

Lando observes as you and Max move onto a different topic, he observes every detail about you, the way your nose crinkles when you smile, how your freckles pop when you spend more time in the sun, the way you always manage to speak with a heartwarming smile etched onto your face. It made him dizzy the way he knew you better than he knew himself. You were his everything, there is no lando without you. 

“Lan baby, you with us?” you ask, noticing he spaced out slightly. Nodding he smiles, placing a kiss on your hand, interlaced with his.

“Yeah, just thinkin’” he says simply, thinking for a moment before he taps your shoulder, 

“Wanna go for a walk?”

– 

You walked down the side of the boat, your fingers interlocked as the sun casted a golden light on your skin. Lando rubbed his thumb over your knuckles as you walked to the edge of the boat, overseeing the mediterranean behind you. 

Lando is quiet for a moment, his eyes following the horizon while he thinks. You can see in his eyes he's piecing his sentencing together but struggling– after a while, he speaks up. 

“Max got me thinking,” he pauses, taking a deep breath “I wanna change the list.” 

Your heart stops, looking up at him to find anything on his face that says he's joking, you meet his eyes already looking at you, 

“Are you serious?”

He chuckles, running a nervous hand through his hair, “I've never been more serious about anything in my life baby,” you feel tears welling up in your waterline. “I've known my whole life that I wanted to marry you, I don't want to let a championship decide when.” 

He brings a hand up to cup your cheek, your bottom lip trembling while he continues. 

“You're it for me baby, I can’t remember what my life was like without you in it and I don't want to have to learn. You know me better than I know myself, I am hopelessly in love with you and there's nothing that will ever change that,” you were full on crying now, he takes a moment to collect his thoughts, 

“–loving you is my greatest achievement, no championship could ever come close to how i feel about you,” Lando feels a lump form in his throat as he tries to finish his mini speech before he becomes emotional. 

“Let's get married” 

You cry softly before you cry out a yes and Lando feels a surge of love flow through him. 

“Yeah?” he smiles so wide as you nod, tears freely flowing down both your faces as he pulls you into an earth shattering kiss.

He kisses you like you’re his last breath of fresh air— soft and sensual, holding your face with such gentle care like you’d break if he let go. 

You pull away for air, giggling into each other's lips, stealing more kisses as the sun begins to set over the sea. The air felt warmer as you kissed your fiancè, you kissed him again, and again, you kissed him so many times you forgot where you were. 

That was until Lando pulled away sharply with a gasp. “Wait here” he mumbles before he takes off running back into the yacht, you take a seat while you wait for him to return, slightly confused to where he ran off to. 

Moments later he comes back, hands held behind his back as he makes his way over to you, a cheeky smile spread across his tanned face. 

“I'm sorry, your actual ring is at home.” you choose to ignore that fact for the time being. “But I do have this,” he chuckles as he pulls a small ring pop from behind his back. 

You laugh at the small candy as he opens it, placing it on your left ring finger, placing another kiss to your lips, you throw yourself into his arms, returning the kiss in full force. 

“It's perfect, thank you.” you mumble into his mouth. 

He rests his forehead against yours, his green eyes pouring into yours— a window to his soul showing nothing but love for you as he pulls you closer, his smile giddy. “We're getting married!!” he exclaims, you both giggle as you revel in being newly engaged. 

You think back to when you were kids, before the fancy cars and extravagant races, you loved him before he made a name for himself, before the outside voices. When it was just you two on a karting track, nobody watching to see where he goes next. 

you will continue to love him in the highs and lows of his career, as he shows the world what he's truly made of. You will forever be there, holding his hand, being his first phone call. Continuing to support him throughout it all, believing in his dreams as they’ve now become yours. 

You will love him when it's over, when it's just you two in the quiet mornings, for when you have nowhere to be. When you're old and grey living in the countryside in London, hand in hand on the porch side of your family home, grandkids running around in the yard. 

Like a handprint over your heart, Lando had plastered himself over every inch of your existence. His love hidden in plain sight of places you’ve yet to even realize. you loved this boy with every fiber of your being, and you would love him in every universe, in every past life and through the next. 

You will love him anywhere, anytime. 

~~

i hope u enjoyed, thank u so much for reading <3

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 (𝗦𝗢𝗥𝗧 𝗢𝗙) kimi antonelli x girlfriend! reader ( fluff ) fic summary . . . Graduation day doesn’t go how you always imagined, but Kimi still finds a way to be right there with you. Even from miles away, he makes sure you don’t feel alone for a single second (1k words)

( main naster list | more of kimi antonelli ) ( requests )

Kimi tried. God, he tried.

He emailed teachers, begged coordinators, even talked about renting a jet with his manager like they were billionaires. But race week was race week, and this was one of the biggest ones of the season. His team needed him in the car. They couldn’t excuse a weekend off for “high school stuff,” even if that “stuff” happened to be graduation.

The night before, he called you twice—once to tell you he was proud of you, and once to cry about not being there.

You told him to grow up the second time. He told you to shut up and kissed the camera.

So now it’s graduation day. You’ve got your cap bobby-pinned to death so it won’t budge, makeup set with an industrial-grade mist, and your phone tucked carefully into the inside of your bra.

Kimi was giddy about that part.

“You know I can hear your heartbeat, right?” his voice purrs through your one hidden earbud as you sit among your classmates in your gown.

“You’re not hearing my heartbeat, idiot. That’s the mic bouncing.”

A beat. Then: “I can’t believe your boobs are this close and I can’t lick them.”

Your spine stiffens. “Kimi. Shut the fuck up right now.”

The guy beside you—Eli, maybe? Eric? You’ve had four years to learn his name and still don’t know it—leans over slightly, brow raised. “Are you on call with Kimi?”

You sigh, adjusting your cap. “Yes. He says shh.”

“I didn’t say that!” Kimi protests, voice sharp in your ear. You bite down a laugh, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“Don’t make me laugh out loud,” you hiss into your chest. “I’ll choke and die and then you’ll have a dead girlfriend with sweaty tits.”

“Still hot,” he says. You swear you can hear the smirk.

The ceremony starts. And of course it’s long. Endless speeches, fake laughs from teachers, parents clapping a bit too hard for kids who nearly failed physics. You zone in and out, but Kimi doesn’t stop talking.

He rambles like he’s in the passenger seat of your mind.

“Oh my god, is that the third person talking now?” “This is longer than the Monaco driver briefing.” “What’s with that one guy’s voice? Sounds like a funeral.” “Is it normal to say ‘in this economy’ in a valedictorian speech? Are you guys okay over there?”

You hunch in your seat, struggling not to burst into laughter while the girl on stage recites a quote from The Office. Every now and then you hum or nod like you’re paying attention. In reality, your boyfriend’s doing running commentary in your ear like a very affectionate, very stupid sports commentator.

Eventually, they start calling names. You stand, smoothing your gown, trying to remember how to walk in your platform heels.

Your heart’s pounding.

“You got this,” Kimi says, his voice quiet now. “I wish I was there. I’m pretending I am. Like, I’m literally staring at the inside of your bra and I’m still emotional.”

You huff a laugh. “You’re so weird.”

“I love you,” he says.

And then they call your name.

You walk across the stage with a smile you can’t control, heat blooming in your cheeks. Everyone thinks it’s the emotion, the ceremony, the finality of four years. But it’s not. It’s Kimi, yelling into your ear as you accept your diploma.

“YES! That’s my girl! You’re literally a genius! Oh my god, I’m dating a graduate. I’m in love with an educated woman! You’re glowing—oh my god, you’re glowing!”

You nearly trip down the stairs from laughing. You cover it up with a shy wave, eyes finding your family in the crowd, but you feel like you’ve got a secret. Because you kind of do.

When the ceremony ends, chaos breaks loose—hugs, selfies, people chucking their caps in the air like they don’t want to keep them for pictures later. You pull out your phone and finally disconnect the earbud, flipping Kimi onto speaker.

“There she is!” he cheers through the tiny screen. “Holy shit, look at you. You did so good, baby. You looked beautiful. So confident. So smart. So—”

“You couldn’t even see a thing,” you laugh, wiping sweat from your neck.

“I saw enough. Your dad already sent me like, three videos. And one blurry photo where your grandma’s finger is covering the lens.”

You spot your family rushing toward you and lift the phone so he can see.

“Hey!” Kimi says instantly. “Hi, everyone!”

Your mom laughs as she pulls you into a hug. “Kimi, we’re so proud of you too. For being such a good support today. We know you wanted to be here.”

