softly-sirius

[softly-sirius]

You smell that?

Sirius Black x fem! tomboy! reader

Summary: Sirius and his girl have never cared much for traditional gender roles

Warnings: swearing, established relationship, fluff, mentions of pregnancy, babies, drinking, intoxication, alcohol and sex, cute drunk Lily, iconic dorlene, some mean couple, badass reader, badass sirius, adorable James and poor poor Remus, quick proofread

A/n: 2.2k words, I love tomboy reader so much xx thank you for the request, enjoy!

Navigation | Sirius Black Masterlist

“Siri? Can you come here a second? I need help” Sirius hears you call out, smiling to himself at your little dip in tone during the nickname

He wasn’t in the middle of anything important, watching the magic of the little tv dish going around the muggle micro-ma-thing could wait

Walking through he pokes his finger up into the shirt surrounding his hair, scratching the itch as he enters the room “Hey darlin what…” he trails off at the end, distracted by you adored in unbuttoned jeans which leave the tip of your underwear poking out, accompanied with a tubbed vest acting as a bra, something you often used to flatten your chest a bit and make you feel a little more comfortable

“Hey do you…” you turn to him, quickly noticing his gaze flicking from your chest to your stomach “Enjoying the view?” you place your hands on your hips, feeling pretty smug at how the pose affects him

Blush grazes his cheeks and he’s snapped out of his daze, but really, he would never feel guilty for admiring his girl 

“Always when it comes to you” he admits, matching your energy 

“Ooo, flirty puppy today” you tease softly, adoring how his smirk turns bashful for a brief moment

“Can’t help it when you call me in looking like that” he moves over to you, hands finding your hips, thumbs moving up and down your sides, touch near tantalising as they rub over the waistband of your underwear

He sees you get a little shy at that, smiling to yourself and he finds it just divine 

“I don’t know what to wear” you admit “I want to wear these jeans but I can’t find a shirt that goes” 

“You do look good in those” he compliments earning a quiet ‘thanks’ “I have a few of my old band shirts I washed yesterday” he suggests

“So that's why you looked a little dizzy when I came in” you taunt knowing how Padfoot often adored the washing machine, even if he got a little turned around from it

He scrunches his face turning away from you a little “Shut up” he mumbles so cutely that it’s barely an insult

“Sorry puppy” your hands cup his cheeks, bringing his face back to yours, giving him a smile before pecking his lips “Better?” 

“One more and we’re good” he says and you peck his lips twice before turning to go and look through the washing “You overpaid” he notes, itching his wrapped hair again

“You want me to take it back?” you giggle finding a t-shirt you like, yours and Sirius’ clothes were shared and exchanged so often almost all of them had now been charmed to automatically adjust to each of your respective sizes

“No” he says as you turn to him, head cocking to the side as his hair sits in an itchy, almost dry but not quite there, state “Just ya always overpay, makes me look bad”

“Guilty” you giggle as does he “You want me to dry it off early?” you ask, noticing his discomfort “If you don’t mind the slight frizz”

He nods “You mind?” he knew you didn’t, he knew you loved it doing his hair, you were the one to finger roll it for him earlier but he still made sure to ask

“Never” you peck his lips but he pulls you by the hips in to prolong it, something you giggle at but adore none the less “Cute” is all you quip when he pulls away, watching that adorable little smile appears at the compliment

Sirius then moves to grab a pillow from the chair, placing it on the ground in front of the bed and taking a seat, watching you pout as you detangle the plug to the hair dryer and then attach the diffuser

“You excited?” you ask, bending over to pull out the extension and plug in the dryer

He hums, eyes lingering on your arse “Yeah, it’ll be nice to see everyone all together. Been ages” he notes with a smile, undoing his dressing gown and letting it fall off his shoulders but it gets caught

“I’ll get that for you” you tell him as you plop on the bed, positioning your legs either side of his body and placing the hairdryer beside you

“Thanks, darlin” he closes his eyes, letting his head fall forward as you gently remove the dressing gown before freeing his hair

Grabbing the hair dryer, you delay turning it on, instead leaning over him a little “Kiss?” you ask, readying your lips

He smiles, leaning his head backwards so you can kiss him “And you call me cute” he winks

“You had to learn if from somewhere” you banter back 

“That was a good one” he chuckles looking proud

“Thank you” you peck his lips one more time before he tilts his head forward “Squeeze my leg once if it’s too long or hot in one place and twice to stop okay?” 

“Okay darlin”

“Merlin Red, slow down, no one’s going to take it from you” Sirius barks a laugh at the girl, clutching her cocktail

She eyes him “When you have a 4-year-old, a 2-year-old and Harry you’ll understand” is all she says, earning chuckles from Remus, Dorcas and Sirius

“How is the littlest one anyway?” he wonders, eyes flicking briefly to you, Marlene and James at the bar then back to the redhead

“An angel” Lily smiles to herself “She’s got the chubbiest cheeks. I hope she never loses her puppy fat, just like her mum” she pinches her own cheek

“Let Moony visit her more often then, sneak her chocolate” Sirius wiggles his eyebrows at the man beside him “Harry too it’ll bring out his dimples”

“Hey” Remus nudges his leg under the table “I have never given them chocolate”

“Bullshit” Sirius whispers earning a ‘wanker’ from Remus and they both smile

“Remus I’m not going to remember my name in five minutes…this is my first real drink since I was pregnant and I’ll tell you something Jamie isn’t getting another one…unless he asks real nice” she mumbles, and it was clear the baby fever was overtaking her again

“I have given them so much chocolate” Remus corrects causing Dorcas and Sirius to laugh

“That's okay just don’t let…” she hiccups “...don’t let sober me hear it”

“Noted” he winks

“Hey” you greet, placing down yours and Sirius’ drinks “Here pup” you whisper, placing a kiss to his temple while Marlene sides in next to Dorcas and James, Lily

Sirius melts at your touch, maybe it was the buzz from his friends and the pretty pink cocktails he had no idea what was in yet tasted great, but he felt like putty around you

“I’m your pup” he nudges his nose into your neck, igniting a few giggles from you and the rest of the group

“What a simp” Marlene teases, sniggering as you mouth back

“I really am” he admits as you wrap your arm over the back of the booth, arm hanging lazily yet dominantly around him “Can’t even deny it anymore I’m too happy” he grins

You hear a scoff from the booth behind but ignore it, chalking it up to coincidence since no one else at your table clocks it

“My pretty boy” your hand drops down around him, squeezing gently and the smile he wears is perfection

You swear he whispers “your pretty boy” back to you and Remus’ smile confirms it

“Dorcas?” Remus eyes the girls drink “Didn’t see that on the card” he holds up the drinks menu, scanning through

Marlene grins into her drink while Dorca answers a little flustered “It’s a mocktail” she confesses

“Mocktail?” Remus repeats while you and James’ faces light up, already there

“Yeah” the girl nods, hand moving to her stomach and Marlene cups it

“No way!” Lily sits up, the biggest smile on her face

Dorca nods “It’s still early but…” she pulls out a small photograph “...we got this yesterday” she hands it to the redhead

Lily tears up right away “I recant my earlier statement” she looks up at Sirius and Remus before turning to James with big doe eyes

“Guess threes the magic number then” he accepts it, pressing his lips to her cheek 

“That mean I’ll finally get to be a godfather then?” Remus asks “Still a little pissed you gave it to Severus last time” 

“Of course you can! If Jamie hadn’t lost the thumb war it was yours” Lily shrugs before hicuping, hand clapping over her mouth while James just chuckles

“You decided godfather on a thumb wrestle?!” Remus looks at them wide eyed while you and Sirius try not to laugh too hard

“It’s an effective way of deciding…” James muses, wearing a funny smile that makes something dawn on Remus

“Wait…did you do it for Harry too!?”

“No” James extends the syllables, shaking his head with a shrug

“Prongs” Remus deadpans “Prongs” he says a little more annoyed while you, Sirius, Marlene and Dorcas are practically dying by the final near pleading “Prongs”

“You were up then as well but I won and it when to Siri” Lily finally says, her answer delayed, clearly having no idea what was actually happening, nor the weight and would soon be given mocktails

“So…let me get this right” Remus holds up his hands “I’ve lost godfather twice because James can’t win at thumb wrestling”

“Pretty much mate” James cringes “Sorry”

“Merlin I’m just not built lucky, am I?”

After assuring Remus he would be allowed godfather one more time that was needed, Dorca and Marlene started explaining their ivf treatment to the group, to which they all collectively teased them, and found adorable, as they choose a donor who was described as the male version of Marlene, hence their kids would look like a real mix of them both. 

Eventually almost everyone was up dancing, except Sirius who was chilling at the table after going so hard to ‘dancing queen’ and the whole group agreed he should sit down for a little bit. 

You weren’t dancing either, currently at the bar getting Sirius some water while he admired you from afar but his admiration was interrupted “Hey” he hears someone say from behind

His eyes tear away from you, turning his head to look at the people in the booth behind “Hey” he greets them

“That your girlfriend” the girl asks

Sirius rolls his eyes “Yes she is” he goes to turn but when they try to speak again he cuts them off “I’m not interested honey” he waves it off but then the guy beside her laughs

“She wouldn’t be interested in you, mate. Not when she’s with a real man” the guy smirks, puffing his chest a little like the prized wanker he is

“That so?” he eyes him up and down, raising an eyebrow at the ‘real man’

“Yeah” the girl chips back in “What I was going to say is it was hard to tell, she’s so macho compared to you pretty princess” she mock pouts

Sirius takes a long breath out through his nose, not bothering to get angry at miss and Mr insecure before him

“Sorry honey your mistaken he isn’t a princess he’s a puppy remember…you call her mommy too” he mocks and Sirius rolls his eyes

“No but you’ll be calling for yours if you talk down to my guy again” 

Sirius’ head shoots up to you, holding two waters in your hands and the cross of an amused smirk and don’t fuck with me expression on your face

“She even fights your battles for ya too? You’re a joke of a man” the man scoffs shaking his head “You know it’s a shame you dress and act like that, you could have been so pretty sweetheart” he talks down to you but you and Sirius just start laughing at them, to which they look confused

“What's so funny?” the girl asks, crossing her arms

“You smell that?” you ignore her and turn to Sirius, sniffing the air

He does the same “Yeah” he nods “The place reeks of it” he smirks up at you

“Of what?” the girl huffs like a squeak while the guy looks so pissed

“Two people insecure with the masculine and femininity” you wiggle your eyebrows, looking smug as hell and Sirius just looks at you with pride

That's my girl

“I am masculine” the man states, almost growling

“Yeah and I’m the queen of France” Sirius bites back with a laugh 

“Missy nothing you say is going to hurt us you’re only gonna make yourself look stupid” you say, cutting off the girl before she can open her mouth

“Are you going to do something?” she looks to her boyfriend “She can’t talk to me like that!”

The man just huffs and stands, half dragging his now very angry and most likely ex-girlfriend out of the pub, while you just sit down feeling more than satisfied, as does Sirius, his hand slithering behind your back the moment your beside him again

“Here pup” you hand him the water, pressing a kiss to his cheek

He takes it, clinking the glass with yours to say job well done “Thanks darlin” you both take a sip “How close were you to throwing the drinks?”

You hold up your thumb and forefinger to less a centimetre apart “Took everything not to throw the whole glass when he called me sweetie” you mock the mans stupidly low voice “No one talks down to my puppy”

Sirius’ heart flutters “I love you so much”

You turn to him “Love you more” leaning in to let your noses touch

“Not possible” he whispers before capturing them

Thank you for reading ♡

[softly-sirius]

I love thisss

Hi! I absolutely adore your writing ❤️😍 and I think you deserve the world!

Can i pretty please request a fluff luna x fem! Reader fic where they are dating and the reader is more of a tomboy-ish girl and never got to explore her more feminine side and luna helps her discover this side of her and they are all cute and fluffy with each other? ❤️❤️ Thank you for reading ❤️✨

exploration // luna lovegood

masterlist!

a/n: you’re so sweet anon! i really hope i did this request justice because i think it’s so sweet. and a disclaimer: obviously femininity means something different to everyone, so this may not be everyone’s cup of tea. i don’t even have a firm grasp on femininity, so i did my best lol. hope you enjoy! thank you anon!!

summary: Luna helps you find your feminine side

(1.6k)

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The Quidditch pitch was crawling with people. You could barely spread your arms out to your sides without hitting someone, and you shoved your way through the crowd, politeness long abandoned. 

Lessons had been called off just before lunch after explosions in each of the hallways. You could see a crowd of people around the Weasley twins, and their tall heads poked above the crowd. Their faces were bright with mischief. 

You were glad for a day off of lessons.

Everyone had decided to crowd the pitch in some sort of celebration, some people sitting in the stands doing homework while others congregated on the field to talk to their friends. You caught sight of who you were looking for.

Luna, Neville, and Ginny were underneath the goalposts, sitting in a triangle formation. Ginny was laughing loudly as Neville smiled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Luna!” you called out, jogging through the last bit of crowd and finally reaching your girlfriend. She smiled at you and waved, motioning for you to join her.

“Hey guys,” you huffed when you reached them, falling onto the ground next to Luna. 

You glanced at her, then glanced at her open palm in her lap. You slid your fingers against her palm, watching as she interlocked your hands. 

“Can you believe that explosion?” Neville said quickly, as if he was afraid someone might overhear him.

“It was quite a show,” you said, looking at Ginny with a smirk. 

She smiled widely and gave you an innocent look, to which you chuckled. 

“Do you guys have any plans for the day?” Luna’s soft voice spoke up from beside you.

“Neville and I were gonna work on Transfiguration a bit,” Ginny said, knocking her shoulder into Neville’s, “You guys are welcome to join us.”

“Y/n doesn’t need any help in Transfiguration,” Luna answered for you, smiling proudly, “she usually does my essays for me.”

Neville opened his mouth in shock and Ginny’s face twisted into disbelief.

“What? I’ve been paying a sixth year to do mine!” Ginny said, looking to you as if you had killed her owl.

“I’m sure I’d charge more,” you smirked, feeling Luna’s hands squeeze around your own as she laughed.

Luna leaned into your shoulder and breathed deeply.

“Do you think we’ll have to go back to lessons today?” Neville asked anxiously.

“Doubt it,” Ginny said, standing suddenly and dusting off the dirt from her pants, “C’mon Neville.”

Neville was standing before he knew what he was standing for. He looked questioningly at Ginny.

“Transfiguration?” she said with a quirked eyebrow, already walking off and hoping Neville could find her in a crowd. 

Luna looked up at you from behind her lashes, “Want to go to my dorm? I hate the crowds.”

You nodded, helping her up and taking her hand again. You led her through the crowd as she clung onto you like her knight in shining armor. Soon, you were climbing up the stairs to the Ravenclaw Tower.

Luna easily answered the riddled required for entrance, pulling you inside with her. You made the familiar walk to her dorm, collapsing onto her bed as she was still shutting the door. She climbed in after you, tucking into your side as you pulled her close. You laid in silence for a while, and eventually you thought Luna had fallen asleep, until her soothing voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Do you ever want me to hold you?” she sounded gentle but you could tell she had a genuine curiosity.

“I dunno,” you answered stiffly, tightening your grip around her waist as she nestled in closer to you.

“I just mean-” she started, then tilted her head up to rest on your chest and look up at you, “-you always hold me. I wondered if sometimes you wanted to be held.”

You felt your throat tighten at her kind words, feeling yourself swallow hard. Her soft and cold hand cupped your cheek as she brought your eyes to hers.

“C’mere,” she whispered, shifting you so you lay on your side and she wrapped her arms around you from behind.

You felt her heartbeat against your back, her body pushed up against the pillows so her head rested against the top of yours and your back curled against her. Her hands held your close to your chest, running her hands over your fingers.

“Better?” she whispered again, pressing her lips to your forehead.

You wordlessly nodded, feeling yourself press against her back. 

Luna was right, she hadn’t ever held you like this. Usually you held Luna. You opened doors for her and you gave her your sweaters and you took her on dates and she watched you in the stands at you played Quidditch. She hugged you when you were all sweaty and stood on the tips of her toes to push your wet hair off your face and kiss you. She scoffed at you when you filled your mouth with food at meals and she rolled her eyes jokingly when you got sucked into conversations about Quidditch with Ron and Harry. You had realized you were unknowingly playing the boyfriend. You had realized you didn’t really want to.

You wanted to be more vulnerable with Luna. You wanted to ask her for her sweaters and duck under doors when she opened them for you. You wanted her to hold you more often and you wanted to be surprised by the dates she took you on. You wanted to feel more feminine in your relationship. But it was more than that, too. You wanted the confidence to wear your school skirt more often that your pants. You wanted to be more gentle and graceful and girly.

“Luna?” you croaked out, hating how unsure you sounded when you heard it.

“Hm?” she hummed from above you, carding her fingers through your hair and pushing it off your face.

“Do you think I’m-” you didn’t know how to say it. You suddenly felt very insecure.

“What, sweetheart?” 

At the nickname, your heart swelled and you felt confident enough to ask it.

“Do you think I’m bad at being a girl?”

There was a deafening silence in the room and you could tell Luna was thinking of the right thing to say.

“Do you?” she whispered, and you wished she wouldn’t whisper because it made it all feel even more serious.

“Yes,” you heard her suck in a sharp breath and she moved from behind you.

She sat against the headboards and pulled your head into her lap.

“Why?”

You looked up at her, watching her grey eyes dance across your face with worry. You took a deep breath and blindly felt around for her hand. You held it and brought it to your chest, then tucked it under your chin and held it there, like a child cuddles a stuffed animal.

“I feel like I’m your boyfriend sometimes. Like I’m boyish.”

Luna didn’t say anything, and you felt yourself starting to unwind, so you continued.

“I feel like I do boy things and I never really learned how to be feminine. You are, like, the perfect girl. I don’t know,” you trailed off, eyes falling from Luna’s.

Her hand untucked itself from yours, cupping your cheek instead. She held it there for a second, then leaned down and pressed her forehead to yours. When she pulled back, you sat up, turning in her lap to face her.

“I’m sorry-” you began, but she was getting up and holding up a hand.

“No, stay right here.”

Luna turned her back to you and ducked into the bathroom connected to her dorm. You heard rustling and you leaned to try and see what she was doing, but could only see her back.

When she returned, she had a bright smile on her face and a handful of what looked like makeup. 

She tossed it all onto the bed, and you gazed down at it.

“Have you ever worn makeup before?”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you thought about your first and only time wearing makeup. You had seen it on TV and snuck into your mum’s room, getting red lipstick on almost all of your face and everything you owned.

You shook your head.

Luna’s smile widened and she sat back on the bed, crossing her legs as she sat in front of you.

“Can I do your makeup?” Luna sounded so sincere and hopeful that all you could do was nod.

Soon, her hands were on your face, moving swiftly and expertly as she talked. You both talked, and you told her why you had felt this way and she tried her best to reassure you as she told you all the reasons she loved you.

“You only have to be feminine if you want to,” she said, holding your jaw as she put something on your cheeks.

“I know,” you mumbled, trying to stay still.

“I love you for who you are, but you have to love you for who you are, too.”

You nodded wordlessly, trying your best to heed Luna’s advice. You knew it didn’t matter if you were good at being a girl, but it’d be nice to see what all the fuss was about.

Luna finally leaned back, looking at you with a dazed expression.

“All done,” she breathed out, sliding off the bed and gathering her things. She pulled you into the bathroom with her, telling you to close your eyes until she set everything down and stood behind you. 

You opened your eyes and her arms slid around your waist, holding her hands at your hips. You gasped a little when you saw your reflection, and then when you saw Luna’s hopeful look behind your shoulder in the mirror.

You turned so you faced her, bringing your hands to her hair. 

“You’re wonderful,” you whispered, wanting the moment to sound as sincere as you could manage, hoping the gratitude and love was in your voice. At the look on Luna’s face, you guessed she had heard it. 

[softly-sirius]

➤ UNWRITTEN | DANIEL RICCIARDO

pairing: daniel ricciardo x partner!reader

summary: you and daniel have an unwritten rule: when either of you has a bad day, you play a certain song to brighten the mood. 

or: 2 times daniel forces you to sing to 'unwritten' by natasha bedingfield, and the one time you force him to.

wc: 3.4 k

warnings: none!

➤ MASTERLIST

1. 

