#stop hating on rpf

[sailorsally]

girl (gnc) I have Bad News for you. You literally reblogged that post from a cockles blog……….

[dracolizardlars]

Going through ao3topshipsbracket voting against every single real-person ship regardless of whether I've even heard of their opponent

[ranger-kellyn]

i say this as someone who has been working on taking this to heart as well, but like......babes....y'all have GOT to let go of the need to have your art is interpreted exactly as you intended it to be. you're fighting a losing battle. nobody, literally NOBODY. will interpret it exactly as you intended it to. that's the beauty of art!

stop needing to control every little thing!! let people interpret it how they want!! even if it's the exact opposite of your own intention!

and i know this is easier said than done, but stop stressing about the bad faith takes as well!!! that says way more about them than it ever will about you!!! block and move the fuck on. or turn off comments! most places let you do that now.

if you're literally so pressed about someone interpreting your art "wrong", you should probably just use geocities or something else and make your own website to host your work, or just stop posting on such public websites in the first place. you will never be able to control how people interpret things, so stop stressing about things you literally have no control over.

[gaymcr]

Hey I noticed you follow padawanryan / textsfrombandom on here, he ships and writes porn about real life siblings. His ao3 is linked in his carrd if you want to check for yourself. I assume you didn't know about this disgusting behaviour so I'm letting you know now <3

SORRY, WHAT WAS THAT? I CANT HEAR YOU OVER THE SOUND OF MINDING MY OWN GODDAMN BUSINESS

[theflyingfeeling]

For those who are interested in what I have managed to write for my "Gran Hotel AU" so far: ta-da!

..and those who have no idea/memory of what I'm on about: last spring I wrote this short fic in the AU I had come up with (loosely inspired by my trip to Dublin and the Spanish TV series Gran Hotel). This part below I wrote last summmer, and it's actually chapter 3, but since chapter 2 is about a different character entirely, it's not too illogical to read this one first, in my opinion. That is, if there ever will be chapter 2 😅😩 I put my outline for chapter 2 in the tags (mild spoiler alert)! I also suggest you read my ideas for the AU in general in the tags of the post linked above, otherwise I'm afraid this won't make much sense 😆

~

The grove of the family cemetery greeted Joel like an old friend, taking him into its cool embrace, which Joel was grateful for in the heat of the late afternoon.

He walked past his grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ graves, only stopping to snip a dried leaf off the light blue violet in front of his paternal grandmother’s tombstone. In his mind Joel promised to bring her fresh ones for her next name day. Grandmama would understand, he thought. She always did.

By the duck pond Joel dropped by the resting place of his father’s twin brother, taken by pneumonia only two days before their sixth birthday. With no one having actively tended to the grave since grandmama’s passing nearly a decade ago, the old stone had begun to grow moss, all but covering the golden carvings. Usually Joel was too inside his own head to mind the grave of an uncle he never came to know other than from grandmama’s stories, but today something pulled him towards the plain, small mound to root out most of the weeds thriving on it. Perhaps he had heard grandmama’s authoritative voice in his ears for a split second.

From there he continued his unhurried journey deeper into the memorial park, anticipating as much as awaiting the final few stops on his tour, until he arrived at his father’s grave.

The white lilies had dried weeks ago already, but Joel was yet to find the energy or motivation to throw them away. The carvings on the stone were still fresh, however, standing out from the already worn ones on the right side of the stone.

Like every day for the past almost four weeks, Joel had no clue what to say. Say nothing, Joonas would have advised him, he ain’t gonna hear you anyway, he’s dead. 

Ironically, Joel had not said a whole lot to his father when he had still been alive either.

Be as it may, something about the cemetery always made Joel talkative. He couldn’t have explained it if he tried to, but he supposed grandmama’s habit of walking in between the tombstones having full conversations with her long-deceased parents, her late husband and her baby boy had something to do with it. Joonas had always found it a little creepy and had politely declined grandmama’s plea for him to come along and learn about the history of his family, whereas Joel had gone with her each time, following on her heels and helping her take care of the flowers. One time, when grandmama had already needed a walking stick to support herself, she had asked Joel to look after the family graves and the garden surrounding them once she would be “gone to meet her maker”, as she had put it then. Joel had promised, but only after grandmama had reassured he wouldn’t have to go near the eerie, tumbledown mausoleum of his great-grandparents’, the founders of the Hokka estate.