“Don’t make me cry again, please,” he says. “It’s embarrassing. I already got emotional in the team van.”

They hand you a bouquet—sunflowers and soft pink peonies with a little sprig of baby’s breath in the middle.

“Oh my god, wait, yes! That was me!” Kimi’s voice cracks with excitement. “That was totally me. I told your mom exactly what to get. The baby’s breath is symbolic or whatever.”

“Symbolic of what?” you ask, sniffing the flowers.

“I don’t know. New chapters. Or love. Or tiny babies. Something poetic. Ask your mom.”

You roll your eyes but your smile is permanent now.

After a few more hugs and congrats, your friends start crowding around. A few of them notice the phone in your hand.

“Kimi! My guy!” someone yells, laughing.

You flip the screen toward them and suddenly it’s a whole thing—everyone waving, laughing, asking if he watched the whole thing.

“Not watched,” he corrects. “Participated. I was there the whole time. Literally inside her pocket.” Kimi giggles practically. 

Everyone cackles.

There were actually no pockets in your gown. People did not need to know where you kept him.

You want to pretend you’re embarrassed. But you’re not. You hold the phone up, angle just right, and someone snaps the photo—your diploma in one hand, Kimi’s grinning face on the screen in the other. Your gown slightly wrinkled, hair a bit messy from the cap, but your smile says it all.He wasn’t there.

But somehow, he still was.

[novelbear]

"so i celebrate you, all about you"- birthday prompts

a prompt list by @novelbear 🎂

"i heard it was someone's birthday!"

waking up to breakfast in bed

trying to make them a birthday cake from scratch

decorating the house while they're still asleep

"what do you mean you don't want to celebrate?"

spending the first birthday together as a couple

^ therefore they're trying to make it as special as possible

taking a bit of the frosting from the cake and putting it on their nose

^ or spelling their name with it on the birthday person's forehead (i had a friend actually do this to me one year ??)

trying to find the silliest card to gift them

"did you seriously do all of this?" "of course i did!"

not letting them do a single thing that might stress them out that day (no work, no chores, no stressful phone calls, nothing)

getting them a little tiara or ribbon to wear throughout the entire day

organizing a little project or video for them with their friends and family

"happy birthday, my dearest."

setting off confetti poppers at random times of the day, finding their little yelps of surprise adorable

a birthday bear hug at the beginning of the day

staying up until midnight to make sure they're the first one to wish them a happy birthday

"what do you want to do today? name anything, i'm down."

having a number of surprises gifted to them throughout the day that coordinates to their age (turning 21? 21 little gifts and surprises <3)

"god, you're old." "shut up!"

[soeyekonic]

— ✩♬ ₊˚. billie bossa nova ⭑ D.A

˚⟡˖⋆ synopsis you're not supposed to fall for someone who never stays, but daniela keeps making it feel like maybe she might.

disclaimer: daniela avanzini x fem! reader, suggestive…a little, u and dani are hook up buddies…yay 🤗, a little fluff

currently playing: billie bossa nova - billie eilish

you knew what it meant when your phone buzzed past midnight.

no greeting. no explanation. just a dropped pin, a suite number, and a time.

it’s always like this with daniela. clean, wordless, purposeful. she never says she misses you. she never admits she’s been thinking of you for days while doing press junkets or rehearsals across the country. but that’s what this is, isn’t it? a confession in coordinates. an invitation written in silence. a soft command.

tonight’s hotel is even nicer than the last. sleek, modern, draped in white and gold like it’s pretending not to be indulgent. you pass through the lobby like a shadow, neither acknowledged nor stopped. your name is already on the guest list. a courtesy, no doubt arranged hours earlier by her manager, her assistant—someone who doesn’t ask questions. someone who thinks you’re a stylist, or a friend.

when the elevator doors close, you take a breath.

because it’s not just lust that makes your hands tremble. it’s the quiet thrill of being chosen again. it’s how every time she calls, she’s not supposed to, and you’re not supposed to answer.

but you do. you always do.

the hallway is quiet. suite 2006. you knock once, she opens immediately. and just like that, the world narrows.

daniela’s in silk. pale champagne-coloured, thin straps slipping down her shoulders like a secret she’s already halfway ready to tell. her hair’s up, loose curls framing her cheekbones, and there’s a glass of red wine in her hand that she abandons on the console the moment you step inside.

she closes the door behind you and leans in close, her voice brushing your skin before her lips do.

“took you long enough,” she says softly, but her mouth is smiling against your jaw. “i was starting to think you’d forgotten how to follow instructions.”

“not a chance,” you murmur.

there’s no rush. there never is. daniela is precise. she takes her time. with her, foreplay is an art form, the way her fingers brush your back as she walks by, the way her perfume lingers when she passes you the wineglass, the way she looks at you over the rim of her drink like she’s memorizing your shape.

you talk for a little while. or, rather, you flirt through half-sentences and inside jokes no one else knows exist. you sit near each other on the couch, your knees grazing hers, and her hand resting on your thigh like it was always meant to be there. outside, the city stretches out beneath the balcony, glowing and oblivious.

she touches your cheek. “you look good.” “so do you.”

“i’m serious,” she says, eyes soft now. “you look like trouble.”

“and you look like someone who likes it.” daniela hums in approval and leans in.

the kiss starts slow. careful. like she wants to savor it. but it deepens fast, as it always does, all need and urgency, as if she’s trying to drink you in. her hands find your waist, your neck, your back, pulling you onto her lap, her body a magnetic force you’ve never been able to resist.

the wine is forgotten. the city noise fades. all that’s left is her. her hands, her lips, her sighs in your ear when you whisper her name like it’s holy.

you make it to the bed, eventually. clothes scattered like petals. sheets tangled. her breath catching when you laugh against her throat. she holds you like she can’t help it.

and maybe she can’t.

her fingers trail along your jawline, down your neck, teasing every sensitive spot she knows will make you shiver. her lips brush your earlobe, and she whispers, “i want you, all of you.”

you shiver at her words, heat pooling low in your belly as she presses soft kisses along your collarbone and chest, every touch setting fire to your skin.

her hands roam under your shirt, palms warm and sure, while her mouth traces slow circles on your sternum. you arch into her, needing more, craving her touch like air.

she grins against your skin, biting lightly as she trails downward, hands slipping beneath your waistband with expert ease. your breath hitches, fingers tangling in her hair as she takes her time, savouring every inch, every gasp, every whispered plea.

you pull her up for a fierce kiss, tongues dancing, teeth grazing, both of you melting together in a rhythm only you two understand.

-

you wake to the weight of her body curled against yours, her breath warm and steady on your neck. you reach back, fingers brushing the soft curls that spill over her shoulder.

“stay,” you whisper.

her lips twitch into a smile. “i wish i could.”

you turn to face her, tracing her cheek with your thumb, memorizing the curve of her mouth, the softness in her eyes that she rarely shows anyone else.

she catches your hand, holding it to her chest where you can feel her rapid heartbeat.

you could stay like this forever. but you won’t.

her arm tightens around your waist. “you leave early, right?”

“before housekeeping. like always.”

a pause.

“i hate that,” she says, almost too quietly.

you don’t answer. because what would you even say?

this is the arrangement. unnamed, unclaimed, but undeniably real in the dark. you both agreed, no expectations. but lately, the lines blur. the silences hold weight. the kisses last too long. she watches you like she doesn’t want you to disappear. and you feel it, deep in your chest, every time she lets go first.

she turns to you, her brow furrowed like she’s thinking too much again.

“do you ever think about what this would be like if…” she trails off.

“if?” you echo.

“if i weren’t…me. if you weren’t just…in hotel rooms.”

you don’t answer right away. instead, you reach for her hand, lacing your fingers through hers.

“i think about it more than i should,” you admit.

she nods, staring down at your hands like they’re dangerous.

“me too.”

“tell me you want more than this,” you say, voice barely audible.

she sighs, a mix of frustration and longing. “i want everything. but i’m too afraid to ask for it.”

you lean in, kissing her gently, promising with your lips what words can’t yet say.

“it’s not real, but i’ll try to pretend…”

the sun starts to rise. the light creeps in slowly, wrapping everything in amber. you sit up, pulling the sheets around your chest, looking out toward the city. daniela moves behind you, her hand resting on your back.

“i have a flight at eleven,” she says. “i know.”

“i’ll text you.”