It starts with Daniel, a red-eye flight, and your lost luggage. You honestly don't remember what Grand Prix you were coming back from, or how long you'd been awake, but it was about 4 AM at the Sydney airport as you waited for your suitcase to come. It was eaten by the airplane, spat out over New Zealand maybe, but it wasn't at the carousel, and the longer you waited, the more delirious you felt. 

"Come on," Daniel teases as you try not to glare daggers his way. "It's one suitcase. They'll find it, return it, it's no big deal." 

"Unless they lose it forever! My favourite shoes were in there. All of your merch was in there, too." The hats, the jackets, everything you tried to cycle through the race weekend to support him. 

"I can buy you more." The radio changes from some crackling speaker above, and Daniel starts to hum along to the song as you drop your head into your hands. The attendant had told you to wait here until they got word of where it was, apparently able to trace it through some system, but it felt like you were dying. 

You were tired, you were hungry, everything hurt, the lights were too bright, and Daniel too much energy for such an early hour. Despite all those complaints, however, Daniel didn't seem too bothered. In fact, as you spare a glance up, you watch him begin to dance along to the song, the sight of which forcing you to smile, even if you really, truly, do not feel like smiling. 

"I got you." Daniel says, spinning around in a circle. "Can't be sad when I'm dancing, right?" 

"You're ridiculous." The few other people left in the airport begin to stare, but Daniel had never really cared about the eyes on him - he thrived on attention, and tonight, or you suppose this morning, was no different. 

"Staring at the blank page before you, open up the dirty window, let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find!" He sings, shimmying forward to grab your hands, pulling you to stand, and you flush as he tries to spin you around. 

His kind of happiness was infectious, but it didn't stop you from being self-conscious. "Danny, come on." 

"Release your inhibitions," The song times perfectly, Daniel singing along with it, "Feel the rain on your skin!" 

Reluctantly, you let him spin you, and he takes your hands as he pushes you back and then pulls you in, making up dance moves as he goes. He beams down at you at you finally begin to laugh, and for a moment, the lost luggage, the late night, it all disappears, because he's here holding you, dancing like no one's watching, and it's one of the many little things that made you fall for him in the first place.

Only Daniel would turn a miserable morning into a dance in the middle of an airport. "Come on, sing along!" 

"You are ridiculous!" Daniel waits, hands planted on your waist to keep you still until you listen to him. "Dancing is ridiculous enough right now." 

"Live your life with arms wide open," Daniel continues, gently squeezing your waist to try and get a reaction out of you. "Today is where your books being, the rest-" 

"Is still unwritten." You finally sing along, and Daniel dips you, happily pressing a kiss to your lips before righting you again. He cackles happily, keeping his arms wrapped around you as he then manages to sweep you off your feet, spinning you around. 

"There you go!" He finally sets you down, and you slump back into your seat with a huff. "The rest is still unwritten, so don't worry about your luggage. Live for the moment, feel the rain on your skin." 

You extend a hand to him, and he takes it, a mistaken place to put his trust. You pull him down, and he collides roughly with the bench beside you, though he doesn't stop laughing. "That's what you get for being a menace at this hour of the morning." 

"Eh, you love it." He says, and you can't argue with that, so you press a kiss to his cheek. "You can't be mad with Unwritten playing, it's just a fact." 

"Really?" Daniel nods happily, still humming along to the song, and you just shake your head. "Next time you have a bad race, I'm playing it." 

2. 

You had waited for this vacation with Daniel for forever. It was a sunny beach, far away from the world of Formula One and prying eyes, from your own work and concerns. You intended to spend the week in the sand, or at the tropical bar, and the day you arrive, it rains like nothing you've ever seen before. 

Stuck in your bungalow, you stare wistfully out the window as the second day passes, the rain letting up, but still drizzling down. It wasn't calming, wasn't relaxing, it was you, trapped in a room with Daniel. For a much lower cost, you could've done the exact thing at home, and the weather in Australia was probably that much better.

You try not to sulk as you return to your book in your lap, but with a long sigh, it seems even your moping has got the worst of Daniel, a hard task for someone who radiated sunshine wherever they went. "That's enough." He says as he stands, coming over to you. You expect him to complain or propose something for you to do, but instead, he bends down to pick you up bridal-style, and you gasp as your book topples from your hands and down onto the couch. 

"Daniel!" He marches you both over to the door of the bungalow, and out onto the beach, and you smack at his shoulder as the rain immediately begins to soak the both of you. 

"I refuse to let rain make you grumpy." He sets you down and pulls out his phone, tucking it onto the front step of the bungalow so as to not get too wet, and he cranks the volume. "So, I think it's time you felt some rain on your skin." 

"I swear-" And, sure enough, Unwritten begins to play. You stare at him in awe as he begins to dance again, throwing his arms out to spin in the rain like it wasn't the most absurd thing you've ever seen, and you decide not to wait to join in this time. You grab one of his hands and spin him yourself as he laughs heartily, that big, infectious grin spreading across his face as you move him about. 

You take the lead, pulling him in as you wrap your arms around his neck, and he easily wraps his around your waist, swaying to the song as he begins to sing. "No one else, no one else, can speak the words on your lips." He pulls you in for a kiss, and you let him, despite the rain that's getting you soaked to the bone. 

"You know, I think the airport might have been better than this." You say against his lips, and he pouts, pulling back to shake his head, spraying you with water as he does so. 

"I am on a tropical beach, in the pouring rain, with the love of my life." The admission does something strange to your heart, staring up at Daniel as the world slows, even if the rain doesn't. "Doesn't get much better than this." 

Perhaps, in a more serious moment, you'd kiss him senseless or return the sentiment, but for now, you choose to bury your face in the side of his neck as you grin. "You are such a sap." 

"Hey, I am staring at the blank page before me, opening up the dirty window, and letting the sun illuminate the words I cannot find." He parodies from the lyrics. "And I think you need to release your inhibitions and feel the rain on your skin." 

"Oh, I am feeling the rain on my skin." You pull him in for another kiss, dance moves forgotten as he presses against you, hot and heavy despite the chill that comes with the rain. Your hands glide into his hair as his head dips, gently kissing along your jaw and then down your neck. 

"No one else can feel this for you." 

"Oh, no one else better be feeling you like this." You taunt, and Daniel nips your neck teasingly as you gasp, before he finally pulls away. 

"You don't have to worry about that," He says, "I don't think anyone else would put up with things like this. I'm so lucky that you don't care." 

"I do care! I just happen to love you enough that it's going to take more than some rain and that stupid song to really get me going." Daniel seemed to know how to push all your buttons, without pushing you over the edge, the right kind of annoying and adorable that made him hard to resist, even when he was hard to be around. "Which, speaking of, my clothes and hair are ruined from this." 

"Oh yeah?" 

"Mhm. Going to need to shower and change to fix it." You say, walking back up the steps to the bungalow and lounging in the doorway. "But I'm sure you're too busy singing to help me out with that." 

"Oh hell no." He grabs his phone from the step and bounds up the stairs, happily helping you into the bungalow as he wraps his arms around your waist. "I've got some unwritten things I wouldn't mind doing with you." 

"That's what I thought." 

3. 

Things were not going well for Daniel, that much was obvious. Apparently, his seat was up for negotiations, he hadn't been on the podium in weeks, and something was wrong with the car that no one else seemed to notice. You took his word on everything, trying to support him the best you could, but some days it felt like bad luck, like a curse hanging over him. 

What was once all smiles was almost tears. What was once happy celebrations, champagne, and parties was now desperation, late nights spent working out, checking in with mechanics, doing everything he could to get it right. 

And standing in the paddock, watching him almost spin out on the monitor, you knew today wasn't any better. It was a hard thing to fathom, seeing Daniel struggle over what he loved, but there was nothing you could do from here. You couldn't magically make his car any better, couldn't give him a hug and hold him tight, like how he did on your bad days. 

You couldn't force him to dance or sing. And then, sparing a glance over to the radio, the thought strikes you that maybe, just maybe, you could make him sing. 

You could release his inhibitions, you think with a growing smile, make him feel the rain on his skin. Payback, for the airport, and the rain, but that wasn't really payback. You were giving Daniel what he'd always given you, and that was something to smile about. You're quick to move over to the radio, his race engineering offering a strange look. "Do you have anything important to tell Daniel?" You ask, and the man shakes his head. "Can I speak to him, then?" 

"I don't know if that's a good idea." He says, and one of the mechanics glances over, offering a sympathetic look. 

"It might be his last race," The mechanic says, the words ringing in your ears. "It could be a nice send-off." 

This will not be Daniel's last race, you determine as you put the headset on and adjust the mic. This is just the beginning, the ending unplanned. "Danny?" Your voice crackles over the radio, and you wait patiently for him to respond. 

"What the-" There's a brief moment of static over the headset. "Sweetheart, what are you doing on the radio?" Daniel asks, and you realize this might be recorded, broadcast out to others, but you don't care, not when the cameras turn to you, not when Daniel needs you. 

"I think you need to feel the rain on your skin." You begin with, much to the confusion of everyone, considering the clear skies, but Daniel is laughing on the other end, and you can hear the smile on his face. 

"You're an idiot! You can't be serious." He says, and you watch on the monitor as he nears another driver. 

"Oh, I'm so serious. Staring at the blank page before you-" You try not to be embarrassed, singing the opening line, but Daniel is happily finishing it for you. 

"Open up the dirty window, let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find!" His singing is not quite right, considering the power he's exerting, but it's working. He just barely manages to get a pass on the driver as you cheer, jumping up and down with your hands clasped over the headset to keep it on your head. "Reaching for something in the distance, so close you can almost taste it, release your inhibitions! What, you're not going to sing it with me any more?" 

You can't answer as you hold your breath, watching another car ahead of him spin out onto the grass. He has a chance at this, you think. A couple more positions, and he's in third. "You've got this, Danny." 

"You don't know," He grunts out, taking another corner wide. "The rest is still unwritten." 

You take off the headset and hand it back to the engineer, who stares at you as if you've grown two heads. "Long story," You try to explain, and they just offer a grin before returning to their post. You're not sure if you can look at the screen, watching him this close to his first podium in a long time, but by the time you drag your eyes back to the big screen, another car has made a pit stop, and he's ahead. 

"What was all that?" The mechanic asks, the group turning to look at you. "That his new thing now, like Carlos and Smooth Operator?" 

"Maybe?" It was your thing. It was a way to make each other smile, even when you didn't feel like it, even in the strangest of situations. "I just-" A cheer erupts from behind you, and you watch in awe as Daniel, with seconds to spare, pushes past a driver and into third place, and all hell breaks loose in the paddock. 

You're sprinting towards the parc fermé, cackling with laughter as you go, because you're never going to let him forget this. His silly little thing to cheer you up brought him to third place. He might be the driver, but Unwritten? Unwritten is what must have pushed him over. Daniel stands on top of his car when you reach the barrier, helmet off and propped on one hip as he happily raises a fist in the air. 

You don't have much time to cheer for him, however, before he spots you and is immediately rushing across the track to you, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he's kissing you, and it's sweaty and gross but it's Daniel, in third place, and you'd can't quite argue with that. "You," He says against your lips, barely heard over the crowd around you, "Are an idiot." 

"I told you I'd use that song on you when you're having a bad race." You try and smooth out his hair, but the curls have decided to point in every which direction. "Thought you could use a little pick-me-up, and it worked." 

"The song isn't what made me place third," He says, and you roll your eyes. 

"I know, it's your strength and determination as a driver-" 

"It's you." You blink at him, and he laughs softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I think I need to hire you as my engineer, get to listen to you sing to me every race." 

It's you. 

It's a simple admission, really, but it makes you blush nonetheless, trying to think of anything to say after that. Someone calls his name and Daniel turns, staring at the cameras and reporters waiting to talk to him after such a comeback, and you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. "I think you might actually lose if you do that," You tease softly, "But I'll be here whenever you need me." 

"Or whenever I need to feel the rain on my skin." He says with a dramatic wink before walking off, and all you can think is how much you love him as he begins to dance as he walks off, fully returning to belt out the lyrics as everyone looks on in confusion. 

-

-

-

+1

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" The DJ calls over the crowd, clearing the dancefloor. "It's time for the first dance, so if I could have the lovely couple make their way to the dancefloor?" 

"I hope you know how much trust I've put in you for this," You say softly as Daniel leads you to the floor, or you suppose patch of grass designated as the dancefloor. Daniel, for all the wedding planning, had very few requests, one of which being he got to pick the first dance song. Knowing Daniel, it wasn't a hard thing to give over, considering his good music taste for the most part, but it was still worrying, especially with how he hadn't stopped smiling at you. 

You suppose it's normal for a groom to smile at his partner on their wedding day, but something felt off. "And trust me, it's worth it." 

"This song is one that Daniel has loved for some time now, which I think is pretty obvious from his radios!" Those on his team laugh, and it dawns on you slowly what the song might be. "But did you know it's actually a song these two sing together, quite often?" 

"Daniel Joseph Ricciardo." You state bluntly as Unwritten starts up over the speaker, and rather than goofily spinning you around, he plants his hands on your hips as your arms wrap around his neck. "Are you serious?" 

"What, do you not like it?" Then, slightly quieter so only you hear, "Do you actually not like it? I can change it, I just thought-" 

You lean up to press a quick kiss to his lips, cutting him off before pulling back. The crowd hoots in response. "You're ridiculous," You say softly, swaying along to the beat with a growing smile. "But it's perfect." 

"Thank god," He breathes out, extending an arm to spin you around, "Thought I fucked up there for a second." 

"Reaching for something in the distance," The crowd sings in unison, a cacophony of what you can only describe as love as you find yourself back in Daniel's arms "So close you can almost taste it!" 

"This is what you've been hiding from me?" You tease, allowing yourself to not sing along for once to rather focus on his moment. 

"It's our song," Daniel states softly, "Or at least it's the song that always makes me think of you." 

It really does. Every time you hear it, all you can picture is Daniel, making a fool of himself for you. "And lost airport luggage, and rain on vacations-" 

"It makes me happy, like you make me happy." Daniel answers quietly, far more serious than you expected for this song, and his words slowly settle in your heart. "I hope you know, when you were singing that over the radio, I was so close to crying that I just had to laugh and sing along." 

"Daniel," You breathe out softly, "You never told me that." 

He tries to shrug it off, but you don't let him as you hold his stare, and he leans forward to press his forehead to yours. "Well, we're married now. Might as well start telling our secrets eventually." 

You let yourself get lost in the music for a moment, radiating all you can think of as pure joy as you hold Daniel, your stupid, wonderful, perfect husband. It's a strange thing to think, that he's yours now, but he was yours since that airport, since long before that. You were always meant to be here, dancing to some cheesy song with Daniel in your arms. 

"Live your life with arms wide open," The crowd continues, as Daniel dips you.

"Today is where our book begins," He tries to say it seriously and fails, giggling to himself before he kisses you, and you know the words he's going to say before he even pulls back. "The rest is still unwritten." 

a/n: i never watched f1 during daniel's time, and i feel like i really missed out

[softly-sirius]

What's in my bag ?

Summary : While filming a “What’s In My Bag?” video for TUMI during a dreamy shoot in Lake Como, Lando Norris proudly shares his favorite travel items: headphones, cinnamon mints, lucky charms… and a stack of Polaroids of his girlfriend.

Until one very private photo slips into the mix, and suddenly the internet sees a whole lot more than he meant to show.

Genre : suggestive, fluff, oneshot

Pairing : Lando Norris x reader

Warning : mature content, allusion to nude and sex activities

Main Masterlist

Author notes : funny and soft oneshot to bring a little bit of joy after the race of Sunday. Everyone please stay safe and if you can, stay away from social media if it gets too hard after this week-end race, love you all <3

Lake Como glistened in the soft morning light, its surface scattered with diamonds of sun as gentle waves rolled against the dock. A light breeze rustled the cypress trees lining the water’s edge, carrying with it the scent of pine and polished wood from the nearby villas. Birds chirped, water lapped, cameras clicked.

And somewhere on a private terrace above the lake, Lando Norris was trying not to sweat through his linen shirt.

“Alright, we’re rolling in three, two, one...” the cameraman’s voice faded into silence as the red light blinked on.

Lando sat back in the sleek director-style chair, a black TUMI backpack resting on his lap. He adjusted the strap, cleared his throat, and gave the camera his signature, cheeky grin.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

His voice echoed softly against the terracotta walls behind him.

“This is my TUMI backpack. I take it everywhere, especially when I’m traveling. It’s kind of like my...survival kit,” he chuckled, unzipping the top compartment. “You’ll see what I mean.”

One by one, he began pulling items out, placing them carefully on the small table beside him.

“First up: my headphones,” he said, holding up a sleek black pair. “Can’t live without these. Whether it’s music, Netflix on the plane, or zoning out in the paddock, these save me.”

He paused and smirked at the camera. “They also help when I’m pretending not to hear Oscar.”

The staff behind the camera chuckled.

“Next... passports. Plural. Yeah. I have three.” He fanned them out like a hand of cards, laughing. “I’m international, baby.”.”

He dug deeper into the backpack and pulled out a small, velvet pouch. Opening it carefully, he revealed several stone bracelets in warm earthy tones.

“My mum got me these for Christmas,” he said quietly, his tone softening. “I don’t always wear them on track days, but I keep them close. Just… makes me feel a bit more grounded.”

He placed them gently down and then brandished a small tin.

“Cinnamon mints,” he declared proudly. “For the sweet tooth. Helps with cravings. Or when you want to pretend you don’t eat like a raccoon at midnight.”

More laughter. The atmosphere was warm, friendly. Lando was in his element, somewhere between boyish and bold.

“Now we’re getting to the fun stuff.”

He pulled out a tangled mess of keychains, one shaped like a tiny McLaren helmet, another a fluffy orange pom-pom, and the last: a piece of tissue with the initials LN sewn into it.

“A fan gave me this,” he said, holding it between his fingers. “I’ve had it for years. It’s falling apart but... can’t travel without it.”

He smiled at the memory, then paused as his hand slipped into one of the deeper side pockets. His brow furrowed.

“Oh... wait,” he muttered, pulling something halfway out before immediately stuffing it back in.

He looked up at the camera, suddenly sheepish.

“Uhh...yeah. Some stuff I definitely can’t show you,” he said, grinning and scratching the back of his neck. “Let’s just say... it's better to stay protected”

The staff broke into laughter. One of the camera guys let out a dramatic “ooooohhh.”

“What?” Lando laughed, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “You never know, okay? I like to get prepared.”

Still grinning, he reached again into the bag and pulled out a small, silver disposable camera.

“This guy comes everywhere with me,” he said. “I take film photos when I travel. Stuff that’s just for me, you know? Not for Instagram. Just memories.”

He held it up with affection, then reached in again and began pulling out little mementos: a handmade skull keyring from Mexico, a folded receipt with something scribbled on the back, a broken friendship bracelet.

“I’m kind of a hoarder,” he admitted. “These are all... pieces of places. People. Moments. I like keeping them close.”

His hand brushed against something in the side pocket. A small, rubbery bottle.

He pulled it out before he registered what it was.

There was a beat.

He stared at the camera.

The bottle gleamed in the sunlight. Bright pink. Labelled clearly ' Lubricant: Strawberry flavor' .

“Oh. My god.”

He blinked, went pale, then immediately turned red.

“I...okay, that’s not, this is not...this wasn’t meant to be in here.”

He stuffed it back into the pocket, eyes wide.

The cameraman wheezed behind the lens. A staffer covered her mouth.

“I swear this is not... I didn’t pack this bag this morning!” Lando stammered. “Okay I did, but not, like, not with this interview in mind so I didn't know I had to show it.”

Lando groaned. “Can we cut that out? Please? It’s for...dry skin.”

“Oh wich part of your skin?”

He buried his face in his hands and trie to change the subject.

Still flustered, he grabbed one of his tech pouches and unzipped it, desperate to pivot.

“Oh!” he beamed. “Okay. These are my favorites.”

From the padded pouch meant for a laptop, he pulled out a neat little stack of Polaroids tied with a red ribbon. He untied them quickly, holding the first one up to the camera.

“This... is my girlfriend.”

The way he said it, like he couldn’t believe his luck, was soft, sincere.

He flipped through the pictures with reverence.

“This is her in Spain last summer. Look at this, she was trying to take a serious photo and I made a face behind her.”

He laughed.