That was why Joel often found himself crouching in front of names that no longer lived in people’s mouths, at least not the way they used to, staring at the dates that had changed his life forever, biting his lip in a failed attempt to keep himself from spitting out the disrespectful words.

“Fuck you.” 

He grabbed a fistful of grass in his palm and continued without opening his mouth to speak the words out loud.

Fuck you for treating her the way you did.

Fuck you for treating them both the way you did. 

Fuck you for treating us the way you did.

Fuck you for loving a bottle of whiskey more than your sons.

Fuck you for tending your minibar with more compassion and care than the legacy you’d be passing on to us.

Fuck you for dying of a heart attack at 65 and leaving us with this sinking ship.

Joel threw the shredded grass on the drooped lilies.

Fuck you for not being here for me.

When the letters on the tombstone began to blur, Joel looked away to get a hold of himself once more before he would move on. Visiting his father’s grave filled him with so much anger and bitterness and inexplicable hopelessness that he felt like skipping it altogether, but so far he hadn’t had the guts to do so, as if his old man’s disappointed look was still nailed to his back.

Having found his regular breathing frequency again, Joel stood up and turned to the pink roses growing in front of the right-hand half of the stone. 

The woman resting in the casket six feet under may not have been Joel’s real mother, but she was the only mother he had ever had.

Although she had had a tendency to favour her biological son when it came to deciding which birthday boy was served the last piece of the strawberry cake (even if Joonas was, more often than not, willing to share) or who was bought new clothes more frequently, Joonas’ mother was still the kindest woman Joel knew and had truly loved Joel as he was her own.

The only time Joonas ever visited the cemetery was when they planted the roses on her every birthday in the beginning of June. 

The last time Joel had seen Joonas cry was the day she had died, on a frosty February morning when Joonas had been fifteen and Joel sixteen. They had held each other close on Joonas’ bed, listening to their father breaking glasses in the office room above them.

‘Cause of death: fever’ Joel had read from the death certificate he had found in one of his father’s drawers in search of cigarettes, but in reality no one seemed to be certain what really had taken her. Their father had suspected it had been a food poisoning, and so he had had an excuse to take out his grief on the the blameless members of the staff and fired the chef and half the waiters, whereas grandmama had comforted the half-orphaned teenage sons that their mother’s heart had finally burst from loving her boys too much (which hadn’t been half as soothing as grandmama had probably intended it to be; instead, it had given Joel nightmares for weeks). There had even been talk in the town that she had gone mad with jealousy over her husband’s numerous affairs and eventually fallen fatally ill, simply due to heartbreak and excruciating loneliness.

Joel, on the other hand, knew better. He knew she had been stronger than that, always trying her best to make sure Joonas and Joel had been outside playing or bothering the kitchen staff, far out of earshot whenever she had confronted her husband after finding yet another maid in his bed. He knew she must have been unhappy in her marriage, but also that she had been aware of what she had married into. Yet, she had chosen to stay, not because she had loved her husband that much, but because she had understood she could never have afforded as much as a roof above her head, let alone be allowed to take her boys with her, even if she had been able to provide evidence of the adultery committed by her husband. She had stayed, because despite how miserable her life had undoubtedly been from time to time, she had wanted to ensure a happy childhood for Joonas and Joel, one where they’d have at least one loving parent in their life.

She would have deserved so much better than an unfaithful drunkard of a husband with heaven knows how many secret lovers and possibly even more illegitimate children. She would have deserved a more honourable final resting place than that next to the honourless scoundrel who had selfishly demanded to be buried by her side; a pathetic excuse of a man who had never deserved one bit of her unselfishness.

Those were among the countless of other things Joel usually murmured as he sat in front of her grave, on the grass right by the roses, just to be closer to her. This time, however, he remained silent, only reaching his hand to caress the cheek of a porcelain angel Joonas and he had brought there on the first anniversary of her death. The angel was missing its right wing, broken when the statue had been knocked down in an exceptionally intense thunderstorm. Joel had been devastated by the loss, but Joonas had told him she probably didn’t mind; she had always been drawn to all things broken and imperfect. 