“you always do.”

you dress slowly. she watches. you don’t say goodbye when you leave. she never walks you out. but you both linger in the doorway a second too long.

and as you step back into the elevator, heart heavy but still glowing, your phone buzzes.

a message, already. no words. just a pin. a city you’ve never been to, you smile.

because she doesn’t belong to you.

but somehow, she still keeps calling you home.

a/n: another dani fic act surprised 😱 it was only right to post this today for her birthday

[gaddaboutgriffon]

The Year of the Dragon.

(Name edited, credit to @jedipirateking for the suggestion.)

A joke the fandom has been making for a while is that Tim is forever stuck at 17. What if we make that something the rest of the Batclan notice too? (I am not following cannon.)

It was just after the annual Family picture day and the new group portrait was taking the place of last year’s and looking at it they noticed 15 year old Damian is now almost the same height as Tim. And Tim is pretty much the same as last year.

Jason and Damian take the opportunity to tease Tim calling him a shrimp and other short jokes. Which Tim rolls his eyes and goes to work on a case or something with Wayne industries. But Bruce, Dick, and Alfred are more concerned, may feel guilty thinking letting him be a vigilante stunted his growth. And looking back at the photos they have of him notice that he wasn’t growing as much as a normal teen boy should have.

Bruce decides he is going to be more active in running Wayne Enterprises while Alfred plots to cut back Tim’s coffee limit. And Dick is going to help out coordinate the patrols. (He had to move back to Gotham when the Bludhaven city spirit forced all the people out before the city got blown up. It’s a long story but dick has been really down and unmotivated after that.)

Tim is not taking any of this well, and feels like his family being stifling. So he decided to start going through the basement and vault of Drake manor. Which he has been putting off since he didn’t really have time for it between patrols and WE. And in the family heirlooms vault, shoved way in the back with covered in dust and many other things sitting on top, he finds an oak box with an ornately caved dragon on it. Opening it up he finds it is velvet lined and has a large pendant that looks a silver dragon curled deep violet amethyst egg. And next to the pendant is a scroll made of thin leather.

He pulled out the scroll first and tried to read it but it was too faint of lettering to make out in the somewhat dim vault light. But what little he could make out it it was really old 14th century English and mentioned something about a coming of age. He rolls it back up and puts it aside to instead pick up the pendant. When he touches it there is a faint static shock that surprises him other then that the silver and purple necklace doesn’t seem out of the ordinary.

His phone lets off a chime to remind him that diner is in an hour, so he pack the pendant and scroll back in the box and places it in his bag with a few other items he finds interesting and wanted to look into more later. Then returns to Wayne manor to eat before patrol. It isn’t until he wakes up the next morning he realizes that he should have probably read the scroll before touching the pendant.

He wakes up to knocking on his bedroom door and someone yelling at him to get up. He had gotten into the habit of locking his door back when Damian first moved in. He yelps in surprise, falling over because his center of balance is all out of whack when he tried to stand. Now he is fully awake and takes stock of himself.

Scales?

Scales! Why are his arms covered in scales?! His hands look like a mix of paws and talons. He struggles out of the sheets to look at the rest of himself. His pjs are stretched and torn in places to accommodate the new digigrade shape of his legs. Not to mention he now has a long tail and wings and a longer neck. He rushes to his personal bathroom and awkwardly stands up on his two legs so he can get a good look in the mirror. And yep that is a distressed dragon face looking back at him. He catches himself making a weird keening sound as he plops down to sit on the bathroom floor.

Moments later he hears the sound of his bedroom door’s lock being picked. Bruce calling his name and Duke explaining he had heard animal noises from the room. Tim scrabbles to try and get the balcony door unlocked so he can escape and find a way to change back before anyone can see him, but moving on all fours and the new talon hands he is not used too take up too much time and the bedroom door is open.

Living in a family of vigilantes, their reaction time and fight or flight instincts are quick, and Tim is tackled to the floor by Duke while the others start looking at every inch of the room for clues as to what happened to their seemingly missing brother.

Bruce is looking at the dragon in Tim’s pajamas for a second before saying, “Tim? Is that you chum?”

Tim tries to answer but all that comes out is a warbling chuff. Which takes Tim by surprise and has him nearly start to cry in panic. He can’t Talk!

“Hey, you’re ok Tim. Deep breaths. Duke get off him. Breath with me Tim. In 1, 2, 3, 4. Out 1, 2, 3, 4.” Bruce spoke in his soothing a scared child voice. Tim was half annoyed at himself for how much it helped.

“B, Look at this!” Dick said holding the box with the scroll and dragon pendent instead open. Now the gem is a very pale see through purple with only a sliver on the bottom the original color.

They take it down to the bat cave and get to work deciphering the scroll. Turns out the Drake family line are descendants of some ancient medieval prince named Aragorn and that there was a family tradition that on the sixteenth birthday the child would have to live a year in dragon form to let it catch up in maturity. But after the dragon form catches up they will be able to freely shift between forms. But if they don’t follow the tradition they don’t age properly, and the longer they put off the tradition the longer they have to spend as a dragon.

And that is all I had time for before bed. So who does this affect the family dynamic? What about the relationship between Tim and Damian? How do we bring Danny Phantom into this? Does he think Tim is a ghost dragon at first?

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Don't Run Off Like That

You told the LADS Men to not piss you off and what did they do? Pissed you off. How I imagine they would react to you storming off in tears and you're not answering their calls or texts. [Requested by: Anon]

Zayne

The minute you run off Zayne would watch you retreat not because he doesn't want to chase you, but because he's going through every possible outcome in his head on whether he should follow you or not.

By the time he decides to follow you're already out of sight. Now you have him walking through the streets of Linkon looking like a lost puppy. After about five minutes of blowing your phone up he's turning into Sherlock Zayne and doing some deductive reasoning about where you may have gone.

He was relieved to find you wrapped up in a blanket. Not in your bed, but in his instead.

Zayne: Please never run off like that again MC: I can't argue with you especially when I'm pissed off I'll always lose Zayne: its not really a competition it's us vs the problem MC: I know that which is why I didn't want to argue with you especially in public Zayne: I feel the same MC: I just needed to calm down Zayne: *Smiles* In my bed? MC: .... Your scent is calming I just didn't want to hug you while I was mad at you so your bed was the perfect solution

Rafayel

Rafayel is immediately chasing after you the minute you storm off, but of course you break out into a full sprint. He would be STRESSED. This man gets antsy when you don't reply fast enough. Now you're not replying and he can't find you? Yea his chest hurts. He's calling you on speaker phone just so he can continue texting you. After about ten minutes of your phone blowing up non-stop you share your location with him.

He found you in his kitchen, sitting on the counter, eating all his snacks. "I thought you got kidnapped or something!"

"Need I remind you I'm a trained fighter and constantly have a gun on my hip?" Rafayel would roll his eyes before taking the snacks from your hands and slotting himself between your legs. He rested his head in the crook of your neck while taking deep calming breaths.

Rafayel: Why did you run off like that? MC: I didn't want to say anything I'd regret so I needed time to myself Rafayel: So you turn into sonic the hedgehog? MC: I knew you'd come find me Rafayel: I'll always find you.

Xavier

Let's be so for real Xavier is on you. If you try to run from him he gonna teleport in front of you. So in order to get away from him you have to excuse yourself and then dip out when he can't see you. That whole turn around and storm off you planned on doing? Not happening that mf way too fast.

He would realize you've been gone for a while so he'd text you with concern. A few minutes pass and he starts getting worried. He's immediately on the move looking for you; checking your location, trying to get the coordinates on your watch. He'd call Jeremiah asking if he'd seen you as he's running around.

He manages to find you in the Hunters Association doing research on the increase in wanderers.

Xavier: You'd rather do research than talk to me? MC: You pissed me off and I hate arguing with you ... I needed something to take my mind off it Xavier: I don't enjoy it either but please don't disappear like that you almost gave me a heart attack MC: I needed to calm down Xavier: There's nothing wrong with that I just .... if something happened to you I don't want our last words to be out of anger you know? MC: I know ... I don't want that either

Sylus

Sylus would feel terrible for making you upset enough to storm off in tears, but he'd let you blow off some steam before coming to find you. He would definitely have the twins contact you first before he showed up. He'd have Mephisto watch you and report back to him as well.