“This is us in Monaco. Don’t ask how I convinced her to get in the pool. She hates cold water.”

Another.

“This is her sleeping. And this... this is her at breakfast, in my hoodie.”

His smile melted into something private, like a quiet sunrise behind his eyes.

“And this...”

He held up the next Polaroid to the camera without looking at it first. There was a beat. A pause.

From behind the camera, someone made a choked noise.

Lando glanced up. “What?” Then looked at the picture.

“Oh...oh, no. No, no, no...”

He yanked it back quickly, his ears flushing bright pink.

“Shit, this isn’t...this was not supposed to be in that pile.”

He stuffed it deep into the side of the bag, clutching the remaining Polaroids protectively.

“Oh my god, please can you blur it,” he groaned, covering his face. “That’s from the other pile. Like...the private-private collection.”

The entire crew burst into cackles.

“I swear to god if that makes the cut, I’m a dead man. She’s going to kill me.”

“Was that a nude?” someone asked, not even trying to hide the glee.

“I am not answering that.”

“Was it?” the assistant pressed.

“I plead the fifth,” Lando said dramatically, still red-faced. “Blur it. Blur it, please. I’m begging you. I have a career. I have a relationship.”

He tried to laugh it off, but his smile was flustered, eyes wide and nervous.

Eventually, he cleared his throat, trying to move on.

“Anyway. My phone. My wallet. You know. The boring stuff.”

But even as he listed the rest of his items, he kept glancing at the camera, haunted. Regretfully boyish. Still blushing.

“Alright. That’s what’s in my bag,” he said quickly, snapping the backpack shut. “And apparently... a reason to get murdered by my girlfriend.”

He groaned again. “Can we cut that part? Please? I swear, she’s gonna make me sleep on the balcony.”

The red light turned off.

The staff burst into applause.

“Best interview yet,” one of the directors laughed, clapping. “Gonna break the internet.”

@TUMIofficial

WHAT’S IN MY BAG with Lando Norris: Lake Como Special Catch our exclusive behind-the-scenes interview with what Lando really carries with him👀

@_user1 WAIT. Did he just… show a nude of his gf on camera?? 😭😭😭

@_user2 THE WAY HE PANICKED. omg that was NOT staged. He looked like he wanted to die 💀💀💀

@_user3 No bc I NEED to know what was on that Polaroid. Was it like artsy nude or nude-nude?

@_user4 LMFAO he had the audacity to hint at condoms, then literally WHIPPED OUT A NUDE LIKE IT’S A FAMILY VACAY SNAP 💀💀

@_user5 He carries cinnamon mints for his sweet tooth AND spicy pics of his girl?? man’s layered fr

@_user6 Not Lando Norris accidentally exposing his thirst for his gf on a sponsored ad 😭 someone check on the TUMI PR team

@_user7 Lube AND nudes of his girl?? Lando Norris is not packing for a trip. He’s packing for a weekend of sin.

@_user8 He really said: “this is her being pretty, this is her sleeping… and this is her NAKED” lmao LANDO WHYYYYY

@_user9 This man is not traveling. He’s on a mission.

@_user10 Lando really opened that bag and gave us: emotional support bracelets, cinnamon mints, protection, lube, porn. He's got range.

@_user11 “Some stuff I can’t show you” and then five minutes later accidentally shows us 😭 this man has NO filter and NO chill

@_user12 This isn’t a “what’s in my bag” this was a “what’s in normally in my bedroom drawer but I somehow take it everywhere in my backpak”

@_user13 He said “I like to be prepared” and I believe him now

@_user14 “That’s from the other pile” UM. HELLO????? THERE IS A PILE??

@_user15 Protective AND obsessed with his girl?? I need a man like Lando

@_user16 He really said “what’s in my bag?” and the answer was: horniness

Texts messages

Y/N Just watched the TUMI video 😇

Lando Oh no.

Y/N The one where my nude photo makes a guest appearance in front of 1.2 million people? 🤗

Lando BABE It was an ACCIDENT But don't worry it's blur we can't see a single thing I didn’t mean to pull that photo I meant the cute ones!! The breakfast one!! The one where you’re wearing my hoodie!!

Y/N So you show the one where i’m wearing nothing at all?

Lando I’m sweating I’m actually sweating I’m gonna get sued. by you. By TUMI. By your parents

Y/N My mum did text me She said “interesting campaign... very modern”

Lando NOOOOOOOOOOOO I’m crawling into the lake

Y/N Also “i like to be prepared”? Really? What exactly are you preparing for mid-flight with lube? 🤔

Lando Dry skin!!! I said it's for my dry skin!!!!!

Y/N Right Because when i think of skin hydratation i think of edible lubricant 🙃

Lando I’m scared to check twitter Someone called my bag “frat boy coded" They’re not wrong

Y/N You do carry condoms, lube, candy and a Polaroid of me naked in the same backpack You’re like Dora the Explorer if she was addicted to sex

Lando DORA?!?!?! 😭

Y/N “What’s in my bag?” Everything but self-control

Lando Okay, first of all, RUDE Second of all… the lube smells nice Third of all… You didn’t complain last time

Y/N Oh so now you’re doubling down??

Lando Just trying to make the best of my public humiliation Besides What’s so wrong with carrying a few... essentials? A man’s gotta travel prepared

Y/N You sound like a horny boy scout

Lando “Always be ready” is a valid motto 🙋‍♂️

Y/N Valid until you drop a bottle of lube in front of a camera crew

Lando They laughed so hard i thought someone was gonna need CPR

Y/N You’re lucky i love you And you’re lucky the nude was actually a good one

Lando Thank you 🥺 i almost show the one where you’re biting the sheet but i had... instincts

Y/N INSTINCTS???? You mean your last two brain cells had a moment of clarity

Lando Pls Do you still love me?

Y/N Debatable Might depend on whether or not you bring me almond croissants when you will come back

Lando Deal But only if you let me take a new Polaroid… One just for me to see😉

Y/N … Good luck on media day tomorrow Norris

Lando Oh no god I forgot about that

The paddock was already buzzing by the time Lando arrived, hoodie up over his head like he was trying to go incognito. Not that it helped, cameras turned as soon as he walked through the gates.

Media day.

He kept his head down, offering a few tight-lipped smiles to passing crew and journalists. He could feel the looks. The barely contained smirks. The PR team had already warned him to "expect commentary.” He hadn’t realized commentary meant the entire motorsport world was now intimately familiar with the contents of his bag.

He reached the McLaren hospitality unit and headed straight for the driver lounge.

Oscar was already there.

He looked up from his phone the second Lando walked in, and the smile started immediately.

“Morning,” Oscar said, way too casual. “Sleep well?”

Lando didn’t answer. Just dropped into the chair across from him and stared at the ceiling.

Oscar waited half a beat.

Then: “So… what’s in your bag today?”

Lando groaned, eyes closing. “No.”

“No what?” Oscar asked, blinking innocently.

“I’m not doing this with you.”

Oscar nodded slowly, tapping his phone against the table. “Right. Of course. Strict media day focus. No time for lube talk.”

Lando didn’t move but look at him shocked. “Oscar!”

“Yes?”

“I will actually fight you if you keep talking”

Oscar continued, unfazed. “I’ve learned a lot about you this week.”

“Please stop.”

“Your skincare routine. Your travel essentials.”

“It’s for my girlfriend,” Lando muttered.

Oscar nodded slowly. “Romantic.”

Lando looked at him. “I didn’t mean to show half that stuff.”

Oscar took a long sip of his water bottle, then added, deadpan: “You were really sweating.”

“I was panicking, Oscar.”

“Yeah. I noticed.”

There was a pause.

Oscar looked back down at his phone.

“I just didn’t know you were the type to carry… souvenirs.”

Lando threw his head back and groaned. “It’s private. It’s supposed to stay private.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You handed it to a camera crew.”

“I didn’t know it was that one.”

Oscar hummed. “Risky system.”

Lando covered his face. “I’m not coming out for media. Tell them I’ve combusted.”

Oscar leaned back again, shrugging. “Might be safer. Someone from Williams asked if you’re sponsored by Durex now.”

Lando didn’t respond. He was too busy trying to crawl into his chair.

Oscar gave a tiny, satisfied nod.

Then, after a beat: “At least the mints were normal.”

“Thanks,” Lando said miserably. “Really comforting.”

Oscar took another sip from his water bottle, then looked back at Lando, who was still sulking in the chair across from him, hoodie half over his face.

After a moment, Oscar spoke again. Calm. Curious.

“Okay, but... I actually have a question now.”

Lando didn’t move. “Please don’t.”

Oscar ignored him, tone completely deadpan. “What’s in the pile?”

Lando sat up slowly, blinking at him in horror. “What the hell, Oscar?”

Oscar stayed relaxed, perfectly composed. “You said it yourself. There's the normal Polaroids. And then there’s the private-private pile. So… what’s in it?”

“I am not...” Lando pointed at him, absolutely done. “...having this conversation with you.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Just curious. For science.”

Lando stood up instantly. “I’m leaving.”

Oscar shrugged. “Fair.”

Lando stormed toward the door, muttering something about changing teams, changing sports, maybe even changing names.

He was halfway out when,

“Oi!” Oscar called after him. “Don’t forget your backpack, Norris.”

Lando froze mid-step.

Oscar was already grinning.

“You left it,” he added, far too casually. “Y’know… the one with your precious things in it.”

Lando turned around like a man walking back into a crime scene, snatched the bag off the chair with one hand, and glared.

“Stop talking about it,” he muttered.

Oscar just smiled. “I’m not saying anything.”

“You are thinking them.”

Oscar leaned back, unfazed. “I’m not.”

“You’re being insufferable.”

Lando slung the bag over his shoulder and walked out without another word.

As the door shut behind him, Oscar shook his head slightly and let out a quiet laugh, just enough to himself, just loud enough for it to echo in Lando’s memory for years to come.

taglist : @bunnisplayground, @vampgege, @chocolatemooncoffee, @sashisuslover, @gold66loveblog, @carlando4, @il0vereadingstuff, @lilith-123321, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @h-rtsnana, @anonomano, @guacala, @charlotteking27, @ninass-world, @scarletwidow3000, @taetae-armyyyyy, @mynameisangeloflife, @tsuniio, @sophxxkiss, @teti-menchon0604, @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1, @adynorris, @curlylando, @rebelliousneferut, @justcharlotte, @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies, @emneedshelp, @lando-505, @yukimaniac, @sashisuslover, @f1norris04, @dustie-faerie

[softly-sirius]

could you please do a tangerine x reader fic where reader falls asleep on him mid-mission and he just short circuits and lemon is having a field DAY because he knows what’s up 🥹🥰

Nap Time on a Bullet Train ♡ | Tangerine 𖦹°

"She fell asleep on me mid-mission, and somehow... that was more dangerous than the bloody target."

pairing : Tangerine x fem!reader

summary : A mission, a nap, and one very flustered assassin. Things get complicated—in the cutest way possible.

warnings : Mild swearing (mostly from Tangerine, never directed at reader), Light violence mentioned (off-screen, mission-related), Excessive teasing from Lemon, Tangerine being emotionally constipated and down bad, Extreme fluff and mutual pining, One (1) dangerously adorable nap on an assassin. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della's note : THIS REQUEST WAS SO CUTE!!! I LOVE MAKING STRONG AND COLD MEN FLUSTER, ESPECIALLY WHEN HE IS FRUITY MAN!!! THANKS FOR REQUESTING LOVIE!!! Oh and btw, I tried giving him a British accent!!! Let me know if it's alright.

word count : 1.1k

navigation <3

banners : @/anitalenia and @/cafekitsune

The train rattled beneath your feet as you leaned your head back against the wall of the quiet carriage, your eyes fluttering with sleep. The mission was... dragging. No high-speed chases, no bullets (yet), just an annoyingly long wait-and-watch with Tangerine tapping his foot like it personally offended him to be this bored.

"Keep your eyes open, love," Tangerine muttered beside you, glancing over with that sharp, cockney bite that usually came with his impatience. "We're meant to be watchin’ for the bastard, not takin’ a bleedin’ siesta."

You hummed, eyes still closed. “I am watching. With my ears.”

"That’s not how that works."

But his voice wasn’t annoyed—not really. It was the voice of a man trying very, very hard not to sound like he was smiling. Which, he was. Smiling, that is. Just a little. Just when he looked at you.

You shifted your weight, and before he could process what was happening—you leaned fully against his shoulder. Soft. Warm. Peaceful.

And completely unconscious.

Tangerine froze.

Not like, cool secret agent “freeze and assess the threat” frozen. No. This was full-on system reboot. His hands hovered in mid-air like he wasn’t sure what to do with them anymore. His body went stiff as a damn lamppost. His breath stopped in his throat.

You were... asleep. On him.

On. Him.

His eyes darted around the carriage like someone might arrest him for being blessed too suddenly. And then—

“OH my god,” came Lemon’s voice from the next row, loud and gleeful as the devil himself. “No. Nooo. Don’t tell me.”

Tangerine looked up like he’d been caught downloading illegal files.

“Lemon—"

“You absolute bloody muppet, she’s sleeping on you like you’re a goddamn Disney prince. Look at you. You’re—you’re blushing!”

“I’m not f—blushin’, shut your mouth.”

Lemon leaned over the seat like a nosy aunt at a family reunion, watching with the widest grin known to man.

“You’re not even moving, mate. You’re terrified if you breathe too loud, she’ll wake up and realize she accidentally snuggled up to a human popsicle.”

Tangerine hissed, eyes darting to you, still soft and sweet and peaceful on his shoulder. A single strand of your hair tickled his neck. He tried not to combust.

“I swear to god, Lemon, you say one more word—”

“She trusts you, bruv. Like... actually. Emotionally. That’s deep.”

Tangerine’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “I—we’re on a bloody mission!”

“Yeah, and she’s straight-up napping on you like you’re a Tempur-Pedic. Face it, mate. You’re the safe spot.”

The safe spot.

That... that shut him up.

Lemon watched the war on Tangerine’s face play out like a drama. Soft disbelief. Panic. Awe. Immediate emotional constipation. He even saw the moment Tangerine very gently lowered his head so it rested against yours—like a shy little tilt, just barely enough to touch.

It was so stupidly tender Lemon had to physically walk away to avoid yelling.

The train rattled on. You snored. Softly. Like a sleepy kitten.

And Tangerine—lethal, short-tempered, Gucci-clad Tangerine—sat there like someone had lit a candle in his chest and he was afraid even blinking too loud might blow it out.

He didn’t move. Not even when the target showed up three cars down. Not even when Lemon returned ten minutes later with a smug smirk and two coffees.

“I took care of him,” Lemon whispered. “Figured you had your hands full.”

“Piss off.”

“You’re welcome, lover boy.”

Tangerine just stared down at you, the edges of his heart folding inward like warm pastry.

“…She’s gonna make fun of me when she wakes up, ain’t she?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

And god help him—he couldn’t wait for it.

Your eyes blinked open slowly, the rhythmic hum of the train lulling your senses. You shifted, head still warm against—

...Wait.

What was...soft, solid...and wearing cologne that probably cost more than your entire paycheck?

You lifted your head just enough to see Tangerine, completely still, staring out the window like if he acknowledged your consciousness he might combust.

“...Did I fall asleep?” you asked, voice hoarse with sleep.

Tangerine tensed like you’d just pulled a gun on him.

“No.”

You blinked.

“I’m...pretty sure I did.”

“Well. I didn’t notice,” he said, too fast, too high-pitched. “I was watchin’ the mission. The bloody train. The—window. The clouds.”

“Inside a tunnel?”

“Right. Shadows. Very tactical shadows.”

From a few seats away, Lemon let out an audible wheeze.

You turned to him suspiciously. “...Why do you look like you’ve been holding in a laugh for an hour?”

“Oh I have.” Lemon was nearly bouncing. “You should’ve seen this prick when you nodded off. I thought he’d short out like a faulty toaster.”

Tangerine shot him a look that could've curdled milk.

“Don’t. Start.”

“Wouldn’t move, wouldn’t breathe, wouldn’t blink. Like you were a baby deer or some shit.”

You turned to Tangerine, biting back a grin. “Aw. Did I break you?”

He didn’t look at you. Couldn’t. Not with the heat burning up the back of his neck. “You didn’t break me. I’m not some soft, squishy—”

“You literally didn’t move for 20 minutes.”

“That’s strategy.”

“That’s cuddling.”

Tangerine’s mouth opened.

Then closed.

Then opened again.

He looked at you like you’d just hacked into his central nervous system and changed the language settings to “Emotional Clown.”

“I’m deadly, alright? I’m not some—some—romantic bloody pillow.”

You raised a brow, pretending to consider. “You were very comfy, though. Surprisingly warm.”

“Oh my god,” Lemon gasped, clutching his chest. “She’s teasing you. You’re done.”

“I am not done!”

You smiled sweetly at him. “You’re kinda cute when you’re flustered, y’know.”

Silence.

Absolute, devastating silence.

Tangerine blinked. Once. Twice. Then stared at the floor like it had personally betrayed him.

“I need to get off this train.”

“It’s a moving train, mate,” Lemon snorted. “Nice try.”

You reached out and gently bumped Tangerine’s shoulder with your own. His eyes flicked to yours—guarded, confused, soft.

“I trust you, you know,” you said, voice low, warm. “Even if you are grumpy and dramatic and a walking cologne bottle.”

He didn’t answer at first. His jaw flexed. Then:

“…I’m not that dramatic.”

You gave him a look.

“…Alright. A bit.”

You smiled. “You’re cute when you’re pretending not to care.”

He looked at you then—really looked. And god help him, there it was: the softness, the warmth, the genuine, maddening affection in your gaze.

He sighed, finally, the tension falling off his shoulders like rain off an umbrella.

“…Don’t fall asleep on anyone else, yeah?”

“Oh?” You tilted your head. “Jealous?”

He met your eyes with a tired little smile.

“Bloody absolutely.”

Lemon groaned in the background. “I hate you both. Genuinely. From the bottom of my heart.”

You laughed—and that was the worst part. Because the moment you laughed, Tangerine knew he was completely screwed.

And god, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[softly-sirius]

You are joking me! This is so fucking cute!! Supposed to be working, but no chance am I thinking about Supply-Chain issues, gonna be daydreaming about this all day 🥰

us in another universe

summary: us in another universe until it´s us in every universe, some texts some stories

content: established relationship, soft domestic vibes, emotional drunk!lando, long-distance tenderness, mutual pining, silly metaphors, offscreen implied smut, soft angst & even softer comfort, voicemail-induced tears, lando is so in love it’s embarrassing, smau, pregnancy

word count: 2.1k + texts

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

a´s masterlist

It’s a Thursday. A quiet one.

The sun is out but lazy, casting a soft glow that makes everything look a little sleepier than it is. You’re walking home from grabbing coffee, one hand wrapped around the paper cup.

That’s when you see them.

Two cows. Big, soft, impossibly round. They’re poking their heads over a hedge like they’ve just been caught mid-gossip, and you laugh out loud—just once, just quietly. It’s such a you and Lando thing. The way one looks half-asleep and the other looks like it knows all your secrets.

You snap the photo and open your messages.

You pause on his contact photo and smile. It’s stupid, and cozy, and weirdly poetic—just like the two of you. The silence between you never feels empty. It's always filled with this: warm, familiar nonsense. Love in its goofiest, truest form.

It’s late. Too late to be awake, too early to sleep.

You’re curled up on the couch in a hoodie that still smells a little like him—clean laundry and a trace of his cologne, worn into the fabric over time. The TV’s playing something you’re not really watching. Your thumb’s on autopilot, scrolling TikTok in a slow, mindless rhythm.

Most of your feed is the usual chaos: people dancing, chaotic memes, a girl crying over a pasta recipe. And then—

You stop.

It’s a video of two otters. One is floating on its back, arms slightly spread. The other drifts beside it, belly-down, bumping gently against its side every so often. The caption reads:

“us in another universe 🦦💤” Soft piano music plays in the background. No voiceover. No edits. Just… floating.

You watch it twice. Then three times. And then you save it and swipe into your messages.

The screen glows against your chest for a few minutes more, warmth bleeding through glass and hoodie fabric, until you drift off to sleep

You wake up to your phone buzzing violently against your nightstand.

6:12 a.m.

You groan, roll over, and grab it blindly. The screen lights up with six missed calls, all from Lando. One voicemail. And a stream of texts so long you can’t see the beginning without scrolling up.