“You know, like that teacup without a handle she didn’t want to throw away because it had her favourite flower painted on it,” Joonas had said.

And me, Joel had almost added, the bastard son of her husband she could have easily thrown out of the house the second his father slid a ring on her finger and no one would have judged her for it. 

Instead, she had read him bedtime stories and kissed his knee better when he had fallen down from a tree, and Joel wished he had told her how grateful he was for it all when she had still been alive to hear it. Alas, around the time of her death, Joel had been an adolescent full of rage, too burdened by frustration and fear to worry about the mortality of his mother. 

“Joonas says hi,” he whispered to the tombstone. He touched two of his fingers to his lips and pressed them against the cold of the stone before getting up and walking away, towards the grave he always saved last on his tour.

During the years following their mother’s death, Joel and Joonas had kept receiving pitying looks and regretful words of condolence from members of the staff, the people of the town, and even the hotel guests who had gotten wind of the tragedy. “Poor boys,” they always said, “how ill-starred in life must one be, to lose his mother at such a young age.”

Yet, Joel had always thought Joonas was lucky.

At least he only had one mother to grieve.

Fair enough, Joel had never known his birth mother, the only daughter of Mr. Byström, who had been one of the most important investors of the hotel once upon a time. From the hotel’s tattletale receptionist Joel had heard that Mr. Byström and his wife had disappeared in a storm on their way across the Atlantic, only a week after Mr. Byström had asked Joel’s father to “take his girl under his wing”, should something happen to them during their journey.

Joel was pretty sure that by “taking his girl under his wing” Mr. Byström had not meant “knocking her up at the age of 19”.

Grandmama had never talked much about the circumstances of Joel’s birth, apart from the weather: “it was a real cloudburst, raining hounds and mousers for hours without end, and still your first scream was louder than any thunder that has ever roared above this house”. 

Joel supposed she had wanted to be considerate towards the lady of the estate by keeping the names of the hotel owner’s previous lovers out of her mouth, although it wasn’t like Joel’s mother had ever been given such a privilege to begin with.

When Joel had been but six months old, his mother had understood the rumours she had heard weren’t just rumours. For two more months she had borne looking at young Miss Porko’s swelling belly before she had filled the pockets of her trench coat with rocks and jumped down the bridge crossing the river that ran by the estate.

Hence, there was nothing but soil below the wonky wooden cross Joel had erected in her memory in the farthest corner of the memorial park, in the shade of an enormous, over a century-old oak tree. Even if her body had been found, she would have been buried nowhere near the estate, for she had never officially been part of the family. Still, Joel had wanted a place to visit her, to talk to her, and since the bridge from which she had jumped to her underwater grave had rotted away years ago, he had had no choice but to make her a memorial on his own.

When Joel arrived at the cross, he sighed as he saw it having fallen down again and crouched down to straighten it. Then he took the rose from behind his ear and stuck it in the soil, next to all the other ones in various stages of wilt.

Some days he talked to her about his day; how he had gotten out of bed just in time for supper and avoided everyone until leaving the house when the sun began to set. 

Other days he just sat there, wondering what on earth he should say to a mother who had not lived to see her firstborn’s first birthday. 

It most likely would have killed her anyway, had she not done the job herself; as if by some cursed twist of fate, Miss Porko’s son was born on the 5th of October, exactly one year after Joel’s birth. And while Joel had been welcomed to the world with an intense downpour, Joonas’ arrival had ended nearly two weeks of rainfall and lured out the first rays of the sun in almost a month, if Joel was to believe his grandmama, who had always loved to reminisce about the events of that day.

From across the cemetery Joel had one day dragged an old wooden bench that had been situated near the grave of a long-forgotten relative – an uncle who, according to grandmama, “had always been a bit of a pillock” – and replaced it in front of his mother’s. There he sat for hours on end, staring at the cross and the roses, asking the universe over and over again what life would be like for him if his birth mother had lived for longer than twenty years and seven months.