You didn't go far he knew you'd storm off to one of your favorite places on base. The home library. He found you curled up on one of the giant bean bag chairs that you just had to have(he couldn't say no of course)

Sylus: May I come in? MC: Permission granted Sylus: I didn't mean to upset you Princess MC: Im sure you didn't mean to but you did and we're at a good point in our relationship I don't want to say anything I'll regret later Sylus: I don't mind you cursing me out MC: I mind Sylus: Are you ready to talk? MC: Yes, but I want a foot rub as we talk Sylus: *chuckles* I may have spoiled you too much MC: Is that a no? Sylus: *Grabs your foot* I'll do anything for you as long as you talk to me

[blissfulflw]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝐶𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒

Pairing- Yu Jimin (Karina) x fem reader

Genre- Smut

Word count- 3183

Warnings- 18+ interactions only, G!p Jimin, Dom Jimin, sub reader, Oral, semi-public, wall sex, rough, marking, NSFW

You’re half-asleep in the back of the black SUV, your laptop bag wedged under your arm and your phone buzzing with unread messages. Your body aches from the long day — three radio interviews, one TV appearance, two wardrobe malfunctions, and one impossibly smug Yu Jimin.

“Hotel’s in ten,” the manager calls from the front seat.

You nod, stretching slightly. Across from you, Jimin looks unbothered as usual, sprawled against the window in an oversized hoodie and bike shorts, one leg casually draped over the other. Her eyes are closed, but the rise of her brows tells you she’s not actually asleep.

She always knows when you’re watching.

You look away, heat rising to your cheeks. You’ve been working with her long enough to know how she plays. Teasing touches here and there, loaded compliments, those low murmurs in your ear when no one else is close enough to hear.

And it’s never been more than that — harmless tension. At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself.

But tonight feels different.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe it’s the tension of being around her for 14 hours straight without a break. Or maybe it’s the manager’s grimace when he meets you in the lobby and says, “Small issue with the booking — they only had one room left. You two cool to share?”

Jimin’s smirk as she glances over at you answers before you can.

“Sure,” she says lightly. “We’re comfortable enough with each other… right?”

You open your mouth to object, but her fingers brush your lower back as she passes, a subtle press that makes your stomach flip.

And just like that, the fuse is lit.

_____

The suite is modern and clean, with floor-to-ceiling windows and one too-small bed at its center.

You drop your bag by the closet, trying not to seem too thrown. It’s just one night. You’ve shared close quarters before — backstage costume changes, long-haul flights, even the backseat of a van after a show when she’d curled up against you like it was nothing.

But this feels… different. More private. More dangerous.

Jimin walks in behind you and tosses her hoodie onto the armchair, revealing a tank top that clings to her chest, her sports bra peeking through just enough to make your throat dry.

“Cozy,” she says, voice playful. She flops back onto the bed, arms stretched wide, long legs splayed.

You turn to the window, forcing yourself to focus on the city lights instead of the soft curve of her thighs. “I’ll take the couch.”

“There’s no couch.”

You glance back. She’s right — just the bed, a desk, and a chair that looks about as comfortable as a brick. You sigh. “Fine. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Jimin hums, propping herself on her elbows. “Why? You scared to sleep next to me?”

You shoot her a look, trying to stay calm. “I just think it’s better for boundaries.”

Her eyes glint. “What boundaries?”

You open your mouth to respond, but she’s already on her feet, closing the distance in three slow steps. She stops just in front of you — not touching, not yet, but so close you can feel the heat radiating from her skin.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, baby,” she says, voice low. “You act all professional, but your eyes tell on you every time.”

Your breath catches.

She leans in, her lips nearly brushing your ear. “You want me to stop, just say it. Otherwise…”

Her hand skims your waist, fingers trailing lightly along your hip. “Let me show you what I’ve been thinking about every time you call me ‘Jimin-ssi’ like you’re not soaking through your panties.”

You don’t move.

Her hand is on your waist now, and her breath ghosts over your neck, soft and warm and terrifying. Every cell in your body screams for you to lean into it. To give in.

But then — a sharp knock at the door.

You both freeze.

A beat passes. Another knock. “Y/N? Jimin?” It’s Taehyun, the tour coordinator. “Sorry — emergency staff meeting in ten. Conference room. They need both of you.”

Jimin lets out a sigh, low and annoyed. She doesn’t move away.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” you call out, voice just barely steady. Your heart is pounding. Her fingers still linger on your waist, like she’s daring you to forget they’re there.

When the footsteps retreat down the hallway, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Jimin finally steps back, just a little — but her eyes never leave yours.

“Guess that’s our cue,” she murmurs, tongue brushing over her lower lip. “Shame. I was about to make you beg.”

You grab your bag like it’s a lifeline and head toward the door before she can say anything else.

The hallway feels ten degrees cooler than the room. You press the elevator button with shaky fingers, willing your pulse to settle.

Behind you, Jimin walks up slowly, her usual nonchalant swagger back in place — but you catch the way she glances at your thighs, the edge of a smirk tugging at her lips.

She leans in just as the elevator dings.

“This isn’t over, baby,” she whispers. “You know it. I know it. Let’s just see how long you can hold out.”

The elevator doors close, trapping you inside with her again.

And the heat?

It doesn’t go anywhere.

_____

The conference room is overly lit and ice-cold, the kind of bland corporate space that sucks the soul out of anyone who enters. You sit at the long table, notebook open, pretending to take notes while your mind is still in that hotel room — pressed up against a wall with Jimin’s hand on your waist and her mouth far too close to your neck.

She saunters in a minute later, freshly smug and somehow glowing under the fluorescent lights, like nothing happened at all.

You don’t look at her. You can’t.

She takes the empty seat next to you anyway.

Of course.

The meeting starts — something about the revised schedule, an issue with venue permits, makeup delays — you’re barely processing it. Your pen scratches useless lines on the page. You try to tune in, but then—

Her knee brushes yours.

You stiffen.

It could’ve been accidental. Until she does it again. Firmer.

Then she leans in, her voice a breath against your ear. “Relax. Don’t want the whole room knowing how worked up I’ve got you.”

You snap your head toward her, eyes wide. Her expression is calm, lips slightly curled. Innocent, if you didn’t know better.

You sit straighter, crossing your legs under the table.

Big mistake.

Her hand slides casually onto your thigh, just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. She traces slow circles through the fabric of your pants, her eyes fixed on the speaker at the end of the table, like she’s paying perfect attention. Her fingers move higher, stopping just before they become something more.

“Your legs are shaking,” she whispers.

You clench your jaw, scribbling nonsense in your notebook. “Stop,” you hiss under your breath.

But she doesn’t. Not yet.

She leans in once more, voice like silk. “Say the word, and I’ll stop. Or…” Her thumb presses gently into your inner thigh, heat blooming low in your core. “You can keep pretending you don’t want this, and I’ll keep making it harder to think straight.”

You force yourself to grab her wrist — not hard, just enough to lift it from your leg.

She lets you, smiling as she draws her hand back, slow and unbothered.

You survive the next fifteen minutes by sheer willpower, not daring to look at her again until the meeting ends.

But as everyone files out and you move to stand, she leans in one last time, her lips nearly grazing your jaw.

“I’m showering when we get back,” she murmurs, voice low and filthy. “If you’re smart, you’ll join me.”

Then she’s gone — hips swaying, head held high — leaving you flushed and breathless, the ache between your thighs unbearable.

The walk back is silent. Not awkward — charged.

You can feel Jimin behind you in the hallway, hear the soft brush of her sneakers on the carpet, the quiet hum she always makes when she’s thinking. The tension between you is stretched taut, one spark away from unraveling completely.

As soon as the door closes behind you, she peels her shirt off — no hesitation, no warning.

Just bare skin, toned arms, a sports bra tight against her chest. She walks past you like it’s nothing. Like she didn’t spend the last thirty minutes tormenting you under a conference table.

She tosses the shirt toward the laundry pile and heads into the bathroom, pausing in the doorway only to glance over her shoulder.

“Last chance,” she says. “You coming?”

You freeze.

You could stay out here. Pretend none of this ever happened. Crawl under the covers and ignore the way your body’s screaming for her.

Or…

You drop your bag. Slowly follow her.

She’s already turned the shower on — steam curling out from behind the frosted glass — and when you step inside the bathroom, she’s standing with her back to you, peeling off her shorts, then her underwear, inch by inch. Her reflection in the mirror catches yours, and she smirks.

“You gonna just stand there, or…?”

You shut the door behind you.

Clothes hit the tile floor in a blur — suddenly you don’t care about restraint or reason, or even pride. You just need her.

The moment you step close, Jimin turns, her body hot from the rising steam, her skin flushed.

You don’t even make it into the shower.

She grabs your face with both hands, lips crashing into yours — soft but demanding, like she’s finally letting herself feel what she’s been holding back. Her body pins you to the wall, her thigh sliding between yours, pressing right where you need her most.