You blink the sleep from your eyes and open them. Immediately, you can tell: he’s drunk. Not tragic drunk. Not messy. Just that loose-limbed, champagne-dizzy, race-win-high version of Lando who gets emotional at hotel room lamps and texts like his thumbs forgot grammar.

You scroll up.

The typing bubble appears.

Then disappears.

Then your phone lights up.

Incoming Call

You answer without thinking, still curled in bed, the sheets tangled around your legs.

His voice comes through sleepy and low, just this side of slurred. “Baaaaby…”

You smile instantly. “Hi, you emotional drunk baby.” “I miss you. Like, a lot. Like… my heart’s doing a little sad tappy dance in my chest.” “A sad tappy dance?” “Yeah. Like… it’s happy we won but it’s mad you’re not here. I hugged my engineer and almost cried. That’s where I’m at emotionally.” “Oh no. You are gone.” “I saw the bottles and they were leaning on each other and I just—” (his voice cracks a little, then laughs softly) “—I was like, oh my god, that’s us. That’s literally us.” “You’re so stupid.” “But like… in a romantic way?” “Yeah. In the ‘I love you more than anything on earth’ kind of way.”

There’s a pause. You can hear him exhale on the other end. “I want to be home. I want to wake up and make you tea and kiss your knee for no reason.” “That’s weirdly specific.” “I love all your parts. Your knees. Your elbows. Your everything.” “You’re not gonna remember saying that.” “I’m gonna remember feeling it.”

Another pause. This one quieter. His breathing slows a little. “Three more sleeps, yeah?” “Yeah. Three more.” “I’m counting. I keep doing it wrong though. I’m very bad at math when I miss you.” “You’ll be here before you know it.” “Will you tackle me at the door?” “Absolutely.” “Good. 'Cause I need you. Like… stupid much.” “I need you too, bottle boy.” “M’gonna dream of you now.” “Do it. I’ll meet you there.”

The call lingers for a second longer before it ends—softly, quietly. You press your phone to your chest, heart full, breath steady.

Even when he's miles away, he still feels like home.

The day is slow. Grey, with a hint of rain that never really falls — just hovers, clinging to the windows like it's waiting for permission.

You're halfway through folding laundry when your hands tug one of his hoodies from the tangle of sheets. It’s soft and worn, the kind he’s had for years — navy blue, with a stretched-out cuff and that faint, comforting scent of the fabric softener he swears by. “Elite tier,” he told you once, completely serious, holding the bottle like it was vintage wine in the middle of the store.

You hug the hoodie to your chest and breathe in.

It’s been a quiet week.

Not distant — just full. The kind of full where texts get shorter and calls get postponed, not out of neglect but because life has teeth sometimes. You’ve both been busy, the sort of busy that scratches at the edges of connection without really breaking it.

You don’t feel unloved. Just… in between.

And you miss him. Not the FaceTime Lando or the string of texts between meetings or even the trackside photos he sends you with a cheeky caption. You miss the quiet of him.

The brush of his hand across your back in the kitchen. His nose, cool and nuzzling behind your ear when you brush your teeth side by side. His feet, cold and shamelessly intertwined with yours under the blanket on early mornings.

You carry the folded laundry to the bedroom, moving in autopilot, until something soft catches your eye.

The bear and the bunny.

They’re sitting right where you left them on the bed — the stuffed animals he bought you one rainy afternoon while you were out running errands. He spotted them in a shop window and dragged you inside, grinning as he picked them up with zero shame.

“This is us,” he’d said. “Obviously. You’re the bunny — all sweet and cute — and I’m the bear. A bit stupid, but loyal.”

Now they sit slightly apart, the way they shifted when you last made the bed. Without thinking, you reach out and nudge them together — bunny leaning into bear, bear tilted like it’s been standing guard all night.

It tugs at something in your chest. That quiet ache of longing.

You grab your phone and snap a photo.

You’re mid-email, half-listening to a podcast, when your phone buzzes.

Then again.

Then three times more in a row.

You frown, check the notifications.

The picture comes in just as your gate is called.

The weekend is a blur of engine roars, sun glare, press pens, and half-bitten fingernails.

The qualifying session ends late. You’re still half-hyped from his lap time, lingering around the back of the paddock, the buzz in the air clinging to your skin.

He finds you by the garages, sweat-streaked and smiling, and without a word you both start walking—holding hands.

The paddock’s mostly empty now. Quiet. The hum of distant deconstruction. You cut through the far edge of the lot when you both spot them:

Two traffic cones.

Lando stops, smirks, and looks at you like he’s about to cause a problem.

“Don’t,” you warn, already grinning.

“Oh, I’m going full conehead,” he declares, picking one up and placing it proudly on his head like a crooked crown.

You double over laughing, then pick up the second one. “Fine. But if we get yelled at, you’re doing all the explaining.”

Now you’re both wearing cones like royal headgear, giggling like actual children, wobbling toward each other in your ridiculous plastic hats.

He bumps your cone gently with his own. “This is the peak of our relationship.”

You tip yours off, toss it aside, and grab the collar of his hoodie. “Wrong. This is.”

You kiss him. Or maybe he kisses you. Either way, it’s easy—hot breath, eager mouths, the kind of kiss that builds fast, hungry from all the time apart.

His hands slide under your jacket, over your waist, warm and firm. Your arms lock around his shoulders, pulling him in until you’re chest-to-chest, his leg sliding between yours, hips pressed close.

The cones are long forgotten.

He groans softly into your mouth when you grind down against him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, lips brushing your jaw, then your ear. “We should probably—go.”

You nod without even opening your eyes, already curling your fingers in the fabric at his back.

“Yes. Yes. Let’s go.”

He grabs your hand.

You leave the cones tipped over in the gravel, like they knew they were just the opening act.

The season rolls on, race by race, month by month. Sometimes you fly out to be with him. Other times, you stay home, wrapped in your own routines, your own quiet.

It’s been a few weeks since you last saw each other. You’ve been feeling off — sluggish, tired in a way that’s not just the jet lag or the stress. Some mornings have been harder than others, and you find yourself waking up with nausea, barely able to keep anything down. But you don’t say much.

One morning, when the sun is just up and setting in streaks of pink and gold, your phone buzzes.

You put your phone down, the simple blobs still glowing softly on the screen.

Holding hands. Even through distance. Even through the quiet.

Then, that’s when the nausea kicks in again.

You sprint to the bathroom, clutching the sink, and decide right there and then—it’s time to see a doctor.

The doctor’s words still echo in your mind, soft but undeniable. You’re in shock, still processing everything. It’s weeks until Lando comes home, and the thought of holding this secret any longer feels unbearable. Tears come easily now — just thinking about it has your chest tightening.

You grab your phone, heart pounding, and dial his number. It rings. Rings. Then goes to voicemail.

You sigh, remembering how his phone is probably tucked away somewhere in the garage during the weekend. You let it go.

But you can’t wait.

You find the picture you saved earlier: two ducks and a tiny duckling nestled between them.

You send it.

Your phone rings. It’s him.

You answer immediately, voice shaky.

On the other end, you can hear the background noise—voices calling his name, the distant rush of the paddock, the buzz of people moving. But Lando doesn’t care.

His voice breaks the second he hears you.

“I’m missing a meeting right now,” he says, “but I had to call. I couldn’t wait one second longer.”

You try to hold back tears but fail.

“You’re serious?” he asks, voice cracking. “I’m going to be a dad?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Fuck I’m crying so hard,” he laughs, “I’m so happy.”

You laugh softly too, the sound breaking through the tension like sunlight.

“I’m crying too,” you whisper.

There’s a pause, filled with unspoken words and the weight of everything.

“Are you okay? How do you feel?”

You sniffle, voice trembling, “Scared. But happy. So happy.”

He breathes deeply.

“I want to be there so badly. I want to hold you.”

“I want you here,” you say, voice small.

“Soon. Soon I’ll be home and I’ll never let you go.”

You laugh through the tears.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You both just hold the call open, speaking softly about little things, the future, your hopes. His voice is a warm anchor in the storm of emotions.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you too.”

The paddock calls him again, but this time he stays on the line a moment longer, just to hear you breathe.

Lando’s voice trembles as he speaks, barely able to contain the mix of emotions flooding him.

“Feels so unreal,” you admit.

“No,” he says firmly, “it’s real. It’s us. I can’t wait to hold you both.”

You rest your forehead against the cold wall, closing your eyes, picturing him there beside you.

“I’m nervous,” you confess quietly. “But happy.”

“Me too,” he says. “We’ll do this together. Every step.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling him so close even though miles away.

“I love you.”

“I love you in every universe.”

[softly-sirius]

I love this

It's stuck — LN4 TikTok Trend

hellooo! based on this request I wrote 1,6k words not about george, not about charles, but about lando loll. like i said, i was skeptical about it, but then i watched a few videos and couldn't help myself - i needed to write something. as silly as it was.

so this is it. rushed and random, but cute and easygoing at the same time. idk. hope you enjoy it. +18 PLEASE!!!

────────────

Alone in the bathroom, you settled the phone on the counter and took a step back, making sure the camera was hidden well enough so Lando wouldn’t notice it, but not so much it wouldn’t get you both in the shot. Once happy with the result, you leaned closer to start recording and wished yourself good luck, knowing this prank had everything to go well, but also everything to go terribly as hell. 

“Lan!” you shouted, shaking your hands up and down to relieve some of the stress. “Can you come here please?!” 

“Yeah!” he shouted back. “One second babe!” 

“Now, Lando! I need you now!” 

He must’ve sensed the urgency in your voice, because he rushed across the apartment. Loudly. His feet echoing heavily as he stomped from his gaming room, through the hallway, to the bedroom.

“What?” you heard his voice, slightly out of breath, and the mere thought of him worrying that much about you was enough to curl your mouth up. “Where are you?!”

You covered your mouth to try and wipe the smile from your face, then waited as he approached the bathroom. 

“What’s wrong?” He stepped through the door with widened eyes, chest visibly going up and down underneath his black hoodie. “What happened?”

“I…” you tried, biting your nail if only to stop yourself from giving the lie away. “Sorry. I just need your help.”

“OK.” He nodded. And blinked. Hands on his hips. Tongue darting through his lips. “Sure, yeah.” Another nod. Catching his breath. “Help with what?”

“My tampon.”

“Your…”

Lando furrowed his brows. 

“What?” He flinched back and chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry. Your what now?”

“My tampon,” you repeated, dropping your hands to your stomach and fidgeting with your own fingers. “It’s stuck. I can’t get it out.”

Lando took a step back, and his eyes grew as wide as they possibly could. 

“Stuck where? Get it out from where?!” 

“What do you mean from where?!” You laughed, your voice growing just as loud as his. “It’s inside me! You know…” 

You wiggled your eyebrows and pointed discreetly between your legs, and at that, he gasped. 

“Shut up! Your tampon is inside you and you can’t get it out?!” 

“Yes!” 

He dropped his jaw. 

Looked between your legs, and up to your face. 

Then he closed his mouth.

Only to open it again.

And then close it again. 

And then he looked down to your feet, and you watched his expression change as his brain tried to put all the information together. 

“How… How is that even possible?” he murmured. 

Laughter bubbled in your chest, and you covered your mouth before glancing up to the ceiling. 

He looked adorable, to be honest, all confused while wearing his most comfortable clothes. With his curls still wet from the shower, and his cheeks slightly blushed, probably from the topic. Part of you wanted to kiss him and apologize for bringing this joke up, but also part of you wanted to know how far he was willing to go for you. So you tried to speak again, even if you didn’t really know what to say, because it was the only way to stop yourself from giving the prank away. 

“This is so embarrassing…” You sighed, then closed your eyes and focused. “I shouldn’t… I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no, no.” Lando stepped forward and placed his hands on your cheeks, forcing you to look down at him. “C’mon. It’s fine. I’m here, yeah? Just tell me what to do.” 

Shit.

“I… I don’t know!” You blinked. Twice as fast. “It’s stuck, so…” 

“So we need to get it out.”

“Um, that’s the idea,” you chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Right. How do you normally do it? When it’s not… Y’know… Stuck.”

“Normally with a string, but… Hm…” You blinked again, searching for a lie to tell. “I don’t know what happened with it this time, I mean… I tried, but… Shit, I don’t know, Lan! I’m nervous, I—”

“OK, ok.” He nodded and brushed his thumbs up and down on your cheeks. Clearly an attempt to sooth you. Or maybe to sooth himself. “We’ll figure it out. That’s ok.”

“Can you… Can you pull it out for me?”

“S—Sure.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah babe, of course.”

“Do you know how?” 

“No.” He laughed, and you laughed. “But I’ve been there before, so…”

He shrugged. 

And you frowned. Eyebrows pulling together as you took a tiny step back and pulled his hands down from your face. 

“What do you mean you’ve been there before? You’ve pulled a tampon out of whom?” 

He mirrored the confusion on your face, but it only lasted one second before he cackled.  

“Babe…” Laughing, he stepped closer again, hands reaching for your waist as he hunched slightly to look straight into your eyes. Demanding your attention. “Do I look like someone who’s done this before? I mean I’ve been there before… As in, inside you.”

“What?”

“I get my fingers inside you all the time.” He shrugged. “So it’s not like I don’t know where to go or what I’ll find or—” 

“Lando!” You shoved him away and gasped, laughter falling out your chest as you covered your mouth to hide your utter shock. “Oh my God!”

“What?!” He laughed, too. “It’s true! Even during your period. We just gotta get in the shower like we did in—”

“No!” You shook your head and launched yourself forward, cradling his face and smashing his cheeks under your palms. “Shut up, ok? Just, stop. Please just stop.”  

He laughed louder, all muffled and squished between your hands. “Why are you acting like this? It’s not like—” 

“Because,” you interrupted again, standing onto the tips of your toes and pressing your lips to his. 

Lando instantly melted, leaning down and squeezing his hands around your hips. 

Breaking into a smile, you pulled away and pecked his lips one more time, then moved your arms down his chest and around his back, enveloping him into a hug while stepping closer to snuggle your cheek against his hoodie. 

“Why do you always have to come up with something sexual?”

“Babe,” Lando chuckled, circling his own arms around your neck and leaning his own cheek onto the top of your head. “You’re asking me to help you get a tampon out of your vagina, I don’t—”

“Ugh!” You turned to hide your face against his chest and shook your head, half-laughing, half-crying at him. “Jesus Christ, I can’t have you on tiktok saying any of this, y’know.”

He froze. Arms going tense and posture going straight. 

“Tiktok?”

You sighed and nodded. And then you took a step back, tilting your chin up and meeting the confusion written all over his face. 

“You were doing so great babe, and you still are… I mean, your willingness to just help me was adorable.” You stood on your toes and kissed him, mostly because you could never miss a chance to do so. “But there’s nothing stuck inside me, don’t worry about it.”

“What?”

Another kiss.

“Sorry.” 

And another one.

“Is this,” — and then Lando kissed you — “another one of those pranks?” 

Kiss.

“Mhm.” Another kiss, the soft, wet mwah bouncing between the four walls of the bathroom. “Sorry.”

“You’re unbelievable…” he murmured around your lips, hands finding a place around your neck, fingers tangling slightly with your hair. And then he kissed you again. And again. Softer. Longer. 

Your lips curled into a smile, but you didn’t pull away from the kiss. Instead, you twisted your hands around his hoodie and pulled him closer, both of you stumbling across the bathroom as you blindly made your way towards the counter. 

“We should…” you mumbled into his mouth, one hand reaching behind you to find your phone. “The video…”

“Mhmm…” He moved his kisses to your cheek, down your jaw, and neck. 

You closed your eyes, then. Head dropping, lips parting and stomach twisting as his tongue traced a wet path on your skin. 

“Was this,” he murmured, “how the prank was supposed to go?”

You smiled at the ceiling, one hand threading his curls and resting on the back of his head as he kept tasting your neck. 

Kissing, licking, nibbling. 

So fucking good.

“Don’t think so…”

He moved closer to your ear, lips circling your sweet spot before he sucked it in. 

Your knees buckled, and the quietest gasp escaped out of your throat. 

“I say,” Lando murmured, right into your ear, “we should still try to find it…”

His hands moved down your back and to your thighs. The moment his fingers dug into your leg, you knew what he wanted, and you gave a little jump right as he hoisted you up to sit on the counter. 

You spread your legs for him to stand between them, and then you tilted your head and kissed him again. His tongue tasting your mouth with the same need and hunger he had tasted your neck one second before. 

“I think…” you murmured, breaking apart and searching for air. 

But then Lando was kissing you again. And then you were kissing him right back. And his hands were wandering all over your back, and thighs, and chest. And it was hard to keep up with your thoughts. 

“Damn…” you breathed out, fingers twisting around his curls. “My… My phone…”

He nodded, but he never broke apart. He just kept you distracted while reaching to where the phone could be. 

When he found it, and when he stopped recording, the screen faded to black. Just like everything else around you. 

And then it was just you, and him, in the bathroom. Making the most out of the very unexpected turn of events at a tiktok prank.

A tiktok prank that you would never forget, but that it would also never see the light of day.

────────────

[softly-sirius]

So incredible! The pining! God I could have read 20k of just Max pining! So well done 💖💖

You Belong With Me

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max never believed in soulmates until he met you. The only problem? You’re already dating Lando. Somewhere along the way, between late-night calls, inside jokes, and everything in between, you and Max became best friends. He tells himself it’s enough. That the friendship is worth the ache. But as your connection deepens, Max starts to wonder if maybe, just maybe, you feel it too.

Author's Note: Buckle up for 8.6k of pining and angst.💔

8.6k words / Part 1 / Masterlist

He notices you before he knows your name.

It’s a week before the start of the season and he’s already annoyed, the press commitments are piling up, the weather’s unpredictable, and his entire apartment smells faintly like engine oil because someone thought it was a good idea to drop off a suit bag soaked in the stuff.

He doesn’t want to be at the party. He shows up out of obligation, because Red Bull asked and because saying no would mean a series of passive-aggressive texts and PR headaches he doesn't have the bandwidth for right now. It’s the usual kind of thing, sleek rooftop venue, too many influencers, too few genuine smiles. He’s already decided he’s going to stay for exactly one drink, nod at the right people, dodge any cameras, and ghost before someone tries to rope him into a TikTok.

But then he sees you.

Not across the room in some cinematic, slow-motion way. No, you’re closer than that. Just a few steps away, standing on the balcony with one arm resting along the railing, backlit by soft golden light, laughing at something someone said, your hand wrapped around the stem of a wine glass. Your dress catches the breeze, and your hair’s a little messy in the most effortless kind of way. You look like summer feels, warm, untouchable, a little wild around the edges.

And Max stops walking.

Just… stops.

He doesn’t believe in that moment-freezing cliché. He’s not the poetic type. Never has been. But for a second the noise of the party dims, the chatter and music and clinking glasses fading into a kind of distant blur. It's not love at first sight, he doesn’t believe in that either but it is something. A shift. A pull in his chest that feels annoyingly real.

He finds himself staring before he even realises he’s doing it.

Not in a creepy way, at least he hopes not, but with the kind of confusion you get when you see something familiar in a stranger. He doesn’t know you. Hasn’t seen you before, but for some reason he wants to.

Really wants to.

Not because you're beautiful, though you are. It’s something else. He watches you lean in closer to your friend to whisper something, and your smile twists into something conspiratorial. Max swallows, blinking like he’s trying to reset himself.

He doesn’t approach you. Not yet, but for the first time that evening, he forgets about the press, the weather, the oil-stained suit. For the first time in a while he wants to stay.

Because you’re here. And somehow, that changes everything.

He finds himself back near the balcony ten minutes later and it’s definitely not accidental.

He’ll pretend it is if anyone asks. Pretend he just needed a breath of air, or a quieter place to check his messages, but the truth is his feet carried him here on their own. Something about you pulled him in like gravity.

You’re alone now, scrolling through your phone, glass nearly empty. He hesitates just a second, a rare pause for someone so decisive, then clears his throat gently.

“Didn’t think anyone actually came out here for the quiet.” he says, his voice smooth but a little dry, like he’s halfway between a joke and a real observation.

Your head turns at the sound of his voice. You meet his eyes, no flinch, no flicker of recognition, or maybe you do recognise him and you just don’t care.