Or if Joonas’ mother had not collapsed all of a sudden when getting out of the bath while Joonas and Joel had been busy arguing about who got to sit on the front seat of their father’s new Mercedes.

Or if grandmama was still around, offering her prickly life wisdom at every turn.

Or if his father was lying passed out on the couch of his office instead of dead in his grave. Maybe one of these days Joel would have had the courage to say all the things he wanted to say to him.

As the sun disappeared behind the forest looming at the border of the estate, Joel lay on his side on the bench and hugged his knees to his chest. He kept his gaze fixed on the white cross for as long as he could still see it before it got too dark, before tiredness forced him to close his eyes and wait for restless sleep to come.

[albeckett]

i have a lot of thoughts about RPF bc i do honestly find it interesting from an outside perspective, like the way people engage with it? and at the end of the day i don't care abt jokes in that vein if everyone is generally unserious about it. i could see how the impulse to examine your fave through a queer lens or whatever is like... compelling or empowering? idk. but ppl who take it so seriously and make fanworks freak me out bc it's such a massive invasion of privacy brooooo like it doesn't matter if your fave never ever sees that shit it's like... the way you think about a real ass person!!!!! it's freaky that so many people can mass together and create a community around believing untrue things* about other people. it's like existentially very scary to me. ANYWAY

* yes im sure some RPF actually happened, life is complex, but it being "real" or not doesn't mean you're entitled to that info

[anauwhere]

Every day I come here to people giffing penises of actors and kpop idols that hate on real people shippers like honey that zoom on that crotch is from a real person too

[channieblossoms]

everyone in the youtube comments section is literally 8 years old. felix clearly called chan a cunt and yet the comments are somewhere between “it’s a really bad word….. it starts with c…..” and “guys i goggled aussie bad words he told him to bugger off” like agdiwjdoek ????

[fatecantstopme]

My Favorite Cardio

Pairing: Henry Cavill x wife!reader

Summary: When he gives you that look, you know you’re in for it. Basically porn without plot.

Warnings: RPF. Cursing. SMUT. Oral (F receiving), bondage, dom/sub vibes, slight pain kink, slight choking kink, unprotected sex (P in V). Use of pet names

A/N: inspired by Henry’s interview about how he gets his cardio 😉

“Well that was quite the interview, babe,” you said with a smirk when your husband came into the living room.

Henry chuckled lightly. “You saw that, huh?”

“I got 30 text messages from family and friends with links to the video literally 10 minutes after it aired.”

He blushed. “Sorry, sweets. I didn’t know how to respond and I panicked.”

You laughed warmly. “Well you didn’t lie…”

He grinned. “You’re my favorite cardio.”

“I think I prefer running,” you teased.

His expression darkened and he gave you an almost predatory look. You felt wetness pool in your panties and you bit your lip as you stared at him.

“You sure you wanna tease me right now, (Y/N)?”

You shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I? It’s kinda fun.”

He took a step towards you, arms folded across his chest. “Yeah? You know the rules, sweets.”

“Rules?” you asked, tone light. “I can’t seem to remember any rules.” You knew exactly what your bratty behavior would do to him and you couldn’t wait for your reward.

He crossed the room in a moment, bending down to pin you against the couch, arms on either side of your body. His pupils were blown with lust and desire oozed from every pore in his body. “It sounds like you need to be reminded, princess.”

You nearly moaned at the pet name. Whenever Henry called you princess, you knew he was going to dominate the hell out of you.

Your reaction didn’t go unnoticed by your husband. “You want me to remind you? I’d be more than happy to put you back in your place.”

“My place?” you teased.

Henry let out a low growl. “Get your ass into the bedroom so I can fuck the brat out of you.”

You loved when he spoke so harshly to you. Your pussy was dripping and you had to rub your thighs together as you stood up, desperate for some kind of relief.

Once again, Henry noticed. “Already desperate, baby? Such a sweet little slut,” he murmured as he slapped your ass.

You gasped in surprise at the intensity of his smack. You turned to look at him, eyes filled with intense need. “Only for you, sir.”

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Bed. Now.”