You moan into her mouth.

Her hand slips down, gripping your thigh as she grinds against you. The press of her g!p cock through her briefs is thick and hard and impossible to ignore.

“You don’t know,” she growls, teeth grazing your lower lip, “how long I’ve wanted to ruin you.”

And God — you want her to.

Jimin’s lips trail down your neck, sucking a bruise just under your jaw as steam curls around both of you. Her hands are everywhere — one gripping your hip, the other sliding over your ass, fingers digging in like she’s been dreaming about this for months. Maybe she has.

You gasp when her mouth moves lower, teeth grazing your collarbone. “Jimin…”

She pulls back just enough to look at you. Her eyes are dark, hungry. “Say it again.”

You do — breathier this time. “Jimin.”

She groans, guiding you back until your spine presses against the cool bathroom tiles, a sharp contrast to the heat rolling off her body.

Then her hand dips lower.

Her fingers skim over your soaked core, teasing but not giving. Her smirk is devilish as she runs her thumb along your slit.

“Dripping already,” she murmurs. “Just from a little touching?”

You roll your hips into her palm, desperate for more, but she pulls back again — only to hook her fingers into the waistband of her briefs and push them down.

You stare.

She’s thick. Long. The tip flushed and already leaking. The sight alone sends a pulse through your center.

She sees the way your eyes widen and chuckles, low and cocky. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make it fit.”

You barely have time to process that before she lifts you effortlessly — hands under your thighs, back against the wall, legs wrapped around her waist. Her cock presses between your folds, sliding through your slick heat without fully entering.

She’s teasing you. On purpose.

Grinding slowly, letting you feel every inch of her without giving you what you want.

“Jimin,” you whine, nails digging into her shoulders. “Please.”

She leans in, licking up the side of your neck, breath hot against your ear. “Please what?”

“Fuck me.”

That’s all it takes.

She shifts her hips — and finally, finally — she pushes inside.

You both moan, heads falling against each other. She’s thick and deep, stretching you in the most delicious way, and for a second all you can do is cling to her as she gives you a second to adjust.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” she groans, voice ragged, “like you were made for me.”

Then she starts to move.

Slow at first — rolling her hips, letting you feel every inch — before picking up the pace, thrusting deeper with every stroke. The sound of skin on skin echoes through the bathroom, mixing with the shower’s hiss and your breathless moans.

Each thrust hits deeper, harder. Her grip on you tightens. Your back slides against the wall, body helpless against the rhythm she’s setting.

You don’t want her to stop.

She buries her face in your neck, panting. “Been thinking about this every fucking night. How sweet you’d sound. How tight you’d feel.”

You moan her name again, louder this time.

“Say you’re mine,” she growls. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, body trembling.

She slams into you harder.

“Again.”

“I’m yours, Jimin—fuck, I’m yours.”

She kisses you then, hard and messy, her hips never stopping, chasing both of your highs as if nothing else exists but the way your body fits around hers.

And when you fall apart — shaking, gasping, clenching around her — she follows with a loud groan, hips jerking as she spills deep inside you, her name spilling from your lips like prayer.

_____

The bathroom is filled with nothing but the hum of the shower and the sound of your breathing — ragged and unsteady, both of you still riding the aftershocks.

Jimin doesn’t let you go right away.

She holds you there, your back still against the wall, her body pressed tightly to yours, arms wrapped around your waist like she can’t stand the thought of pulling away yet.

Her forehead rests against your shoulder. You feel her lips brush a kiss there — gentle, like she’s trying to ground herself.

You thread your fingers through her damp hair, stroking slowly, your own body still trembling in her arms.

“I didn’t mean to go that hard,” she murmurs, voice hoarse, muffled against your skin. “You okay?”

You nod. Then again, firmer. “More than okay.”

That earns you a soft, almost bashful laugh — a rare crack in her confident armor. She finally lifts her head, eyes meeting yours.

There’s no teasing now. No smug smirk. Just warmth.

She kisses you again — nothing like before. It’s slow this time, mouths soft and lazy against each other’s, her hands brushing over your waist, like she’s memorizing the feel of you.

Eventually, she sets you down gently, steadying you when your knees threaten to give. “Let’s get cleaned up,” she says quietly.

You both step under the warm spray, and for a while, everything is quiet.

She lathers soap onto her hands, then begins to wash you — carefully, like she’s done it a hundred times in her mind. Her fingers move through your hair, across your back, down your thighs. You do the same for her, and it’s… tender. Intimate in a way that surprises you both.

When you step out, she wraps a towel around you, rubbing you dry like it’s her job, like she wants to take care of you now that she’s taken you apart.

And when you finally crawl into bed, bare and warm and a little sore, she pulls you close — one arm tucked under your neck, the other splayed over your stomach, her body curling around yours protectively.

“Can I stay like this?” she murmurs into your hair.

You nod, already half asleep. “You better.”

She chuckles softly.

And that night, you sleep better than you have in months — tangled up in the arms of the one person who was never supposed to touch you like that, and who you’re starting to think you’ll never be able to live without again.

_____

Soft light filters in through the sheer curtains. The city hums somewhere far below, but up here — in this bed, in her arms — it feels like time’s stopped.

You stir first, eyes blinking open to the warm weight of Jimin’s body curled around you. Her thigh is draped between yours, her hand splayed over your stomach. You shift slightly and feel the press of her cock against your lower back — already hard.

Of course.

A sleepy groan escapes her throat as she nuzzles into your neck. “Mmm. Morning.”

Her voice is rough, drowsy, and unfairly sexy.

You hum. “Morning.”

Silence falls again — comfortable, heavy. Her fingers begin tracing light patterns on your skin. She presses a kiss behind your ear. Then another, lower, slower.

“You’re warm,” she mumbles, lips moving along your shoulder. “Could wake up like this every day.”

You twist in her arms to face her. Her hair’s a mess, eyes still half-lidded, and she looks devastating like this — bare and undone.

“Was last night a mistake?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

She lifts a brow, blinking slowly. Then she leans in and kisses you — not rushed, not lust-filled. Just soft. Certain.

“No,” she says. “But pretending we can go back to normal after this? That would be.”

You let out a breath. “So what now?”

Jimin grins, slow and lazy. “Now? You lie back.”

She pushes you gently onto your back, rolling over you with her thigh slotting between yours. Her eyes glint as her lips brush yours again.

“Because I’ve been very patient,” she murmurs. “And I didn’t even get to taste you last night.”

Your breath hitches.

She moves lower. “And I don’t have any meetings this morning.”

You part your legs instinctively, heat pooling in your core all over again.

This time, it’s slow — worshipful. Her tongue between your thighs, her hands holding you open like you’re something precious. She doesn’t let you hide from her. Not your reactions, not your moans, not the way you clench around nothing when she teases too long.

And when she finally slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right, tongue circling your clit in time with every stroke—

You break again, shaking, breathless, her name falling from your lips like it’s the only one you’ve ever known.

She doesn’t stop until you’re trembling in her arms, clinging to her like she’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

After, she holds you, her thumb brushing soft circles into your skin.

“You’re mine now,” she murmurs against your temple.

You don’t even try to argue.

Because she’s right.

And deep down — you’ve been hers from the moment she first looked at you like you were more than just her assistant.

[leeny-leens]

“-and so I tell him that he better have some sort of divine protection going for himself because otherwise the devil will and can reach him in the form of of me ruining his life- lovely, are you still there?” His voice sounds unsure, like he can’t quite tell if you are listening to him or disappeared mid rant.

You dignify him with a small hum, almost giggling at the mental image of him furrowing his eyebrows while staring at his phone.

“Still there, sweet boy,” you reassure, turning your attention back to the books sprawled in front of you. He called you an hour or so ago, insisting that he couldn’t wait for your nightly video call to debrief the absolute horrible day he had, and you decided to humour him by letting him rant and rant to his heart’s content. Unfortunately, being on a call with the love of your life did not mean your mountain of tasks for your courses grew any smaller, so you settled for having his voice fill the silence in your room as you continued to work. It’s therapeutic in a way, and incredibly helpful in making you focus on your tasks without getting bored.

“Where’d you go?” He asks, voice lilted with amusement and curiosity.

“No where love, just working on stuff for school,” the gasp on the other side sounds incredulous, half offended and a million percent dramatic.

“Did I just get demoted to background noise?” He huffs, causing you to snort before biting your lips. “No, you’ve been promoted to the position of productivity enhancement coordination assistant,” you muse, surprised at the amount of randomised words you just spewed out. Courtesy of trying to fancy up all your essays to hit the word count, you suppose.