“Just needed some air,” you reply, gesturing slightly toward the party behind you. “Those rooms start to hum after ten minutes. Felt like my brain was short-circuiting.”

He huffs a laugh and steps closer, just enough to lean on the railing beside you. He keeps his body language easy, casual. Like he’s not trying. Like he’s not thinking about this too much.

“Max,” he offers.

You glance over at him, amused. “Yeah, I know.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, more to himself than anything. “Right. Guess that was dumb.”

“I’m just messing with you,” you say, and God your smile is even better up close. “Nice to meet you Max.”

He watches you sip from your glass, eyes flicking over your features, your mouth, your fingers, the way you keep playing with your bracelet like you don’t even realise you’re doing it. You don’t seem like you’re trying to impress anyone and it’s driving him crazy in the best way.

“You here with someone?” he asks casually.

You nod, but you don’t elaborate.

There’s a beat of silence. You turn to him slightly, your eyes curious. “So... is this your thing? Lurking on balconies, trying to charm strangers?”

“Only the ones who look like they want to leave,” he shoots back, without missing a beat.

You laugh not a fake little chuckle, but a real one. It knocks something loose in his chest.

The rest of the night moves quickly after that.

You end up on a couch somewhere near the bar talking. You both bond over how awkward these events are, how no one ever really knows what to do with their hands during posed photos, how champagne always tastes better in theory than in reality. You both end up swapping stories about the worst flights you’ve taken. Your favourite drivers growing up (and no, he’s not offended he isn’t on your list).

He clutches his chest in mock betrayal. “I’m wounded.”

“You’ll survive,” you say, and you say it with that same sly smile that’s already starting to etch it’s way into his brain.

You like the same takeout spots in Monaco. You both hate olives. Neither of you remembers the last time you properly unpacked a suitcase

He hadn’t expected to laugh this much, you’re funny, sharp, witty, with that kind of dry sarcasm that’s hard to find. You tease him, and he gives it right back. Somehow the conversation twists to childhood stories, to family stuff, the weird in-between space of growing up too fast and never quite knowing if you got it right.

Then you lean in.

Not dramatically. Not flirtatiously. Just close enough to show him something on your phone a photo of your family dog, something stupid you promise will make him laugh. And it does. But he’s barely paying attention, because now he can smell you, that warm, sweet scent with a little bite underneath. He doesn’t know much about perfume, but it smells like you, and now he’s going to think about it every time he catches it again.

He doesn’t want the night to end. He doesn’t want to go back to the party. Or the press schedule. Or the hotel room that smells like engine oil. He just wants to stay in this sliver of time with you, where everything feels quiet and golden and just a little bit dangerous.

The reveal comes too late.

You’re saying goodbye. He doesn’t want to let you go yet, isn’t ready. Hasn’t even gotten your number. He’s halfway through trying to think of a not-too-obvious way to ask when someone steps in behind you, fitting into the space like they’ve always belonged there, an arm slips around your waist.

Max blinks.

Lando.

“Babe, ready to head out?”

The word babe hits harder than it should, loud and casual and completely unexpected. Max goes very still. The world doesn’t stop, but it blurs a little.

You smile up at Lando like you’ve done it a hundred times before, and Max forces something like a polite expression onto his face.

You glance back at him, there’s something like guilt in your expression, like maybe you’ve just remembered the conversation you had. “Sorry,” you say, almost wincing. “I should’ve mentioned. I bet it seems weird now that I didn’t…”

No, he thinks. You didn’t.

“Right,” Max says, forcing a nod. “Yeah. No worries.”

Lando, oblivious to the tension, gives him a quick grin. “Didn’t know you guys had met.”

Max shrugs, keeping his voice neutral. “Yeah, just talked a bit on the balcony.” He pauses then adds, “How’d you two meet?”

Lando nods like that makes sense. “Over the break actually. My sister introduced us.”

Max glances at you then, just for a second, and catches the way your gaze flicks down, like you can’t quite look at him. Or maybe he’s imagining it. Hell, he hopes he’s imagining it.

“She’s great right?” Lando adds, nudging you playfully. “Honestly, don’t know how I pulled it off.”

You roll your eyes, murmuring something under your breath that Max doesn’t catch, but your fingers curl lightly around Lando’s jacket. It’s a small gesture. Familiar. Comfortable.

And suddenly Max feels like an idiot for reading into anything earlier. For thinking you’d smiled at him differently. Like it meant something.

But it felt like something.

Lando slides his hand from your waist to your back, casually possessive in a way that makes something tighten in his chest. “Anyway, we’re gonna head out before anyone get’s a chance to tell her any embarrassing stories. You good mate?”

“Yeah,” he replies, almost too fast. “All good.”

He smiles. It feels like glass in his mouth

You don’t notice. Or maybe you do, but there’s nothing you can say that wouldn’t make it worse. Lando says something Max doesn’t catch and then the two of you turn to go, weaving through the crowd like it’s just another night.

He tells himself it’s fine. Just a good conversation. One night. A pretty girl with a quick laugh and a sharp tongue who happens to be taken. Happens to be dating Lando of all people.

It’s not like it was going anywhere anyway.

So he lets it go, or at least, he tries to.

Pushes it down. Brushes it off. Chalks it up to timing, to circumstance, to a moment that wasn’t meant to stretch past a balcony and a glass of wine.

But forgetting you is harder than it should be, because before he can catch his breath, before the memory even has a chance to fade you’re just there.

Everywhere.

Race weekends. Hospitality lounges. Dinners. Media days, even the random downtime between sessions. Always by Lando’s side, but not just as a silent plus-one. You’re involved. Engaged. Bright. Everyone around you lights up when you laugh, and Max starts to notice that he’s seeking it out.

Not on purpose. At least, that’s what he tells himself, but he catches himself doing it, scanning the motorhome crowd, the paddock, the grid. He starts recognising your laugh before he sees you. Starts hearing your voice in the blur of post-session chaos. Starts catching your eyes sometimes across the garages. Just a flicker.

That same wind-in-your-hair kind of energy that first caught him is still there, and it’s impossible to ignore. And then he hates himself a little for it.

Because it shouldn't matter.

Because you’re with someone.

Because that someone is Lando.

And because the more Max tries to shove you out of his head, the more space you seem to take up.

It gets worse after Bahrain.

He’s just won, lights to flag, clean and clinical, the kind of performance that should leave him floating and for a while it does. The podium, the champagne, the roar of the anthem humming in his chest. The adrenaline, the sweat still drying on his skin, the weight of the trophy in his hands. But now walking through the corridors the high is already starting to fade, dulled around the edges like something’s missing.

He’s still got a towel slung around his neck, his race suit unzipped to the waist, fireproofs sticking to his skin. His heart is only just slowing down. He expects silence, maybe a few staff, instead he walks into the private lounge and sees you.

You’re perched at one of the small round tables, legs crossed effortlessly, sipping from a bright-red can of something fizzy. Your sunglasses are pushed up into your hair and you’re still wearing your paddock lanyard, twirling it around your fingers in absentminded loops. Lando is beside you, hands moving fast as he talks a mile a minute and your laughing softly under your breath.

Max stops for half a second in the doorway before forcing himself to keep walking.

You glance up when you hear him, and your entire face lights up. “Congrats.”

Two syllables. One smile. That’s all it takes.

His pulse spikes harder than it did on Lap 42.

He nods, playing it cool. “Thanks.”

Lando claps him on the back. “Man’s a machine right?”

Max shrugs, offering a quick grin. “It’s a team effort.”

“Still,” you say, standing now, brushing a strand of hair from your face, it’s a simple movement, nothing special and for some reason he wants to memorise it. “You make it look easy. It’s pretty incredible.”

He meets your eyes and for a second all the noise around him disappears like it’s come to do when you're around.

“Thanks,” he says again, quieter now.

Your eyes linger on him for a beat longer than necessary before Lando throws an arm around your shoulder. You lean into his side, casual, unthinking like it’s second nature. Max swallows the bitterness that rises in the back of his throat.

He tells himself to walk away. Go shower. Get food. Do anything other than stand here watching you like he’s forgotten how to move, but instead he stays planted, towel still around his neck, pretending it’s all fine.

Pretending he doesn’t already know this season is going to be a whole lot harder than expected, and not for any reason he could have ever seen coming.

You keep ending up alone together. Not by plan, never that, but by chance, the universe tugging invisible strings.

Like in Miami when Lando disappears during a media block, caught up in a last-minute interview, and somehow Max ends up next to you under an umbrella shade, both of you half-melting in the afternoon heat, hiding from the sun.

You talk, about nothing at first, harmless stuff. What you’d cook for your last meal. Which drivers have the worst music taste. How neither of you really understand the appeal of those dystopian Netflix dating shows, but you both keep watching them anyway.

It’s easy. The kind of conversation that doesn’t feel like it’s building to anything, but still feels like something. You don’t ask him about the race or the standings or how the car feels in Sector 2. You ask him what scares him more, flying or falling. You ask him what he was like at fifteen. If he still remembers the first thing he ever wanted to be.

The topics shift easily drifting from deep to dumb in seconds like you’ve both forgotten this is supposed to be a quick conversation.

“What’s your last meal? And don’t say pasta, because I will absolutely judge you.”

He raises a brow. “You’re judging me already.”

“I’m preemptively judging you,” you clarify, eyes dancing.

He plays along. “Fine. My mum’s tomato soup.”

You gasp and coo. “That’s too wholesome. I was expecting something rich and unhinged like a raw steak with gold leaf on it.”

He smirks. “Guess I’m boring.”

“You’re not boring, Max-a-million,” you say, and it slips out like it’s been said a hundred times before.

He groans, but it’s soft. Familiar. “No. Nope. We’re not doing that.”

“Too late,” you grin.

“Falling,” he says, without thinking. Then, “But not physically. Not like… off a building or something.”

You tilt your head, curious. “Emotionally?”

He shrugs, eyes fixed on a spot in the distance. “Yeah. That kind.”

You nod, like you understand more than you should. “Same.”

“What were you like at fifteen?”

He makes a face. “Annoying. Too serious. Too fast.”

You smile. “Still fast.”

He huffs a breath. “Still serious.”

You lean your head back against the chair. “Did you always want this? Like… this this? F1?”

He glances at you, and your expression is so open, so easy, it knocks something loose in his chest.

“No,” he admits. “I wanted to be a fighter pilot when I was little.”

Your mouth quirks. “You think you can pull off aviators?”

He laughs so hard he forgets where he is. He forgets about the track, the cameras, the points, the pressure.

Somewhere in the middle of a story you’re telling something about a terrible hostel and a street performer with a kazoo. He just listens. Watches your eyes light up.

You’re not just funny. You’re brilliant. Quick-witted. Curious. Passionate in a way that sneaks up on him.

He can feel himself falling. Inch by inch.

And he knows he’s utterly, completely fucked when you call him Max-a-million again while swatting a mosquito off your leg.

He rolls his eyes like he’s offended. “Please stop saying that.”

You grin. “Can’t. Trademarked.”

It’s a very stupid nickname, some dumb inside joke you now have and he rolls his eyes, pretends to hate it, but secretly? He wants to hear you say it again. Wants it stitched into his life like it’s always belonged there.

Wants you.

But he doesn’t know what to do with that, because you’re his friend now. Lando’s girlfriend. Off-limits in the clearest, cruelest way.

So he just keeps sitting there, letting himself fall, while pretending he’s not already at the bottom.

As the season rolls on, it sneaks up on him in pieces.

You’re just there more often now. Not in any deliberate way, but like gravity keeps pulling you into the same spaces. Hospitality lounges, press paddocks, bar balconies. Somehow, he always ends up next to you.

Every time you see each other it’s like you pick up where you left off a rhythm that neither of you ever have to work at. Like you’ve known each other longer than you actually have.

He notices everything.

The way you hand him a piece of gum before FP1, no words, just a slight smirk as he takes it from your palm. The way you laugh with your whole body, unfiltered and open, and how you always lean into him when you do. The way you say his name not with awe, not with flirtation, but with this low warmth that no one else ever quite uses. “Max,” you say, softer, rounder, and every time he hears it, something in his chest tightens.

And the handshake. That dumb little handshake you made up after Imola three taps, a pinky twist, and a snap. He tried to protest it at first. Called it stupid. But now he’s the one who holds his hand out for it when you part ways in the paddock. He never forgets.

It’s your thing. Yours and his.

A friendship. That’s all it is. That’s all he keeps telling himself it is.

He doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t touch. Doesn’t cross lines.

But he thinks about you more than he should. Too often. In the quiet in-between moments after qualifying, before flights, when he’s lying in a hotel room alone with nothing but static playing on the TV. He thinks about the way your eyes find his in a crowd. The way your voice sounds when you're tired. The stupid nickname you gave him and how no one else is allowed to use it now.

It makes him feel guilty. Even though he hasn’t done a thing.

Because you’re with Lando.

Good guy. Friendly. Easy to like. Max has known him long enough to know he always means well, even when he’s immature. He treats you well enough. Laughs with you. Shows you off. You seem happy. Most of the time.

But Max sees it, or maybe he’s imaging it, he’s not sure. The way you sometimes scan a room even when Lando’s right beside you. The way your smile falters when you think no one’s looking. The way your eyes drift past Lando, past the noise and land on him, and for one stupid, selfish second, Max lets himself wonder if maybe you’re searching for him.

If maybe you feel it too.

Lando’s away, off somewhere sunny and overexposed for sponsor dinners and promo shoots, his name attached to three different press stops in forty-eight hours. Max isn’t sure which city he's even in. Maybe Barcelona. Maybe Milan.

Max is at home, alone in Monaco, the apartment quiet except for the hum of the sim rig cooling down. He’s sprawled out on his couch, feet on the coffee table, half-watching Twitch with the volume low.

It starts with a text.

Late. Casual. Random.

You ever actually beat that stupid time trial record?

Max reads the message twice before smirking, thumb already tapping out a reply. He knows exactly what you’re talking about a conversation from a few week ago, back in the hospitality lounge in Japan, where you were complaining (loudly) about how the F1 game had it out for you.

He teased you mercilessly for it. Told you the game was easy. You’d rolled your eyes and promised to prove him wrong.

Nope. Still a tragedy. Wanna coach me through it? Or just sit there and judge?

Both. Obviously.

That’s all it takes.

You join his Discord call a few minutes later. No build-up. No big deal. Just one conversation flowing into another the same way it always does with you.

That night, you play for five hours.

The conversation flows like it always does quick, easy, effortless. You talk trash, accuse each other of cheating, devolve into dumb inside jokes that wouldn’t make sense to anyone else.

You dramatically narrate your own crashes like a race engineer on the verge of a breakdown. He tells you your racing line is criminal. Time melts away. The room around him blurs. He doesn’t even realise how late it’s gotten until the first threads of dawn start filtering through his apartment windows in Monaco.

You yawn and stretch somewhere on the other end of the line. “Well, congrats. You’ve officially ruined sleep for me.”

“That was the plan,” Max replies without missing a beat.

“I feel like we just set a world record,” you say. “For how long two people can talk shit while driving in circles.”

Max lets out a soft laugh, tired, but genuine. “I think that’s called Formula One.”

From there, it becomes a pattern. Not official. Not scheduled. Just something that happens when the time is right.

Post-race Mondays. Rainy midweeks. It’s all easy, effortless, one of you sends a link, the other joins without question. You game, you talk, you lose track of time. Every time, it’s hours. Every time, it feels like five minutes.

You tease him when he loses. Call him dramatic when he blames lag. Mimic his Dutch accent when he’s trying to explain strategy, and somehow, in between the laughing and the bickering and the long silences that aren’t awkward at all you say something that hits too close. That thing about how he hides stress behind sarcasm

Something shifts in his chest. He’s not sure what.

Just that you know him already.

Too well.

The friendship cements itself in those hours. In the in-between.

He starts sending you dumb pictures of his cat sleeping in weird positions stretched out like royalty across his sim chair, paw over its face like it’s had enough of Monaco life. You text each other blurry selfies from the track and half-eaten sandwiches you regret buying. You send him screenshots of your notes app full of nonsense, half-finished grocery lists, your favourite F1 radio quotes, he doesn’t know why he cares, but he reads them all.

You FaceTime from airport terminals and hotel rooms, makeup half-on, hair in a bun, wearing mismatched socks and ranting about a guy who coughed too loud during your workout. You’re real with him. Unfiltered. Messy. Honest in a way most people aren't allowed to be around Max.

You tease him relentlessly about his toddler-style strop whenever he gets worked up mid-game, the way he throws his headset off like it personally betrayed him, the muttered swearing in Dutch, the overly dramatic sighs that echos through the mic.

“You genuinely pout,” you tell him one night, biting back a laugh. “Like actual full-lip, crossed-arms sulking.”

“I do not pout,” he mutters, but he’s already laughing.

He retaliates by poking fun at your Spotify playlists. “There are seven different versions of the same sad acoustic song,” he says. “Do you just hit shuffle and cry?”

There’s a beat of quiet before you both start laughing the kind that builds slowly, peaks, and then rolls into silence again, warm and worn-in.

There’s a day where you speak only in impressions so bad they make you wheeze-laugh into your pillow.

It shouldn’t mean anything.

It’s friendship. Simple. Safe.

But Max feels it, the shift. The pull.

This quiet, slow-burning want that sneaks up on him in quieter moments. The kind of ache that grows without asking for permission.

And then there are the harder days.

You call him when things feel heavy.

When your family’s being difficult. When your job is running you into the ground. When you’re sitting in a hotel hallway barefoot because you just need a minute. You don’t ask for advice. You just talk, and he listens steady, grounded, patient in ways he doesn’t always know how to be for himself.

And when Lando forgets a date not cruelly, just distractedly, a date buried under sponsor events and post-race press, you call Max. You don’t cry. Not at first.

You just sit on the line, voice small, and say, “It’s not even about the date. It’s the fact that I had to remind him.”

He doesn’t judge. Doesn’t rush. Just listens. Holds the silence. Lets you unravel, piece by piece, without trying to fix it. He tells you it’s okay to feel like you deserved more, because you do. He wants to tell you that if it were him, if it were ever him he’d never forget something that mattered to you.

He doesn’t offer the words he wants to, the ones caught behind his teeth. Instead he tells you it’s okay to feel hurt. That it’s not needy to want to be remembered.

He stays on the line long after you’ve stopped crying. Long after the silence settles.

He wants to be the person you can rely on. The one you reach for in the dark, because he’s your friend and he needs to be your friend. Even if it wrecks him a little more every day.

Even if every moment he’s the one you lean on, he’s reminded that he’ll never be the one you lean into.

Your friendship keeps growing. It builds in layers, steady, natural, like something that was always supposed to be there.

The more time you spend together, the more Max notices. Not just the way you make him laugh or the way your jokes land exactly the same way his brain works, but the little things. The quiet compatibilities. The instincts. How you always gravitate to the same seats, how you both hate long dinners, how your movie taste overlaps just enough to fight about it.

You get each other in a way he doesn’t get most people. But none of it changes the one thing he keeps trying not to think about.

You’re still with Lando.

You still sit in his garage, wearing one of his oversized hoodies like it’s second skin. You still wait for him after races, still kiss him behind the pits after any finish no matter what place, like you're proud… like you love him.

And Max just watches.

Always from the sidelines. Always quiet.

Pretending like it doesn’t make his chest feel too tight. Like it doesn’t twist something sharp in his gut. Like he doesn’t want to rip the seams of the universe apart just to be where Lando is.

Because he knows in that deep, frustrated, unshakeable way that he would do it differently.

He wouldn’t forget your coffee order. Wouldn’t cancel dinner because his ego was bruised. Wouldn’t scroll through his phone while you talked about your day, only half-listening, nodding at the wrong parts.

He’d see you.

All of it. The sharp, sarcastic comebacks, the stubbornness, the softness you try to hide when you're tired.

And he’d love it. He already does. But he doesn’t say any of this. He can’t.

So he drives. Focuses. Wins.

Because that’s the one thing he can control. The one part of his life that doesn’t feel completely out of reach.

And still, you’re there.

In his life. Constant conversations woven into the rhythm of his days before he even realises it.

Stupid inside jokes born from race weekends, post-session chaos, and shared hatred for overpriced hotel drinks. Quick updates, check-ins, little things like:

“Guess what I just heard in the hotel lobby? Lift jazz version of your crying-in-the-club song.”

“You looked exhausted earlier drink actual water today, not just energy drinks.”

“Have you eaten today? I have some sushi with your name on it.”

“You blinked seventeen times in that interview. Were you trying to Morse code me?”

“I always know it’s been a long day when your texts stop using punctuation.”

Then it becomes more.

Random questions that spiral. Conversations at 3 a.m. when neither of you can sleep.

Discussions about whether cereal counts as soup, or who you think would survive longer in a zombie apocalypse.

“You’d be dead in the first twenty-four hours,” he says, completely serious.

“Wow. Harsh.”

“You’d trip over a suitcase and get eaten.”

“Bold talk for someone who can’t even do his own laundry.”

“Laundry is not a survival skill.”

You send voice notes sometimes. Half-asleep ones, where your voice is soft and slower, a little hoarse from the day.

Max listens to them more than once.

His phone lights up with your name more than anyone else’s now. And he lets it. Wants it.

Texting doesn’t feel like cheating. Not really.

Even when he knows that it’s the part of his day he looks forward to most.

It starts to feel like a rhythm.

He wakes up thinking about you more often than he means to.

He trains with your voice in his ears, half-listening to a podcast you swore was brilliant, even though he swears he hates podcasts. He lets you explain some ridiculous true crime theory or read him an article in your worst newscaster voice.

He races. He wins. And if you’re not there at the track, not waiting in the garage or watching from the pit wall, he calls you after.

Not for celebration. Just because it feels wrong not to. Like gravity. Like breath.

You’re in the hospitality lobby one weekend, seated on a velvet chair, legs crossed, phone in hand, the lanyard around your neck swinging gently as you talk animatedly to someone on a voice note.

Max spots you instantly, and without thinking, without asking, he drops into the seat beside you.

No greeting. No fanfare. Just that easy kind of silence that only exists between people who don’t have to try.

He leans slightly over your shoulder, peeking at whatever video you’ve pulled up, and listens while you vent. He doesn’t catch all of it. Just the rhythm of your voice, the way it curls and softens when you realise he’s there.

Your foot ends up nudged against his thigh.

You don’t move it.

Neither does he.

It’s nothing. Really.

And it’s everything.

There are moments.

God, there are so many moments.

You watching his post-race interviews and mouthing along with him like you’ve anticipated what’s he going to say next. He catches you doing it once through the reflection of a motorhome window lips syncing in time with his words, eyes narrowed as if willing the reporters to get to the point. He smiles to himself and doesn’t say a word.

There’s the flight from Spa to Zandvoort. You’re all seated in his jet Lando across from you. You’re beside Max, curled up beneath a blanket, and somewhere over Belgium, your head tips gently against his shoulder.

Barely a touch. Barely a weight. Like you didn’t mean to. Like it just happened.

He doesn’t move.

Neither does Lando.

He just glances up once, registers it, and looks away again. And Max sits there, heart pounding, terrified to breathe too deeply in case you wake up and move.

He knows things about you now that no one else seems to remember.

Your favourite lip balm the one that smells like strawberry and always disappears from your bag.

The way you bite your thumbnail when you’re overthinking.

Which songs you skip halfway through, even though you swear they’re your favourites. How your mood shifts when the weather changes. How you always hum under your breath when you’re working on something.

He knows you.

All of you.

Better than anyone he thinks.

And that’s what makes it worse.

Because there’s nothing wrong with what’s happening.

You’re allowed to have friends outside of Lando. You’re allowed to laugh with Max. To sit beside him. To know his drink order and tell him when his hair’s a mess. Lando likes that you get along. He doesn’t question how close you and Max have become. Why would he?

It’s just friendship.

That’s what you keep telling yourselves.

Neither of you ever expected to find someone who fit you so well. Who laughed at the same things, who understood the same family pressures, who found the same stupid YouTube videos funny at 2 a.m.

The three of you hang out together all the time. It’s easy. It’s normal. It’s safe.

And Max, Max tells himself it’s just bad timing. That in another life, in another version of the world, maybe he would’ve met you first. Maybe things would’ve been different.

But that’s not the life they’re living.

You’re happy with Lando.

And Max?

He has to learn to be happy with your friendship.

To be your almost.

There’s a moment that nearly breaks him.

Barcelona.

You’re in his driver room between sessions. You’d followed him in after media, talking without really thinking, plopping down on the small sofa like you belonged there.

He’s at the edge of the treatment table, scrolling through race data on his tablet, only half-focused, because your voice is in the background and it’s oddly comforting.

You’re rambling. The heat’s gotten to you, you're talking in lazy circles, eyelids drooping, your limbs heavy with fatigue.

Then your words trail off mid-sentence, drifting into silence.

And just as your breathing starts to even out, just before you fully tip into sleep, you mumble so quietly he almost misses it.

“I like being around you. You feel safe.”

Max freezes.

Every muscle in his body locks.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just stares at the floor like it might hold the answer to whatever this is, this thing that keeps happening between you when neither of you are brave enough to name it.

All he can think as his chest tightens and his hands curl against the edge of the table, like that one sentence didn’t just knock the air from his lungs, is how badly he wishes you meant that the way he does. Because to him, safe means home.

People start to notice.

It’s subtle side glances, raised eyebrows, the occasional lingering smirk from someone in the paddock who’s paid just enough attention.

Then it’s Fernando.

After a press conference in Silverstone while Max is sipping water and half-scrolling through his phone, Fernando nudges him with his elbow, eyes gleaming with something that isn’t quite judgment, just amusement.

“That girl of Lando’s,” he says, keeping his voice low but pointed, “the one always hanging around? She’s got you wrapped around her finger huh?”

Max doesn’t look up.

Doesn’t answer.

He just shrugs, the kind of shrug that’s supposed to mean whatever but feels more like don’t ask me that.

But even as he brushes it off, he can feel it on him. Like a bruise that someone’s pressed too hard. A soreness he forgot was there until someone pointed it out.

Because the truth is, he doesn’t even know what to call you.

You’re not his. Not just a friend either, not anymore, not with the way you fill the space around him even when you’re not there.

You’ve become the middle of everything.

The person he’s always half-replying to in his head during interviews, pretending to listen while mentally saving stories to tell you later.

The laugh he waits for. The one he leans toward instinctively when he hears it across the paddock.

The name he types and deletes in his notes app when something good, or stupid, or beautiful happens and he wants no, needs to tell you first.

You’re the part of his day he never wants to end.

He catches himself staring at his phone more than he should.

Waiting for the ping. That green bubble. That small, digital flicker of your attention the one that makes his pulse trip even though he tells himself to stay calm.

Sometimes it’s something simple:

You see this meme?

Other times, it's heavier. Quieter.

I missed talking to you today.

And that one stays with him.

Long after he’s read it. Long after he’s put the phone down. It echoes like a bell rung too close to his chest.

Because what the hell is he supposed to say back?

I miss you like an ache in my chest?

I miss you like a secret?

I miss you like a man in love with someone he can’t have?

Instead, he types something safe.

I’m always here.

And hopes you can read between the lines. Hopes you hear what he’s not saying.

Because he’s loving you in silence. In stillness. In the space between every message, every look, every moment that feels like more than it should.

He’s back home during another break in the season. The sun’s setting and the windows are open, the sea a distant hush below, but none of it helps. The city lights flicker across his apartment walls and his brain won’t stop spinning.

Not about the car. Not about tire degradation or lap delta or next year’s contract.

Just you.

You, like a song stuck on loop in the back of his mind. You, filling every inch of the quiet.

His phone buzzes just after ten. A photo.

Your dog, wearing sunglasses and a crooked little smirk. The caption just says:

He gets his attitude from me.

He replies without hesitation.

Snaps a quick selfie one of the rare ones. No expression, just that deadpan, disinterested look you once claimed made him look like he was pondering the end of the world.

Two minutes later, your response lands.

That’s your sexy face, huh?

His chest tightens.

Not in that fleeting, ego-boosted way most compliments land, this one hits lower. Deeper. Where he keeps the things he never says out loud.

His fingers move before his brain catches up.

You think I’m sexy?

Sent.

The second it delivers, his stomach twists.

Too much. Too obvious. Too fast.

He locks his phone and tosses it on the couch, stands up too quickly, starts pacing, heart pounding, blood hot, regret already blooming in the back of his throat.

You leave it on read.

For two hours.

He checks the time. Then again. Then again. He thinks about calling one of his friends just to scream into the void. Thinks about throwing his phone into the sea.

He doesn’t.

But he wants to.

It’s almost midnight when his screen finally lights up again.

One line.

Don’t do that.

That’s all you say.

No emoji. No follow-up. No explanation.

Max stares at the words like they might rearrange themselves if he waits long enough.

His fingers hover over the keyboard. He types something deletes it. Types again. Backspaces. The silence stretches around him, and suddenly, the apartment feels too big. The lights too dim. The air too still.

Don’t do that.

He knows what you meant. He knows where the line is and how close he just got to crossing it.

But something about your words doesn’t feel like rejection. It feels like a warning.

Like you feel it too.

Like you’re scared of it, just as much as he is.

He sits back down slowly, phone in hand, thumb still frozen over the screen. His heart thuds painfully behind his ribs. He doesn’t reply. Not yet.

But he doesn’t turn the phone off either.

Because for the first time, in all this silence, he wonders…

Maybe I’m not alone in this.

And that thought alone is enough to undo him.

Max doesn’t love going out during the season.

He hates the noise. The cameras. The press of people pretending not to stare, the unspoken pressure to smile, but tonight is different, because you’ll be there, that’s all it takes.

One look at your name on the guest list attached to Lando’s, of course and suddenly the noise doesn’t seem so bad. Suddenly, the chaos feels worth it if it means seeing you again. Laughing with you. Even if it’s only for a moment.

Even if it hurts.

Because Max will take whatever pieces of you he can get.

Even the ones that aren’t his to keep.

It’s a sponsor party, not wild, not chaotic. Just sleek. Polished. Expensive lighting and cold champagne.

He spends longer getting ready than he wants to admit. Wears the cologne you once said smelled good. Buttons up the deep navy shirt you teased him about months ago the one you said made his shoulders look strong. He catches himself adjusting his watch in the mirror. Then rolls his eyes at his own reflection.

He tells himself not to expect anything. Buries it beneath the surface where all the other unsaid things live.

But still, something in his chest is restless.

Maybe tonight.

Maybe you’ll look at him the way he looks at you, like you already know the ending and you’re afraid of it.

You walk in twenty minutes late, effortlessly stunning in a black dress that hugs you in all the right places, and Max forgets whatever he was just talking about.

Time doesn’t stop. But it stutters.

You spot him across the room and smile not politely, not vaguely, but with that spark you always give him. Like you’re glad he’s here. Like you’re looking for him, not just seeing him.

You make your way over with a glass of something pale and sparkling in your hand. Your earrings catch the light. Your heels click like punctuation on the marble floor.

“No Lando?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

You glance over, “He’s running late.”

Max shrugs, keeping his voice light. “Guess I got lucky.”

You don’t leave his side after that.

You drift with him through the room not clinging, but constant. Your hand brushes his arm when you lean in to speak. You laugh more easily tonight. Your shoulders are looser. You're drinking more than usual not messy, just a little free.

At one point, you tilt your head and look him up and down, eyes flicking to the open collar of his shirt.

“You clean up nice,” you say, voice dipped in something warm.

Max lifts his drink, smirking. “Not too bad yourself.”

It’s just you and him, suspended in the kind of unspoken tension that’s almost worse than anything you could say out loud.

You reach for his drink, take a sip without asking, then hand it back. Your fingers graze his barely there, but it’s enough to set something inside him alight.

They linger.

And Max, God help him, lets himself believe. Just for a second.

Maybe this is finally the start of something.

But then you disappear.

For half an hour, maybe more. Long enough for the champagne to go warm in his hand. Long enough for the hope to start dissolving at the edges.

He mingles. Nods along with sponsors. Forces a smile that never quite reaches his eyes. Keeps scanning the room.

Then he sees you.

Your back is to him.

And Lando’s arms are wrapped around you.

You're standing just off the dance floor, the picture of easy affection. His mouth is at your ear and you’re laughing, head tilted, one hand curling around the edge of his jacket. It’s intimate in a way Max has no right to look at. Like you belong there. Like whatever flickered earlier was just a trick of the light.

Max freezes. Not the quiet ache he’s gotten used to. Not the slow burn of unspoken feelings. No, this is worse.

Because for one stupid, vulnerable moment, he really thought maybe.

And now?

Now he’s choking on it.

You pull back from Lando just slightly, smiling as you rest your hand on his chest. You don’t see Max across the room, but he sees everything.

And he turns away before you can.

Before you catch the way his jaw clenches so tight it hurts. Before you notice how his hand trembles as he downs the rest of his drink in one swallow, needing to dull the sharpness clawing at his ribs.

Wishing, not for something dramatic, not for a grand gesture, just for a door to close and a world where he doesn’t have to watch the person he loves choose someone else.

Later someone on his team finds him outside up on the rooftop balcony, the music’s faint up here. The noise muffled.

Max sits on the ledge, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the skyline like it might offer some kind of answer.

“What’s that face for?” They asks, voice cautious but not unkind.

He shrugs, eyes never leaving the horizon. “I don’t know. Thought I almost had something tonight.”

He doesn’t say it was you.

Doesn’t say that your laugh is still bouncing around in his skull like an echo he can’t get rid of. Doesn’t say that he saw the way you looked at him before Lando showed up.

He just stays quiet. Lets the night air settle over him. Lets the ache sit in his chest like a stone. And wonders, not for the first time, how it’s possible to be surrounded by people and still feel completely alone.

He knows the truth now. He’s utterly, irrevocably, silently in love with you.

And it’s never going to matter. Not in the way he wants it to.

It comes to a head in Monza.

The sky is impossibly blue, the air heavy with sun and sound, the track a blur of heat haze and anticipation. And you… you're radiant.

Max notices it the second he sees you.

Light dress. Sun-kissed skin. Hair down and wild like an afterthought, sunglasses perched on your head like you forgot they were there. You look like summer distilled into a person, it reminds him of the first time he saw you.

And you’re his for the day not in any official, spoken way, but in the quiet, unspoken rhythm you’ve built between you. Lando’s doing PR, media rounds that keep him off-site, and somehow, like it always seems to happen, you end up with Max.

You spend most of the afternoon in the Red Bull garage.

You’re at his side during debriefs, leaning in close as he reviews sectors. You scroll through telemetry with an almost comically serious look on your face, brow furrowed in focus, asking questions that most people wouldn’t even think to ask. The kind that make Max grin. Because you get it.

You care.

And for the first time in weeks, something cracks open in his chest, something reckless and stupid and full of hope.

She wants to be here, he thinks.

She wants to be with me.

You’re both laughing over something stupid during lunch when Alex walks past, then slows. Double-takes.

He throws a look between the two of you, not cruel, just amused, and loud enough to cut through the bubble you’ve been living in.

“Didn’t realise you were on Red Bull’s payroll now,” he says to you with a raised brow, voice too casual to be casual.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

He shrugs, smirking. “I mean, you spend more time in their garage than McLaren’s. Pretty sure Lando’s starting to look around like he lost his girlfriend.”

Max freezes.

It hits like cold water. A slap. A warning.

You laugh, light, quick, deflective. “Okay, wow. Bit dramatic.”

But Max sees it. The flicker in your expression. The way your eyes dart away. That brief, faltering pause where you’re not quite sure what to do.

Alex walks off, leaving behind the silence.

The kind that buzzes.

Like something just cracked wide open.

Because until now, no one had said anything. Not even Lando. Not about the way you and Max orbit each other like gravity. Not about the way you light up when Max is near. Not about the way he looks at you like he’s trying to memorise the moment before it’s gone.

But now it’s been said. Out loud. Witnessed.

And Max feels it.

The beginning of the end.

You’re quieter the rest of the weekend.

Shorter texts. Delayed replies. No FaceTime, not even a “can’t talk, I’m tired.” Just silence.

The next morning, you’re not there before FP3. You don’t show up after quali. You don’t come by the garage all weekend.

It’s like being cut off from oxygen.

Max tells himself not to overthink it.

But when the second race weekend goes by and your messages keep coming in cold and clipped, he feels it in his bones.

You’ve pulled away.

He doesn’t need a conversation to know it. He can feel the distance like a phantom pain.

When you finally call, it’s early. Static-filled. Rushed.

“Hey,” you say, breath catching in your throat. “Sorry… Yeah… Just trying to be more present. With Lando. I think I’ve been too wrapped up in other things.”

Other things.

You don’t name it. But he knows. He knows.

Max doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares at the floor, gripping his phone like it’s anchoring him to something that’s already slipping away.

You clear your throat. “You understand right?”

He lies.

“Yeah. Of course.”

You hang up after promising to “catch up soon.”

And Max is left alone, phone still warm in his hand, screen dark.

This is right. This is what should’ve happened months ago. It’s the mature thing. The loyal thing. You’re choosing your relationship. You’re choosing him.

But it feels like losing a limb. Like he has to relearn how to walk, talk, breathe without the constant pulse of you in his life.

The silence stretches. Days. Weeks.

You still text sometimes. Safe things. Surface things. Memes. Some media gossip.

But it’s different. There’s space between every message now. Hesitation in every word. You don’t send voice notes, you don’t call when you can’t sleep, and Max for all his stubbornness, for all his fight, doesn’t push.

He just waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Weeks later. Singapore. Hot. Noisy. Tense.

And Max is tired of pretending he’s fine. That night, Max opens your chat.

Types:

I miss you.

Deletes it.

Types again:

I wish things were different.

Deletes that too.

Stares at the blinking cursor until it fades, and closes the app without sending anything at all.

Just lies back in the dark, phone forgotten on his chest, eyes on the ceiling. Until long past midnight, just as he thinks he's finally stopped waiting

His phone lights up. Like you knew somehow that tonight was the night he needed it most. The ache he thought he was hiding so well, mirrored right back at him.

One message.

Three words.

Are you awake?

[softly-sirius]

I'm Getting Changed (Gn)

Currently On Shift: Richie, Carmen, Luca, Marcus, Fak, Sydney, Mikey.

Richie

Grins and flicks his eyes to yours

He’ll lean back in the bed, light another cig and grin.

“Oh yeah, Sweetheart? You gonna give me a show?”

Who are you to deny him

Carmen

He will leave right away.

You don’t even need to ask him to leave; he just does

You never normally announce when you’re getting dressed, so he knows what's up. 

He’s concerned because normally he’s the more reserved one. 

No matter how long you have been together, he’s respectful, so he shuts the door and waits for you to let him back in.

Once you’ve gotten changed, he’s ready to talk

He will hold your hands and ask you if you’re ok. 

Tells you that you’re beautiful

Buys you flowers to send to your office with a note waxing poetic about how beautiful you are because he’s too nervous to say it all to your face. 

Marcus

“Baby?”

“Is something wrong?”

By far, the most comforting. 

You feel kind of bad for pulling the prank. You don’t even get the chance to explain before he kisses your forehead and sways your body against his, telling you how much he loves you.

Will leave notes on all the mirrors around the house the next morning that say stuff like, ‘Hi beautiful, ' 

Luca

You plan to tell him. Giggling at the videos on the phone. 

You wait for him to get home,  but as soon as he gets into the bedroom he’s pulling his shirt off, all sweaty from service.

Your mouth is hanging open, and you just cannot look away; you feel indecent just watching.

“Do you mind, I’m getting changed,” He’d tease, smirking at you like the heathen he is

You look away, feeling chastised. 

Then, when trying to stand up, your eyes are too preoccupied following the movement of his back muscles, so you get all twisted up and fall face-first to the floor.

He’d laugh like a jerk while helping you off the floor.

“Do I need to leave?” He’d laugh, feeling the heat of your cheeks in his palms.

It's not the way you planned the prank to go, but you certainly don’t mind the view.

Fak

“Can I watch?” 

Who are you to deny him when he’s looking at you like Christmas has come early?

He ends up covered in your discarded clothes 

He loves every second of it

Buys you flowers tomorrow as a thank you

Will tell Richie & Mikey about it at work, maybe they can watch next time

Sydney

Opens up her wardrobe, surveying the options. 

She’s picking out options for you before you can even finish your sentence.

When you try to ask her to leave, she keeps cutting you off. 

“I need you to-”

“I know, looking at them, they don’t go together, but trust me, they do,” She insists, pushing a pair of hangers into your arms. 