The other side of the line goes silent for a few seconds before he bursts into laughter, an almost maniacal cackle escaping him.

“That’s a lot of words to say you’re using me as background noise while you study,” he quips, though there is no real fire in his voice, just a lot of fondness and amusment for your shenanigans.

“I can’t help that your voice helps me focus sooo much,” you drawl, attempting to stroke his ego to appease him. It works, if the small huff he lets out is anything to go by, and you smirk in victory. “Alright, alright, I’ll be your productivity enhancement coordinating assistant then,” he mutters, but you can tell he has no qualms about it.

One hour turns into two, then turns into four and six until the both of you are settling into bed, tasks long complete and routines absolved.

His voice grows drowsy on the other side, the low glow of your phone screen the only source of illumination in your room as you nuzzle your face into the pillow.

“G’night, I love you,” you yawn, placing your phone on your nightstand, close enough that it will pick up on your breathing and voice while simultaneously letting you hear him on speaker.

“Good night, I love you too darling,” he rasps, his breathing soon growing even and shallow to match your own, the both of you falling asleep on the phone together.

Caleb, Sylus, Rafayel, Carl Gallagher, Blaise Zabini, Luke Castellan, Tom Riddle, George Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Peter Parker

[amoressb]

───── CLOSE THE DISTANCE 西村 力 N. RK

ꪆৎ ⋆˚࿔ when he misses you so bad you surprise him on tour ｡｡ idolbf!riki x reader .

FLUFF (hes very clingy) & wc. 2900 + / kissing, skinship, petnames ｡｡

──── ARCHiVE

you sat in your tiny apartment, scrolling through your phone while rikis voice filled your ears through the speaker. he was on tour in the US, while you were stuck at home. it had been weeks since you two had seen each other and the distance was starting to weigh on both of you.

“i wish you were here,” riki said, his voice tinged with a pout. “it’s not the same without you. i can’t even eat properly because you’re not around to remind me to.”

you laughed softly. “baby, you’re surrounded by people. i’m sure jungwon or heeseung can nag you about eating if you ask.”

“it’s not the same! they’re not you,” he whined. “you don’t understand, everything feels off without you..even my dance steps feel weird.”

your heart squeezed at his words but you played along, trying to lighten the mood. “are you blaming me for messing up your choreography?”

“maybe” his voice dropped to a playful grumble. “but seriously, baby, i miss you so much. i keep telling the guys and now they won’t stop teasing me about it.”

“teasing you how?” you asked grinning.

“sunghoon keeps calling me a ‘lovesick bf’ and jungwon literally recorded me complaining about you yesterday..i caught jay watching it on loop during rehearsal.”

you burst out laughing, the mental image too good to ignore. “aww my poor riki, they’re bullying you, huh?”

“YES!” he exclaimed dramatically. “and it’s all because i miss my girlfriend too much. can’t you just teleport here or something?”

your smile faltered slightly, “you know i can’t ki..i wish i could, though.”

what you didn’t say was that you had already booked a flight to LA for his next big show. you had been planning the surprise for weeks, coordinating with jungwon to make sure you’d have backstage access. the wait was killing you, but you knew it would all be worth it when you saw his face.

a few days later, riki sat in the back room of the LA arena, fidgeting with the hem of his stage outfit. his members were lounging around, chatting and laughing, but he couldn’t seem to focus.

“you’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?” sunghoon said, smirking as he tossed a pillow at him.

“of course i am,” riki replied without hesitation. “what else am i supposed to think about? it’s been over a month since i’ve seen her.”

“riki, we’re in LA about to perform in front of thousands of people and all you care about is your girlfriend,” jay teased, shaking his head.

“bro i can’t help it,” riki admitted, slumping in his chair. “she’s my good luck charm. every time i look at the audience, i imagine her face, but it’s never her and it sucks.” jungwon, who was in on your plan, exchanged a knowing glance with sunghoon but kept quiet.

that evening, you arrived at the arena just before the concert started. the venue was buzzing with energy and your heart pounded in your chest as you made your way through the crowd. with your hood pulled up to stay inconspicuous, you found a spot near the middle, close enough to see the stage clearly but far enough to avoid catching anyone’s attention.

when the lights dimmed and the group took the stage, the crowd erupted into cheers. your breath hitched when you saw riki. he looked incredible, his movements fluid and precise as he danced across the stage. his voice carried through the arena, powerful and mesmerizing.

but as the performance went on, you noticed the moments where he faltered—his eyes scanning the crowd during quieter parts of the song, as if searching for something..or rather..someone.

then it happened. his gaze landed on you for a split second and you saw his eyes widen. he blinked, his head tilting slightly as if trying to confirm what he was seeing. you froze, your heart racing as he stumbled slightly in his choreography.

he turned back to the stage continuing the song, but his focus was clearly elsewhere. every few seconds, he glanced back toward the spot where you were standing.

when the first part of the concert ended, you followed jungwon’s instructions to head backstage. your hands trembled as you waited in the back room, the sound of your heartbeat louder than the muffled voices outside.

the door burst open and there he was. rikis eyes locked onto you, his expression a mix of shock, disbelief, and pure joy.

“y/n…” he breathed, standing frozen in the doorway. “surprise,” you said, your voice shaky with nervous laughter.

riki didn’t hesitate. he crossed the room in two long strides and swept you into his arms, lifting you off the ground as he spun you around. “you’re here! you’re actually here! i thought i was imagining things out there.”

you laughed, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck. “i couldn’t let you go through your whole tour without seeing me, could i?”

riki pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face. “do you know how much i’ve missed you? how much i’ve been whining to everyone about you?”

“i might’ve heard a little bit about that,” you teased, brushing his damp hair out of his eyes. he groaned, resting his forehead against hers, “i don’t even care if they tease me, you’re here. that’s all that matters.”

your heart was still pounding in your chest as riki hugged you tightly backstage. his warmth, the way he smelled faintly of sweat and cologne, and the sheer disbelief in his expression made you grin wider than you thought possible.

“you’re really here,” he said again, his voice filled with awe. he cupped your face and looked at you as if he was memorizing every detail. “i can’t believe it.”

“i am,” you replied softly, brushing your thumb along his jawline. “i couldn’t stay away any longer, ki.”

he leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. “i thought i was losing my mind when i saw you in the crowd. i almost forgot my choreography, y/n. you’re too distracting, too pretty.”

you laughed quietly, your cheeks heating up. “sorry about that but you were incredible out there.”

“i was only incredible because i thought i saw you,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a tender whisper. “you’re my muse, you know that?”

before you could respond, he leaned in and kissed you softly, his lips warm and gentle against yours. it was as if the world had stopped for the both of you, the chaos of the backstage area melting away. you felt your knees go weak as you kissed him back, your hands tangling in his hair. but then, a knock on the door interrupted them. “riki! five minutes until the next encore!”

riki groaned, pulling back reluctantly but keeping his arms around you. “no. i’m not leaving, tell them i quit,” he muttered, glaring at the door.

“you can’t quit, ki,” you teased, smoothing his hair. “your fans are waiting for you.”

“but you’re here,” he said with a pout, his hands resting on your waist. “how am i supposed to go back out there when all i want to do is stay with you?” you smiled, resting your hands on his chest. “go finish your show, ki, i’ll be right here when you’re done.”

“promise?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.

“promise.”

with a sigh, riki kissed you one more time—this one longer and sweeter, as if he was trying to pour all his feelings into it. when he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours again. “you better be right here when i get back,” he said softly, his voice both a plea and a demand.

“i will be, now gooo” you reassured him, giving him a light shove toward the door. riki dragged his feet toward the hallway, glancing back at you over his shoulder. “don’t disappear, y/n. i mean it.” you laughed, your heart swelling, “i won’t silly.”

when he finally returned to the stage, rikis energy was completely different. the crowd erupted as the group launched into their next mix of songs and he gave it everything he had, his movements sharper, his voice stronger, and his smile brighter than it had been all night. he caught himself stealing glances toward the backstage area, knowing you were waiting for him just beyond the curtains.

at the end of the concert, he stood at center stage, catching his breath as he waved to the crowd. “thank you everyone for making tonight unforgettable,” he said into the mic, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

the audience roared and the group bowed deeply before retreating offstage. the second riki was out of sight, he broke into a run, weaving through the maze of corridors until he found you waiting for him in the back room.