“Babe, I can’t-”

“You can so pull this off, you could wear anything”

Prank foiled, but she was right, you did pull the outfit off. 

Mikey

At first, he would be teasing you. 

“Yeah, Baby, go right ahead”

Watching you with his arms stretched above his head all cocky

If you ask him again, though, he will get serious about it

He refuses to leave until you tell him what it’s about

He’ll man-handle you onto his lap and hold your chin with his finger and thumb to make you look at him

When you reveal it’s a TikTok, he makes you strip right there on his lap as an apology

Still Hungry? Here is our Menu

[softly-sirius]

"Somebody point me to the best ass-eater" trend with The Bear staff??

(I apologize if the grammar is wrong☠)

Hi Anon :)

I love writing requests, and no need to apologise, the grammar is perfect. I'm just not familiar with this trend, maybe you could send a link to a video my way so I can write it for you?

[softly-sirius]

This is the bi-sexual dream right here

hi lovely! could i please request poly jily and lipstick and a split lip! love you and your writing ❤️❤️

Thanks angel!

cw: brief mention of blood

poly!Jily x fem!reader ♡ 837 words

You’re all three bundled in your coats as you walk home, the nights still cold despite the warming days and the fair bit of alcohol in each of you. James is teasing Lily for her decision to wear a skirt in between offerings of his coat. 

“Mine works just as well as yours,” she insists, shivering. 

“No, but mine’s longer is the point. You’ve got those poor lovely legs completely exposed to the elements.” 

Lily gives him a wry (loving) look. Her legs are somewhat shorter than James’, but somehow she manages to walk so doggedly you’re both hurrying to keep up. “You really want me to stop so we can switch coats. That’s what you think I should do.” 

“I’d never tell you what to do,” James says automatically. You grin; your boyfriend is a smart man. “I’m only saying that while you look beautiful, you also look cold, and perhaps my longer coat could help with that.” 

“We’re almost home,” you point out. Your partners have managed to bicker entertainingly most of the way back from Marlene’s party. You’re within a couple blocks of your flat now. 

It’s a relief. The evening has been fun, but you don’t know a one of James’ friends that doesn’t make big to-do out of their birthday; between the getting dressed up, the dinner, and then the party itself at Marlene’s place, you’re very eager to get back to your own home, where your face wash and lip balm and your very warm comforter live. 

James takes you in. Your quick strides, head lowered against the wind, both arms crossed over your (unfortunately rather thin) coat. You and Lily have been luckless companions in your underestimation of the weather. 

“You look cold,” observes James. 

“I bet you say that to all your girlfriends.” 

He laughs. “Here, angel, take my coat.” 

“I don’t want your coat.” You swerve out of his reach, though he’s already taking it off. “Really, James, we’re nearly there.” 

“Yours is awful!”

“Why do you want to be rid of your coat so badly?” Lily asks, fishing out the key to your flat as you near the steps. 

“I’m trying to be chivalrous! Why will nobody have my coat?” 

“Chauvinist,” you quip. 

“All I’m offering is a decent coat, and of course I get cruelty in return.” 

“You think your coat must be so much better than either of ours, hm?” 

“It is! Yours is too short and yours is too thin.” Lily smiles as she unlocks the door, clearly enjoying watching you rile James. He throws up his hands. “I won’t be gaslit.” 

“You really think it’s your coat, or is it just that your oh-so-superior man body is keeping you warm?” 

James pushes you through the door to your flat as soon as it’s open, playfully rough. It’s unusual enough to startle a giggle out of you as you back away from him. “I’ll show you what my man body is good for,” he promises. 

You nearly trip over your own feet, laughing while James backs you down the hall until your thighs hit the edge of your bed. You hear Lily bolt the door. Her footsteps follow at an easier pace, but James is already ravaging you. 

“It’s not—chivalrous—” you manage between kisses, “if you’re only offering to—to—” 

“No, go on, finish.” James links his fingers through yours, kissing repeatedly at your top lip as you fight to contain your smile. “I wanna hear your thoughts on how sexist I am for—oh. Ouch.” 

For a moment you think you’ve hurt him somehow. You let your head fall back against the mattress, looking him over worriedly. It doesn’t occur to you that the ouch was in sympathy. 

“Sorry, lovie.” James sets his thumb to your lower lip. You recall why you’d been so desperate for chapstick a few minutes ago.  

“What did you do?” asks Lily, half weary and half fond. She’s well accustomed to the outcomes of you and James’ play fights. When she leans around him to see, her pretty features pull into a frown. “Oh,” she coos. 

It’s altogether too much concern for a split lip. “It’s fine.” You touch the origin of the sting, finding only a bit of blood on your fingertip. “Don’t be sorry.”

“This is what happens when I make you smile too hard,” James says mournfully. 

It makes you smile again. Both your partners tut at you for it. 

“Let’s keep the damage to a minimum,” Lily chides him, though she’s smiling too. She cups your cheek as you sit up, inspecting your lip. “It’s sort of hard to tell with your lipstick,” she says. “You look so lovely, sweetheart, but maybe it’s time to switch it out for some lip balm?” 

“Yeah,” you agree. Lily follows you into the bathroom. 

“Oh, is it time for the face washes?” James asks eagerly, getting up too.

“You’re not allowed to help anymore,” Lily reminds him. “You waste too much product.” 

“I know, just let me watch, yeah?” 

[softly-sirius]

I know you don't even really write for Evan that much, but every time you do, I sink deeper and deeper into my Evan pit 😍🥰

Hi Elle! Congratulations on 7k! Please can i request roulette number 54 from the domestic list with Evan 💕 love your work

well how can I say no to this? thanks for playing!

Evan Rosier x gn!reader who beats him at boardgames [547 words]

CW: ⁵⁴⁾ boardgames, Evan is a sore loser, fluff

“Babe-”

“Don’t babe me.” Evan huffs; arms crossed indignantly as he keeps his gaze on the window instead of your pleading yet fondly exasperated face. 

“-don’t be mad.” You continue.

“M’not mad.” He argues with a flippant shrug of one shoulder, though the way he sucks his teeth says otherwise. 

“You’re not mad?” You drawl. 

“Nope.” He insists with a pop of the p. 

“If you’re not mad then what the hell is all this?” You ask, gesturing vaguely at his current petulant posture. 

“It’s disappointment, Y/N. I am disappointed.” 

“Babe-”

“Don’t babe me! You left me in squalor.” He hisses, finally turning to look at you with an expression of pure and utter betrayal. You fight against an eye roll. 

“Evan, it was Monopoly.” You deadpan. 

“It was the principle, poppet.” He argues. “You think you know someone, and then they take you for all your worth!” 

“Do you not think this is a little bit of an overreaction to a board game designed for ages eight and up?” You ask. Evan’s jaw ticks. 

“No.”

“M’kay.” You relent with a sigh, moving from where you’re sitting on the couch to kneel at Evan’s feet where he’s pouting in his chair. “What if I said I was really, really sorry then?”

Evan looks to be fighting the urge to relent. 

“No? Not good enough? Do you want to play another round? I-”

“Like hell I’m playing Monopoly with you again.” He spits, earning him another sigh.

“Alright, is there a different game you want to play then?”

Evan seems to consider your offer for a moment before a downright devious grin spreads across his face. 

This sees the two of you back at the scene of the crime (sitting at the kitchen table) whilst Evan expertly shuffles a deck of cards not unlike a professional dealer at a high end casino as he smiles wickedly at you. 

…

“Evan, please. I said I was sorry!” You call as you follow after Evan down the hall towards your bedroom where he shuts himself in the ensuite bathroom. 

“I can’t even look at you right now.”

“We didn’t even play for real money, Ev. Come on.” You groan as you fall back, spread eagle on your bed. 

“I thought you said you had never played before!” Comes his muffled complaint from behind the bathroom door.

“I haven’t!” You reply, waiting for a response but getting nothing. “Beginners luck?”

That earns you an unintelligible grumble. 

“Alright, alright. No more games; what if I brought you out for dinner, hm? A nice fancy one at that new restaurant.” You offer.

There are a few beats of silence before the bathroom door opens enough for Evan’s head to pop out, causing you to sit up on the edge of the bed.

“What about I take you out for a fancy dinner at that new restaurant?” He bargains.

“Would that make you feel better?” You smile, tilting your head in the way that has Evan sighing in surrender and opening the door a touch wider. 

“Quite.”

“Deal.” You agree quickly. 

Board game debacles forgotten, Evan moves on to calling the restaurant to reserve a table as he sifts through your shared closet, holding up different options for you as he does.

[softly-sirius]

Stfu this is so cool!! They look so effortlessly cool. The colours and lighting on this 😍😍😍😍

the valkyries: lily, pandora, dorcas, andromeda

[softly-sirius]

Dead. Deceased. This fic is so sweet i cannot take it. Someone please spread my ashes somewhere nice.

hi Elle I had this idea and I wanted to share if u would be willing to write it! But what about Sirius meeting single mom reader? Like May be he meets her at a cafe and is taken with her and her cute kid? Idk Sirius seems like not the obvious choice ya know like we know James would thrive with a kid and Sirius would too but like not the same super obvious way if u know what I mean? So I feel like it makes the fic interesting (in a unique Sirius wouldn't have pegged himself as a man with kids but now here's this super cute girl with her lil adorable son/daughter)

I agree! thanks for your request, and for your patience!! <3

Sirius Black x single mum!reader who Sirius finally meets [2k words]

CW: kid fic, fem!reader, Sirius is smitten, Sirius wears a ridiculous outfit but we all know he still managed to make it look punk rock, fluff

Sirius emerges from the hall with a five-year-old Harry propped up on his hip when he halts at the disbelieving look on Lily’s face.

“What?”

“What on earth are you wearing?” She all but snickers, her auburn brows jumping higher on her forehead when he protectively shifts so that Harry is shielded with his body. 

“I will have you know that my wonderful, darling godson helped dress me today, Red, so I want you to tread very lightly.”

His heat was correctly understood as playful when Lily let out a bright burst of laughter. “Pads… You’re wearing two different coloured converse sneakers, a Spiderman t-shirt, and a macaroni necklace.”

Sirius scoffs at the obvious. “Erm, yeah, I’m going on a date.” 

“Is that my shirt?” James asks as he walks into the room, pausing in his sifting through the mail to size Sirius up. “You know what? That’s fine; it looks good on you.”

“Thank you, Jamie.” Sirius lets out theatrically, winking at Lily who merely rolls her eyes in response.

“Are you nervous?” 

The question comes from Lily in regards to his upcoming date. Sirius had met you at a club one night where the two of you spent the majority of the evening eye fucking each other, bantering, and dancing before finally exchanging phone numbers. 

He never even had a chance to wait his customary 18 hours to text you before he was running into you – almost literally – at a cafe the following morning. He had been there for his – also customary – hangover espresso, and you had been there for a pick-me-up and a cake pop for your four-year-old daughter. 

You flustered briefly when Sirius caught you by the elbow and made a blatant innuendo in greeting, and then you turned a beautiful shade of bashful when a quiet “mummy” was called from a few tables over; your daughter having been put in charge of finding a table as you collected your order.

Sirius could tell you were about ready to dive into a series of apologies at having not mentioned her last night, but Sirius understood, and as much as it surprised him, the cute little girl sitting at the table in wait for you didn’t hinder his attraction to you. If anything, it made you even hotter. 

To hell with his 18 hours, he asked you for a date right then and there. 

The two of you have been seeing each other for nearly nine months now – if anyone asks if Sirius is counting, no he isn’t – and you told him you were finally ready to introduce him to your daughter, April. 

Sirius was ready, too.

Mostly. 

“Well I was nervous,” Sirius offers with faux nonchalance as he takes Harry into his hands and gently tosses him up in the air before lowering him to the ground, “but then Haz helped me get ready and now I’m right as rain.”

“You’ll do great, Pads.” James tells him confidently; a beaming smile on his face as he claps Sirius on the shoulder. “You always do.” 

Sirius is itching for a cigarette as he waits for the two of you near the park, refraining when he remembers the way Harry’s nose scrunches up in distaste when he hugs his godfather after he comes inside from smoking. He’s on his 46th pace between two park benches when he catches sight of you – beautiful and ethereal as always – smiling at him with a little girl trotting alongside you attached to your hand.

Any nerves he feels simply vanishes as he returns your bashful smile tenfold. 

“Hi doll.” He greets, pulling you into a polite side hug and pressing a quick, barely there, kiss to the corner of your mouth before he’s bending down to April’s height. 

“April, love, this is Sirius, the one I was telling you about? And Sirius, this is my little girl, April.” 

“Hullo, April.” Sirius murmurs, feeling almost embarrassingly close to tears for some unknown reason as he smiles at your mini doppelganger. “It’s very nice to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you and have been so excited to meet you.” 

April, for her part, leans further into your side and brings her thumb up to her mouth as she gives Sirius a once over. A shy thing, you had warned him; perhaps not unlike her mum. 

“What do you say, hun? Think we can spend some time at the park with Sirius?”

Sirius can tell April’s still wary, but she has the grace to nod her head yes and the three of you set on down the gravel path towards a playground – April’s favourite, apparently – as she walks between the two of you.

“Sirius, I’m sorry, but…what are you wearing?” You finally ask; Sirius falters in his steps as he angles his body to look at you in faux affliction, a hand rising to clutch his pearls macaroni necklace. 

“What are you saying? Do you not like my outfit?”

“I love your outfit.” You correct quickly around a giggle. “It’s a great outfit, but, well, your shoes don’t match.”

Sirius makes a show of looking down at his own feet as though he may not have noticed that one of his converse was red and the other blue, smiling to himself when a small giggle leaves April. 

“My best friend and five-year-old godson Harry dressed me, doll. Should I tell him you questioned his design choices?” 

You gasp theatrically, earning even more giggles from your daughter, and the two of you share a smile over the top of her head. 

“No, of course not. You can tell Harry that I think he did a wonderful job.” 

The three of you spend the afternoon pointing out the best trees in the park for climbing, checking out the various playgrounds, and taking turns pushing April on the swings. You try to convince April that Sirius is a master pusher, and whilst she does allow Sirius a few chances to push, she doesn't seem too inclined to agree. 

No matter, Sirius plans to have her know he is by far the superior pusher in no time. 

The two of you are spotting April on the monkey bars when she decides she’s thirsty.

“Yeah?” You confirm, peering over at a cafe just across the street. “Do you want me to go get you juice?”

“I can get it.” Sirius offers quickly, but you’re looking at April when you place a hand on his wrist. 

“What do you think, April? Think you can wait here with Sirius whilst I go buy us some drinks?” 

April looks conflicted, eyes darting between you and Sirius as she weighs out her want of juice and her shyness around Sirius. Sirius tries to smile as un-intimidatingly as possible.

The choice was hers.

“Okay.” April offers cautiously, and Sirius puffs with pride as you bend to press a pleased kiss to her forehead. 

“Do you want anything, Sirius?” You ask, brushing an affectionate finger along his jaw; his cheeks hurt from the strength of his smile. 

“I wouldn’t mind a juice too, if that’s alright.”

“Of course.” 

But you’re no sooner gone that Sirius finds himself perhaps a bit out of his comfort zone; April appears a touch uncomfortable as she tracks all of your movements until you disappear inside the cafe, gaze falling to the ground beneath her shoes when she can’t bring herself to look at Sirius. 

Shit. 

Sirius is just racking his brain for things he does with Harry to save them all from a stage five meltdown when a large, black and brown dog comes bounding up to the two of them – donned in a collar but without a lead – as he sits politely in front of April, clearly waiting to be pat.

The little girl nearly scrambles backwards before she’s bumping into Sirius’ legs, turning her body so that she’s hugging his thigh. 

Though Sirius doesn’t like that your daughter is scared, he smiles at his clear opportunity for an in. 

“Hey there,” Sirius greets the dog, bending down and fitting April protectively in the space between his legs as she curls into his shoulder, still warily eyeing the dog. 

“Oh I’m so sorry.” A white-haired gentleman calls out, hobbling over slowly with a cane in one hand and a lead in the other. “He usually stays beside me on our walks, but he loves children.” 

Sirius smiles at the man before he turns to April, heart overflowing at the way the little girl's hands are fisting his pilfered Spiderman t-shirt. 

“What’s his name?”

“Fawkes.” The man offers from a distance, pausing to dump a dog bag in the bin when he realises Sirius isn’t upset. 

“Hullo, Fawkes.” Sirius offers brightly, causing the dog to let out a happy bark. April jumps slightly and sinks further into Sirius’ side. Sirius holds his own hand out to the dog who offers it a sniff, a lick, and then a handshake of his own which has Sirius laughing before he offers the canine a pet on the head. “What a polite boy. Do you like dogs, April?” 

April offers a noncommittal movement with her head as she tries to hide her obvious intrigue in the large beast. 

“He seems like a brilliant dog, and apparently loves kids! I think he might have come all the way over here just to say hi to you.” Sirius explains, offering the man a wink when he makes it up to the two of them and hooks the lead to Fawkes’ collar. “Would you like to pet him before they continue on their walk?” 

April’s eyes flicker up to the gentleman’s before looking back down at the dog. 

“I can help, if you’d like to try.” Sirius offers again, and April braves herself before nodding her head yes. 

“Brave girl! Alright, hold out your hand in a fist, just like this; atta girl. Let him give you a sniff.” Sirius narrates as Fawkes does just that before excitedly licking Aprils’ hand, earning him some quiet squeals of laughter. “Brilliant, April! Alright, now a word to the wise; the ears are always the softest part of a dog, and most like to be pat just behind them, like this.”

Sirius demonstrates and they both laugh as the dog leans appreciatively into the pets. “Would you like to try next?”

April nods and holds out her hand, though she places it into Sirius’ much larger one, and he feels embarrassingly close to tears for the second time today before he’s pushing past the onslaught of emotions to guide her hands to Fawkes’ head. 

The dog reacts in much the same way, leaning into Sirius and April’s joined hands as they scritch his ear before the dog is licking the girl's wrist and wagging his tail again. 

“Isn’t that nice, Fawkes?” His owner says, a twinkle in his eye as he smiles at Sirius and April. “Let’s let them get on with their day now, shall we? We should get on with ours, too.” 

April and Sirius spend a few moments waving goodbye to Fawkes and his owner as they carry along on their walk before Sirius feels a familiar presence to his right.

He turns to find you standing a few feet away, apparently having watched the entire interaction. Despite the fact that your hands are full with two bottles of juice and a small coffee cup, you have one arm raised to cover your mouth with your wrist as your eyes swim with obvious happy tears. 

Sirius offers you a watery smile right back – as April devotes her attention to the man and Fawkes now pausing to sniff at a park bench – as he pulls your daughter in tighter, understanding why it was important to wait for him to meet her but simultaneously wishing the three of you had done this way sooner. 

Sirius is in love times two.

[softly-sirius]

Carina the woman-lover, would you please indulge us by arguing for prompt A17 "a steamed-up bathroom mirror" with Miss Lily Evans?

hello?? this is the only way i will be addressed from now on, thank you for that darling! i made this a shower door instead of a mirror, hope you don't mind:,)

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i will ARGUE for prompt 17 "a steamed-up bathroom mirror" with lily evans

carina's 2k celebration

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cw: gn!reader, use of y/n, non-sexual nudity, marriage, happily ever after domestic vibes, lily is shorter than you because my lily hc is that she is shorter than everyone

wc: 761

There was once a time where you were genuinely concerned that you might fall out of love with Lily Evans after graduation.

The voices around you had gotten in your head, explaining that Hogwarts romances were limited to the walls of the castle, that it was the intrigue of proximity, of different houses, of Hogsmeade getaways that kept you tied together. Lily was your best friend before you ever got the courage to ask her out, and the thought of losing that made you lose sleep more than once. The amount of nights you had spent in the Astronomy Tower was, pardon the pun, astronomical – but at least it got you a new friend in the elusive Regulus Black who also frequented the tower at night. 

Despite nothing in your relationship suggesting trouble on the horizon, you were biting the skin off your nail beds in your final weeks at Hogwarts. What you had was so beautiful, so it must surely be fragile too, right?

Now you were brushing your teeth in your shared bathroom with Lily in the shower, laughing at the thought of it.