“i’m back,” he said breathlessly, pulling you into his arms again. “and you were amazing,” you whispered, kissing him softly. his lips curved into a grin against yours.

you two stayed locked in each others embrace for what felt like forever, content to let the world keep spinning outside. for riki, the concert had been incredible, but this—holding you, kissing you, and knowing you were there—was the real thing he’d been waiting for.

riki refused to let go of you as you stood in the back room after the everything. his arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, his face buried in your neck as he inhaled your familiar scent. “you smell like home,” he mumbled, his voice muffled but full of affection.

you laughed softly, your fingers threading through his damp hair. “you’re sweaty, you know that?”

“i don’t care,” he murmured. “you’re still hugging me, so i’m not letting go.ever.”

“baby, you can’t stay like this all night,” you teased, though you made no effort to pull away. “why not?” he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. his thumbs brushed your cheeks as he stared at you with a soft smile. “i’ve been dreaming about this moment for weeks. you, here, in my arms. i’m not rushing it.”

you felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze. “i’ve missed you so much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“i missed you more,” he countered, leaning his forehead against yours. “you have no idea how hard it’s been. every time something good happened, i wanted to call you and tell you about it in person. every time i felt tired, i just wanted you there to hug me. even the guys got tired of me talking about you.”

“they didn’t seem tired of you just now,” you joked, thinking of his members grinning knowingly when they passed you on the way out of the room.

“they’ve been saints, honestly,” he said with a chuckle. “they’ve listened to me whine nonstop about how much i miss you. sunghoon even told me, ‘just wait until the next tour, you’ll see her when it’s over.’ but i didn’t want to wait.”

“well you didn’t have to,” you said, smiling up at him. “i was coming to you all along.” he groaned dramatically, resting his head on your shoulder. “you’re too perfect, my love. how am i supposed to focus on anything else when you do things like this?”

you giggled, kissing the top of his head. “you seemed pretty focused out there during the concert.”

“only because i wanted to finish fast so i could get back to you,” he admitted, lifting his head to meet your gaze. his eyes softened as he tilted your chin up. “and now that you’re here, i’m never letting you go.”

you rolled your eyes playfully, “you have to let me go eventually, like when you need to sleep or eat—”

“shhh,” he interrupted, pressing a finger to your lips. “don’t ruin this moment with logic.”

you laughed against his finger and he took the opportunity to kiss you again, his lips lingering on yours as if he was trying to make up for all the time you’d had spent apart.

when you two finally pulled away, he tugged you over to the couch and sat down, pulling you onto his lap. “you’re not allowed to sit anywhere else,” he declared, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“you’re clingier than usual,” you teased, but you nestled into his embrace, resting your head against his chest.

“can you blame me?” he asked, his voice soft as he traced random patterns on your back with his fingers. “i feel like i’m dreaming. you’ve completely spoiled me now, how am i supposed to survive the rest of the tour without you?”

“you’ll survive,” you said, tilting your head to look at him. “and i’ll be here waiting for you when you’re done.”

“next time, you’re coming with me,” he said firmly. “i don’t care how far we’re traveling. i’m not doing this without you again.” you smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “we’ll see, pretty boy.”

“i’m serious!” he whined, pouting at you. “i know you are,” you said, your laughter making his pout disappear as he broke into a wide grin.

for the rest of the night, you and him stayed like that—talking, laughing, and stealing kisses, completely lost in each other. riki didn’t care that he was exhausted from the performance or that his schedule was packed for the next few days. at that moment, all that mattered was you, the girl who had flown halfway across the world just to see him.

as you fell asleep in his arms later that night, riki couldn’t stop smiling, his heart full of love and gratitude. for him, this wasn’t just a perfect moment—it was the kind of happiness he wanted to hold onto forever.

the next morning, you woke up to the soft sound of birds chirping outside the hotel window and the faint hum of the city waking up. riki was still fast asleep beside you, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. his head rested on your shoulder, his soft breaths tickling your skin.

you smiled to yourself, carefully reaching up to brush a few strands of hair away from his face. he looked so peaceful, his usual playful energy replaced by a calm, almost angelic expression.

not wanting to wake him, you stayed still, savoring the warmth of his embrace. but after a few moments, riki began to stir, letting out a sleepy groan as he shifted closer to you.

“morning,” you said softly, running your fingers through his hair. he groaned again, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “no morning. too early,” he mumbled, his voice muffled and groggy.

you chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “it’s not that early. don’t you have a schedule today?”

“don’t remind me,” he whined, tightening his arms around you. “could we just stay like this forever?”

“as tempting as that sounds, i’m pretty sure your manager would have a heart attack if you missed your schedule,” you teased. riki finally lifted his head, his eyes half-open as he looked at you. “you’re too responsible,” he grumbled, but his lips curved into a soft smile. “good morning, pretty girl.”

“good morning, sleepyhead,” you replied, leaning in to kiss his cheek. he sighed contentedly, flopping back onto the pillow. “i think i just had the best sleep of my life. you need to stay with me on every tour now.”

“ki, we’ve been through this,” you said with a laugh. “you know I can’t—”

“—not yet,” he interrupted, cutting you off with a grin. “you can’t yet. but someday, right?” you shook your head fondly. “someday,” you agreed, earning a triumphant smirk from him.

after reluctantly getting out of bed, riki insisted on ordering room service so you could have breakfast together. the two of you sat cross-legged on the bed, sharing pancakes and fruit while chatting about anything and everything.

“hey,” riki said suddenly, his tone turning serious as he set his fork down. “yeah?” you asked, tilting your head. “i just…i wanted to say thank you,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “for coming all this way. it means more to me than i can put into words.”

you smiled, reaching across the tray to take his hand. “you don’t have to thank me, ki. i wanted to be here. for you.”

he squeezed your hand, his gaze soft. “i don’t know what i did to deserve you, but i’m never letting you go.”

“you’d better not,” you teased, leaning forward to kiss him.

the moment was interrupted by a knock at the door. “riki! we need to leave in thirty minutes!” riki groaned dramatically, falling back against the pillows. “why does the universe hate me?” you laughed, pulling him up. “come on, you’ve got a job to do.”

“only if you promise to be waiting for me when i get back,” he said, giving you his signature pout. “i promise,” you said, smiling as you leaned in to kiss his forehead.

as riki got ready for the day, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the time you’d spent together. even though your visit was short, it was enough to remind you both of how strong your bond was. as he headed out the door, he turned back to give you one last look, his smile wide and full of love. “see you later, baby. don’t miss me too much.”

“i’ll try not to,” you called back, laughing as he disappeared down the hall. little did he know, you were already counting down the minutes until you’d see him again.

⋆｡°✩ @cheruphic @liwinly @chrrific @hyukabean @ijustwannareadstuff20 @jellyluv4eva

[makis-eyebrows]

Little Polesitters

After Y/n meets George Russell's daughter, a new version of her sparked out of her, making Alex question how and when it all happened.

Race Weekend – Silverstone Grand Prix

The paddock buzzed with energy and anticipation—drivers preparing, fans cheering, cameras flashing. But amidst all the grown-up chaos, two little girls were the center of a different kind of attention.

Seven-year-old Y/n Albon, daughter of Alex Albon and his girlfriend Lily Muni He, had always been the quiet type. She’d cling to her mum’s leg during press days and would hide behind her dad’s arms when new people tried to talk to her. Soft-spoken, shy, and gentle—Y/n was the polar opposite of the roar of Formula 1.

That was, until she met Amelia Russell.

Amelia, George Russell’s equally seven-year-old daughter, was a ball of sunshine and endless energy, much like her mother, Carmen Montero Mundt. Curious, bold, and unapologetically chatty, she had no trouble striking up conversations with anyone—even if they were triple her age or size. When the Russells and Albons first met up for a playdate during the Spanish Grand Prix a year ago, nobody expected a spark like the one that happened between the girls.

“Hi. I like your shoes,” Amelia had said with a wide smile, bouncing in her pink Crocs.

Y/n had blinked, unsure of what to say. She glanced down at her own Crocs—yellow, with tiny panda pins clipped into the holes.

“They match mine! See?” Amelia pointed. “Wanna play?”

From that moment on, something shifted. Y/n nodded. And just like that, they were inseparable.

Fast Forward to Silverstone

Lily adjusted the little denim jacket on Y/n’s shoulders while the girl impatiently wriggled. “She’s here! I saw her car!”

“Okay, okay, hold still for one second—” Lily laughed, trying to fix the heart-shaped hair clip that was moments from falling off her daughter’s head.