Your love was no less fragile than the walls of the flat you rented together after Hogwarts, the same one you were still happily living in years after. Lily had a full time position as a potionologist through the Ministry, developing methods of introducing lifesaving healing magic to muggle children without breaking the Statute of Secrecy. She was every bit the powerhouse of a woman you knew her to be when you fell in love. You thrived in your own dream occupation with Lily cheering you on as equal parts best friend and partner. 

Just outside your bathroom you had the Floo Network set up in your fireplace that connected to the flat Mary, Marlene and Dorcas shared, Remus and Sirius’ home and Potter Manor where James now lived with Regulus.

Oddly enough, your little family never was torn apart. After all the tragedies and pains, it became such a beautiful life.

You spit out the toothpaste in the sink one final time before rinsing your toothbrush and looking up in the mirror. Only then did you realise you were smiling, which in turn made you smile harder.

You heard a squeaking sound over your shoulder and turned around to see Lily wiping away some of the fog on the shower glass door to catch a glimpse of you. Her hands were in her hair, white shampoo coursing through red hair. 

“What are we smiling about? Have you had your coffee already?” She called loudly over the water, teasing laughter following her words.

You stuck your tongue out at her as you leaned back against the counter to work on your own hair. “Can’t I just be content, Evans?”

She hummed as if she was considering it. “Not for as long as you call me by the wrong name.”

Your grin hurt your cheeks. “My apologies, Lily Evans-L/N, it will never happen again.”

The glass was already almost entirely fogged up again, Lily becoming a distorted figure through the haze, but you caught her smile and heard her laugh over the thundering water. You could just barely see the splatter of freckles across her milky back, your fingers aching to stay home and count them all day.

You took a moment to look at her, to breathe in the smell of your hair products mixing with her body wash in the humid air, the makings of a home.

The squeaking sound came once more as Lily’s pointer finger came up to draw a rather large heart near the top of the shower door. Within it, she drew her and your initials on each side of a plus sign. Beneath it, she wrote your wedding date. You could find the remnants of that heart after each shower she took, a well-ingrained ritual.

It was a beautiful, domestic sight – just like the woman enjoying her morning while rubbing her love in your face.

“That’s it,” you murmured under your breath before walking over and cracking the shower door open.

Lily shrieked a laugh as you opened it, pretending to hide away behind the stream of water from the shower head. Luckily, you had yet to get properly dressed and didn’t care if your bathrobe got wet as you reached out for her cheek. You had finished fixing your face for the day, but you didn’t mind messing it up one bit as you brought her in across the water stream for a sweet and searing kiss.

Her lips moulded perfectly against yours, not any less than they did at Hogwarts – perhaps even more so.

Lily hummed against your lips, smile widening beneath your affection. “I love you,” she whispered, careful to place her hands on the shower door for leverage and not on you. 

You looked down at her with nothing short of a lovestruck expression. “And I love you, you little minx.” 

Another kiss, as loving as it was wet. 

You couldn’t really ask for a better way to start your day.

[softly-sirius]

I know this piece isn't about her...but god am i obsessed with Lily Evans 😅 the way she treats shy reader in this 🥺😍😫 deceased.

Remus and Sirius were so tender as well, the forehead kiss from sirius I lost my mind! So sweet 💕

how it starts

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader who like each other from the start ✩ 3.7k words

summary: you know Lily from a shared class, when she invites you to meets some of her friends, Sirius and Remus can't stop flirting.

cw: fluff, reader is a lil shy and insecure, the boys are very sweet, established wolfstar, pre relationship with reader

an: I really enjoyed writing this one and I think i might write a part two

You’re starting to regret agreeing to come. Lily, the sweet girl you met in an art class, had invited you out for drinks with her friends. She swore they were all lovely and that you’d fit in just fine, but the doubts are creeping in. You’re already late because of the bus, and being around new people has never been your strong suit. You try to remind yourself that the whole point of joining the art class was to make friends—backing out now would be stupid.

By the time the pub door comes into view, your hands are shaking. You’re certain you’ll need at least a week to recover from this, but despite it all, you keep pushing forward, determined not to fuck up your one chance.

Before you can even take in the atmosphere, you hear your name shouted across the room. It’s Lily, that lovely redhead you’ve been hoping would be your friend. She waves energetically, and you make your way over to her. The moment you make it over, she wraps you up in a big hug. Her warmth is a stark contrast to the cool night air outside.

"I’m so glad you came!" she nearly shouts in your ear, pulling away just enough to beam at you as if you’ve given her the greatest gift.

“Me too,” you murmur, offering a shy, nervous smile. “You okay?”

“I’m great!” she exclaims, spinning toward the group in a cramped booth. “Everyone, this is Y/N, the friend I told you about.” There’s a chorus of hellos, waves, and friendly smiles.

“You remember James, right?” she asks, pointing to a curly-haired man with glasses. You do remember him. He’s the guy who picks up Lily from art class sometimes. Always nice enough to offer you a lift, but you’ve never taken him up on it. You’ve never met a couple quite as sickly sweet as Lily and James, and you can’t help but feel a little envious of how perfectly they fit together.

You nod and give him a small smile, which he returns.

Lily guides you to the edge of the booth, and the man next to you shuffles over to make room. “Thanks,” you mutter, sitting down.

Lily continues the introductions, her enthusiasm contagious as she goes around the table, pointing to each person in turn. When she gets to the two seated on your left, her grin widens mischievously.

"And this is Remus and Sirius. Don’t listen to a word Sirius says.” She says this with such affection that you can't help but be intrigued. You look up at them, and your breath catches in your throat. They’re both strikingly handsome in different ways. Remus has that soft, almost ethereal quality, like the first light of dawn. Sirius, on the other hand, is all sharp angles and devastating beauty, the kind that could stop anyone in their tracks.

You can’t help but feel like you’re staring a little too long, and you quickly look away, hoping they didn’t notice the awe you felt.

Sirius, however, seems to have noticed. "Charming, Red," he says, making a face at Lily before turning to you with a roguish smile. "Nice to meet you, gorgeous." He winks, and you flush, unsure whether to laugh or run.

Remus rolls his eyes in mock exasperation, though there's a soft fondness in his gaze as he turns to you. “Please, ignore him. Nothing good ever comes from indulging him.”

You giggle, feeling a little more at ease. “It’s nice to meet you both,” you say with a smile. “I’ll try my best.”

Sirius grins like he’s won some kind of victory despite the fact youve just said you'll try to ignore him, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. "You’ll fit right in, I’m sure," he says, taking a long swig from his pint. 

"Stop being a menace," Lily scolds, but her smile softens the words.

As the conversation flows around you, you begin to relax just a little. It’s easy to get caught up in the energy of the group. You find yourself laughing along, the tension in your chest easing with every passing minute.

But then, Remus leans in—just a little too close—ensuring you hear him clearly. You can’t help but feel a flutter of uncertainty with him suddenly so near, unsure how to react to the closeness.

"So, what do you do?" he asks, his expression soft with genuine curiosity.

“Oh, I work in a bookshop,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not exactly my dream job, though…” You drop your gaze, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention, avoiding the need to meet his eyes.

But Remus is persistent. He lowers his head, positioning himself so his gaze stays locked with yours. It’s impossible to look away now.

“What is it that you want to do?” he asks, his voice gentle.

“I’m not… I’m not sure yet, honestly. Still figuring it out,” you admit, shrugging as if to brush off the weight of uncertainty.

Remus mirrors your shrug, as if it’s second nature, and smiles reassuringly. “That’s okay. You’ll figure it out, smart girl.”

His words settle in your chest, a small but comforting warmth. You can’t help but smile back, grateful for his kindness.

Before you can respond, Sirius leans in, clearly unimpressed. “Stop hogging all her attention, Moony,” he says with a teasing grin. “There are other people here.”

“Leave him alone, Pads,” James adds with a playful wink. “I don’t know how you put up with him, Rem. Some bloody boyfriend.”

You're caught off guard, the teasing comment leaving you speechless. Hadn’t they both been flirting with you the entire time? You glance at Remus, your mind racing, before giving him a tentative smile.

“I didn’t realize you two were together,” you murmur, your voice too soft to carry over the buzz of the room. “You seem like a good match, though.”

Although you speak to Remus, it’s Sirius who answers, his grin wide and playful. “I’m glad you think so, gorgeous.”

The rest of the night passes in a blur of light-hearted conversation, the occasional laugh from you blending into the friendly banter at the table. It feels good to be surrounded by such warm company, and you do your best to push any lingering thoughts about Remus or Sirius to the back of your mind.

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It’s a few days before you hear from Lily again. You usually only speak through text, so when you see her calling, a wave of panic washes over you. You brace yourself for the dreaded conversation, certain that she’s about to tell you her friends think you're too quiet or strange.

But when you answer, it’s not at all what you expected. “Everyone’s been asking me to invite you again,” Lily says, her voice light and reassuring. “So, I just wanted to check in—did you enjoy yourself?”

Relief floods through you. You shouldn’t be surprised by her thoughtfulness; Lily’s always been considerate of your shy nature since the moment you met. “I had a lovely time, don’t worry,” you reply, smiling even though she can’t see it. “Thank you for inviting me.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line before she speaks again, her tone slightly more hesitant. “There’s something else too… Remus and Sirius asked for your number. I told them I’d ask if you were okay with it.”

The unexpected request catches you off guard. “Oh…” You don’t know how to process it at first, your thoughts swirling.

Lily senses your hesitation and quickly reassures you, “They won’t hold a grudge if you’d rather not give it to them. It’s completely up to you.”

You take a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “No… no, it’s fine. You can give it to them. That’s alright.”

“Okay, I'll pass it along then.” you can hear the smile in her voice. “We’re all planning on going to the beach on saturday, i’d like it if you’d come?” and god is it hard to say no to Lily, so you agree right away.

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You're unsure of the hasty acceptance of her invite now, analysing the way your body looks in the one-piece swimming costume and denim shorts, laid out on the beach while everyone else is swimming. You’ve been trying to read, but you’ve been stuck on the same page for the last half hour, your eyes constantly drifting toward Remus and Sirius. Even worse, they seem to notice, locking eyes with you every time. It makes you want to sink into the sand and disappear.

Footsteps draw closer, pulling your attention up again, only to be met with the sight of Sirius, freshly emerged from the water, droplets still glistening on his skin. Your cheeks burn.

“You look lovely, doll.” He says softly, almost as though he’s trying not to disturb something fragile.

“Thank you,” you reply, your voice betraying a hint of insecurity. It feels like you’ve been caught in some strange game all day, a competition between them, each trying to outdo the other with compliments and small gestures. It’s overwhelming, but also, rather sweet.

“But I’m sure you hear that all the time, pretty thing.” You expect to see a mischievous smirk, but instead, he’s looking into the distance, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, completely unaware of the weight of his words. “Why aren’t you coming into the water with us?”

“I don’t really… like swimming?” you say, the words tentative, as if afraid they might disappoint him.

“That’s alright,” he replies, his voice soft and reassuring. “I’ll keep you company.” With that, he stretches out beside you, lying down just a bit too close, his hand brushing against the side of your thigh.

Your heart skips a beat at the proximity, and for a moment, you wonder if the warmth you feel on your skin is coming from the sun or from him. You try to focus on the book in your lap, but the words blur before your eyes. It’s difficult to concentrate when your thoughts are racing, and the rhythm of Sirius’s voice still lingers in your mind.

You glance over at him, catching the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. There’s something disarming about the way he makes himself so present, without any sign of expectation, just simply existing beside you.

Before you can muster another word, another figure approaches—this time, it's Remus. You don’t realize how tense you’ve become until you feel his presence like a shift in the air. He’s still wet from the water, though his movements are quieter, more deliberate. When his gaze finds yours, it's different from the teasing look you’ve gotten from Sirius. There’s something warmer in it.

“Mind if I join you two?” Remus asks, a slight grin playing at his lips. It’s playful, but his eyes are soft, almost knowing.

Sirius shifts, giving Remus a nod of acknowledgment, though his body remains close to yours.

“Sure, handsome,” Sirius says, turning his head to give Remus an easygoing smile. “The more the merrier.”

“What about you, dove?” 

“What about me?”

“Are you okay with us both interrupting you?” 

“Oh, yeah of course” you give him a soft smile that earns you a beaming one in return. 

“I was just telling her how pretty she looks, Rem,” Sirius adds with a sly grin, completely unbothered by his own flirting. You however, very bothered, pitch forward and put your head in your hands, embarrassed. 

Both of them laugh at your flustered reaction, amused by how easily you become shy. Once you sit up and finally meet their gazes, the words tumble out without thinking.

“You both look very pretty…” you hesitate, panic creeping in, “or handsome, whatever… you prefer.”

Sirius leans in slightly, his voice low and teasing. “I think ‘pretty’ suits us just fine, don’t you, Remus?”

Remus chuckles, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Absolutely,” he agrees, his tone light.

You feel the heat of your embarrassment creeping back, but there's something strangely comforting about the way they’re both so at ease with you. The tension in your chest seems to dissipate a little as you realize that, despite the teasing, they’re not mocking you—they’re enjoying the moment with you, in their own playful way.

Sirius shifts again, this time sitting up to stretch his legs out. His proximity doesn’t change, though, and you notice how his hand subtly finds its way to rest beside you on the towel, fingertips brushing against yours. It’s a small gesture, but it sends a shock of warmth straight to your core. You glance at him quickly, wondering if he meant to or not. But when his eyes meet yours, there’s a softness there, an openness that catches you off guard.

“I meant it, you know,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost serious. “You really do look beautiful.” There’s no teasing in his tone, only sincerity.

You blink, unsure of how to respond. The words feel like they’re hanging in the air between you two, heavy and vulnerable.

Remus leans forward, “It’s okay, you know,” he adds, a little more serious than before, though his smile is still gentle. “We don’t bite. Just… relax.” He says it in such a soft way that you can’t help but nod, feeling a strange sense of safety in his words. He gives a reassuring pat to your knee but his hand seems to linger for longer than necessary.

It's starting to become impossible not to feel at ease with the two of them, lingering touches passing between the three of you all afternoon. 

As the sun dips below the horizon, everyone climbs back into the cars they arrived in, and you spend most of the drive lost in a daze, staring out the window from the back seat. Remus is driving, his hand resting comfortably on Sirius' thigh. The atmosphere is calm, peaceful. Before you even realize it, the car is slowing to a stop outside your flat.

“Do you… do you want to come up for a cup of tea?” you ask, hesitant but not wanting the evening to end.

“If you’re sure, then we will,” Remus replies, his tone cautious, as if unsure of whether he's overstepping.

You nod eagerly, flashing a smile, and just like that, you're inside your kitchen, preparing cups of tea for the two men lounging in your living room. From the doorway, you can just barely make out hushed, frantic whispers. Although you can’t make out the words, the uneasy energy is enough to make a knot tighten in your stomach.

As you step into the room, mugs in hand, the whispering falls silent. The stillness only deepens the nervous flutter in your chest.

“Thank you, Poppet,” Sirius says with a grin, taking a sip of his tea.

Before you can sit down, Remus calls your name softly.

“Yeah?” you answer, your voice betraying the rapid beat of your heart as you turn to look at him.

“We wanted to ask you something, if that’s okay?” Remus says, his gaze gentle but serious.

You nod, your curiosity piqued, silently urging him to continue.

“Listen, we know this is a little… unconventional,” he starts, his words careful, “but we think you're lovely—”

“And gorgeous!” Sirius interrupts, his tone exuberant.

Remus gives him a pointed look before turning back to you. “Yes… and we were wondering if you’d want to—” He pauses, clearly choosing his words carefully, but Sirius can't wait any longer.

“Christ… Lovely girl, will you go out on a date with us?” Sirius blurts out, his voice both impatient and hopeful.

Your jaw drops in stunned silence.

The room seems to freeze for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest as you process Sirius’s words. It’s like you’ve stepped outside of your body, watching from a distance as your mind scrambles to make sense of what’s just happened.

You glance at Remus, searching his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you see is soft curiosity mixed with a hint of nervousness—just like you feel. You turn to Sirius, who is practically vibrating with anticipation, his eyes wide and hopeful. It’s almost as if he's holding his breath, waiting for your response.

"I... I didn’t expect that," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, and you instantly feel the flush creeping up your neck.

Sirius laughs, a deep, rich sound that echoes in the quiet room. "Sorry, I know we’re kind of springing this on you. We just… we think you’re amazing,"

There’s an undeniable sincerity in his voice now, the playful teasing from earlier gone. Remus, too, is watching you carefully, his expression unreadable for a moment before he speaks softly.

"Take your time, okay?" he says, his voice low and reassuring. "We just wanted to know how you felt, no pressure."

You open your mouth, then close it again, unsure what to say. A thousand thoughts race through your mind—about the feelings you've started to develop for both of them, about the confusion, the surprise, the fact that both of them seem so genuinely interested in you.

It’s overwhelming, but not in a bad way. It's just... unexpected. You think about Remus’s quiet intensity, the way he listens to you with such care. But then Sirius, with his bold, teasing nature, somehow managed to worm his way under your skin, too, making you feel special in a way you never thought you deserved.

“Are you… are you sure?” you finally ask, feeling vulnerable but needing to know the truth. 

At that, Remus rises and walks toward you, moving with quiet confidence. When he stops in front of you, he raises his hand, palm open, as if asking for permission. You remain still, and his hand gently lands on your shoulder, fingers trailing up your neck until they cup your cheek.

“Absolutely,” he says, his voice firm yet tender, no hesitation to be found. His touch grounds you, the certainty in his words a balm to the fluttering nerves inside you.

You glance between them again, searching their faces, before your lips curve upward. “Then yes, I would love to,” you reply, a blush creeping across your cheeks.

Before you can even fully absorb your own answer, Sirius’s hand is in yours, his touch warm and eager, as if he can’t bear not touching you now.

Sirius grins widely, his eyes gleaming with excitement, and before you can blink, he's stepping closer. His thumb brushes against your skin, and it sends a spark straight through your chest.

"I’m glad," he says softly, voice a little huskier than before. There’s an intensity to him now, something beyond the teasing bravado. It makes your heart skip a beat.

Remus, who had been quietly watching the exchange, takes a small step toward you as well. The warmth of his presence, both of their presence,  sends a calming wave through you. He’s not as brash as Sirius, but there’s something incredibly reassuring in the way he stands close, his gaze steady and gentle.

“You’re sure?” he asks, his voice a soft murmur, eyes searching yours with such care. His hand, still resting on your cheek, grounding you.

You nod, feeling your nerves slowly fade under their attention. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

It’s as if the world tilts slightly, shifting into something new, something full of promise. The uncertainty in your chest dissolves as the two men stand in front of you, their warmth, their sincerity, and their shared attention making you feel like you’re exactly where you need to be.

Sirius leans in first, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft, fleeting kiss, the gesture as tender as it is electrifying. It catches you off guard, leaving your skin tingling in the best way. When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

"Don't worry, doll," he whispers, his voice light but full of affection

You barely have time to process the warmth of his words before Remus steps forward, his gaze unwavering as he looks down at you. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice so quiet, so sincere, that it sends a shiver down your spine.

The question takes your breath away. You can’t help but nod, your heart hammering in your chest.

Remus’s smile is soft, almost shy, as he leans in slowly, giving you ample time to pull away if you wanted. But you don’t. You want this—want him—so badly that the moment his lips meet yours, you melt into him. The kiss is gentle at first, a whisper of sensation, but it deepens as his hand shifts to cup the back of your head, pulling you closer.

The world seems to disappear, leaving only the feel of his lips against yours and the rush of emotions that swirl in your chest. When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathless, eyes locked.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice soft as he presses his forehead against yours.

Before you can respond, you feel Sirius’s presence behind you again, his hand brushing against your back, warm and steady. He leans down, his lips catching yours in a kiss that’s more eager than the first, but just as careful. It’s a different kind of warmth—intense, full of promise—and when he pulls back, there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You can hardly catch your breath, both Remus and Sirius’s touches lingering like a slow-burning fire against your skin. The kisses, tender yet fervent, have left you dizzy and wide-eyed, unsure of how to process everything that’s just happened. But even in the overwhelming haze of emotions, you feel something undeniably special, something that’s hard to name but impossible to ignore.

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let me know what you think of this! <3 i appreciate all feedback

[softly-sirius]

me reading the sydcarmy x reader stuff:

🤣🤣🤣 Thank you so much! Such an underappreciated pairing, I just wanna be in a sydcarm sandwich 💕