Just then, Amelia came racing through the hospitality gates in a pastel purple dress, holding her dad George’s hand and nearly dragging him along.

“Y/N!!!”

“AMELIA!!!”

The paddock turned at the loud, unfiltered joy coming from two tiny humans. Y/n bolted from her mother’s side and collided into her best friend in a whirlwind of giggles and matching glitter sneakers.

“LOOK! We matched again without even trying!” Amelia squealed.

Y/n’s eyes sparkled. “And your hair clip is the same as mine!”

George and Alex stood side-by-side, shaking their heads with amused smiles as their daughters began to dance in circles together.

“Did they text each other again?” Alex asked.

“Mate,” George chuckled, “they don’t even have phones. Amelia made me call Lily just so she could describe the outfit she wanted to wear today. In detail.”

Carmen walked over with Lily, both laughing as they watched the chaos unfold.

“They’re like two little fireworks,” Carmen smiled. “It's hard to believe Y/n used to be so quiet.”

“She still is,” Lily said fondly. “Except around Amelia.”

Later That Day – Inside the Williams Motorhome

Between interviews and race strategy meetings, Alex popped into the hospitality lounge. The girls were huddled in a corner with crayons and markers, drawing what appeared to be a giant heart-shaped racetrack, complete with little stick figures of themselves holding trophies.

“We’re gonna be racers too,” Amelia declared.

“Yeah,” Y/n nodded confidently, her shyness nowhere to be seen. “We’ll be team... Al-Rus.”

Alex burst out laughing. “Al-Rus, huh? That sounds terrifying.”

“Terrifyingly fast,” Amelia grinned, throwing a wink at George, who had just entered.

George knelt down beside them. “You two better be nice to your pit crews.”

“We are the pit crews,” Y/n replied, looking very serious.

The entire room melted.

Back on the Grid

As the race weekend unfolded, the two girls remained joined at the hip—matching hats, shared snacks, and even coordinated cheers for both their dads.

Y/n still wasn’t much of a talker with most people. But Amelia? She had flipped a switch inside her.

Whenever someone asked about her best friend, Y/n would always answer the same thing, with a small but certain smile:

“She makes me feel brave.”

And that's number 2 for me. I actually quite like doing this, honestly.

I was told I should turn my previous story into a series, but I'm not too sure cuz I'm scared I'll lose the plot, then I'll look slow.😭

But other than that, yall are still open to send requests and stuff.

That's Gang Gang out!!!♡

[teawithcherries]

wrong number

Ghost receives a text that leaves him absolutely reeling. OR the guy that you texted on accident is weirdly flirtatious and you're kind of into it?

1.1k words. lieutenant!Ghost x chef!reader (f). reader’s age unclear but 18+ (not a minor!!). divider by @plutism.

Unknown: SOS!!!!

Ghost immediately goes deathly still, eyes zeroing in on the text message notification that blinks across his phone before disappearing.

Having a SAS issued phone means that his phone number should be impossible to find. He doesn’t receive spam texts or calls and the few people who have his number know better than to bother him when he’s on paperwork duty. Which means that something is not right.

His phone buzzes again, and he feels his gut churn sourly.

Unknown: (1 attachment)

He doesn’t have time to think, he just braces himself for the worst. A photo of Johnny bleeding out with a gunshot wound? Coordinates to a location where Gaz is being held hostage? 

He’s already reaching for his kit in case he needs to jump on a helo when the attachment, an image, finally opens up.

The breath that was suspended in his chest slowly releases like a deflated balloon as he tries to make sense of the carnage on his phone screen. Yet, it isn’t one of his squadmates that’s crying out for help. Rather, it’s an image of a Cornish hen that’s been burnt to an absolute charred crisp. 

His mind is racing at a speed that he can’t quite process, his eyes methodically scanning the photo for any clues or hidden messages in the image. 

Yet, even to his trained eye, the image is perfectly normal. The background of the photo is a standard flat kitchen, slightly disorganized with cooking materials and ingredients scattered about. Your feet are visible in the corner of the photo, you’re wearing a pair of girly pajama shorts and bunny slippers.

His brows scrunch together in confusion, thoroughly perplexed and slightly annoyed at the mental gymnastics that he is undertaking to try to make sense of these messages.

Ghost: Who are you?

Your reply is instant, confirming his suspicion that you have truly somehow managed to message him by accident.

Unknown: It’s (♥︎), your classmate from culinary school!

Ghost glances at the image again, brows scrunching in disbelief that you are training to become a chef considering the charred and blackened state of the bird.

Ghost: Wrong number.

Unknown: Ah, how embarrassing. So sorry to disturb you! I must have jotted down my classmate’s number incorrectly during class. Have a lovely rest of your evening! 

That’s that then.

He sighs and sets his phone on his worn desk, glancing back at the mountain of paperwork that awaits him. He’s several hours away from finishing up, and Price will absolutely have his head if doesn't get it all done.

Yet, for reasons he isn't willing to unpack, the image of your bare legs tucked into those ridiculously fuzzy bunny slippers lingers in the back of his mind. His fist twitches, annoyed with himself for getting so hot and bothered over a mere glimpse of bare ankle.

You’re just another nameless, faceless muppet in the void of the digital age. Even responding back to your text message is probably a breach of security protocol that could land him in another hour long cybersecurity training seminar if he isn't careful.

So Ghost isn’t sure why he bothers picking up his phone and typing a message at all, but his thumb hits send before he can ponder it any further.

Ghost: Chicken seems a bit burnt.

Being the asshole that he is, Ghost can’t help but chuckle wryly at his own joke. He figures you’ll probably ignore his message. Maybe you’ll even take offence to it and block his number. So when his phone instantly buzzes with a response, his interest is fully captured.

Unknown: You think? I worried it might be a bit underdone.

The corner of his mouth twitches upward beneath his mask.

Ghost: I could be wrong. You’re the chef after all.

Unknown: Well, there’s plenty to go around if you fancy charcoals and mash.

He's fully smiling now, embarrassingly chuffed that you're playing along.

Ghost: You asking me on a date?

Unknown: Depends. Are you a serial killer?

Ghost: Depends on your definition of a serial killer.

It’s silent after that and Ghost can’t help the kernel of disappointment that takes root in his chest. Easygoing banter is far and few between for the lieutenant who has spent the last 48 hours trying to make sense of the mountain of paperwork that piled up on his desk during his last mission. He was enjoying this exchange with you far more than he cares to admit, and several minutes pass with no response before he glumly locks his phone and returns his attention to his desk.

A full day passes and Ghost accepts that he has scared you off.

Yet he can’t blame you. He knows full well that there are loads of creeps and nut jobs on the Internet who could take advantage of you. And even so, you’d be better off messaging any one of those weirdos rather than him. Because, after all, he’s ... who he is.

Three days later, Ghost is seven kilometers into his evening jog around the training field when his phone buzzes again unexpectedly. His eye twitches but he doesn’t check it right away, chiding himself for the persistent flare of hope in his gut that refuses to be extinguished. He’s been pathetically rushing to his phone with every notification he receives since your last text message came through and feeling disappointed every time it isn’t you.

It’s only when his phone buzzes again that he decides to bite the bullet and check who's texting him.

He’s fully expecting it to be another stupid meme from Soap in the 141 group chat. Which is why he skids to a stop, heart suddenly pounding in his chest, at the sight of a message from your phone number (which he has memorized at this point).

It’s his trigger finger that flies to open your message, eyes fixed intensely, almost nervously, on the pixelated screen of his outdated phone.

You’ve sent him a photo of a sausage roll, a proper sausage roll, that’s cooling on a wire rack in your kitchen. He's already salivating at the sight of the juicy blend of ground meat packed neatly and precisely into a flaky case of golden pastry, as well as the sliver of your bare thigh that's showing in the edge of the photo.

He assumes that you’ve accidentally messaged him again instead of your classmate until he sees the message beneath the image.

Unknown: Just wanted you to know that I’ve been testing some other recipes for our date. 

Unknown: Thoughts on my sausage rolls?

Ghost doesn’t even realize that he’s grinning like a madman until his face starts to twitch uncomfortably. He hasn’t smiled so hard in months, maybe even years, and the mechanics of beaming like a lovesick idiot have almost been forgotten by his stiff facial muscles.

He responds immediately, almost afraid that you might slip through his gloved fingers again if he is even a second too late.

Ghost: That’ll do.

(thoughts on part 2 from reader pov? i want them to talk on the phone and see ghost be all cute n awkward TT)