You ran into the bedroom, tearing clothes off as you went, Henry not far behind you. You flopped down onto the bed, completely bare, as your husband entered the room in nothing but his tie and boxer briefs.

Your mouth watered as you took in his gorgeous body. Your entire body pulsated with need and you wanted to drag the man on top of you and use him for your own pleasure.

“Hands on the headboard,” he said firmly as he came up to the head of the bed.

You did as you were told, watching him secure your wrists to the headboard with handcuffs. He took off his tie and used it to blindfold you.

You whimpered softly, earning a much softer tone from Henry. “You okay with this, sweets?”

You nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He grinned. “That’s my good girl.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss to your forehead. “Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?”

You nodded again.

“Words, pretty girl.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Perfect.”

You hated not being able to see what he was doing, but you couldn’t deny that you were more turned on than you’d been in ages. Henry was usually a pretty soft dom, but in moments like these, you weren’t sure what he would do. He could be deliciously brutal when he wanted to be.

You could hear Henry moving around, and you were dying to see what he was doing. You whimpered softly and tugged at the handcuffs, trying fruitlessly to escape them. “Henry,” you whined.

“Patience, my love.” His voice carried to you from the other side of the room and you once again wondered what he was doing.

You were soon informed by a light tickling sensation on your feet. You giggled lightly, unable to contain the sound as the sensation traveled up one leg and down the other.

You knew without being able to see that Henry had pulled out some of his favorite items from the sex box in your closet. The current one was a feathered tickling wand that he just loved to tease you with.

“You know there is absolutely no need to torture me, Hen. I’ll be good, I promise,” you say softly.

“Oh my sweet girl, we are past the point of promises. You behave like a brat, you get treated like one.”

With that, Henry went back to teasing you relentlessly with the feathers, never once giving you the firm touch you really needed.

After several minutes, you heard the telltale sound of a vibrator being turned on. Moments later, you felt the cool silicone against your burning pussy, eliciting a gasping moan from you.

Instead of giving you what he knew you wanted, Henry slowly inserted the vibrating dildo into your dripping hole and left it there.

You whined and shifted your hips, trying to get more friction where you really needed it. “Henry, please,” you begged.

You felt a harsh slap against your thigh. “What did you call me?”

You bit your lip. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to, I just want you so badly.”

"It's okay, baby girl, I know you do." You felt his hot breath against your ear. "But I'm gonna take as much time as I want."

He nipped at your ear gently before once again pulling away. You groaned in frustration, but kept your thoughts to yourself to avoid further punishment.

To your surprise, you felt a sharp swat against your inner thigh. You gasped loudly as another smack hit your thigh. You whimpered softly and desperately tried to close your legs, but Henry's large body was wedged between them. He chuckled lightly and gently rubbed your thigh.

You felt a pinch on your left nipple, followed by a pinch to your right, as Henry secured his favorite nipple clamps to your breasts. Before you could say a single word, you felt the riding crop smack against your thigh again.

You loved the way he tortured you, the pain a welcome feeling, but you were begging him to give you some relief. "Sir, please," you whimpered.

"Please what, pretty girl?"

"I need you, sir, please."

"Aww, my sweet girl needs me to touch her sexy little body?" he teased.

"Please," you whimpered again.

You felt his large hands rest against your hips. "How could I possibly deny you, my love?" His voice was low and affectionate, but you knew he would be as harsh and as rough as he liked.

Henry got off the bed and you whined again, already missing his touch.

"Be patient, love," he insisted.

You heard him removing his boxer briefs and your mouth began to water involuntarily. Your hips jerked up, seeking any kind of friction, but there was none to be found.

"You're so needy," he teased as he grabbed your left ankle.

To your surprise, he wrapped a soft rope around your ankle and secured it to the end of the bed. "Can't have you moving around," he said as he quickly secured your other ankle.

By the time Henry actually got back on top of you, your entire body was on fire with a desire so intense that you were finding it very difficult to think.

When his large hands gripped your thighs, you whimpered softly. He ignored you and slid a single finger between your folds, collecting a large amount of slick.

"You're so wet for me, sweets." You felt his finger against your lips and he said, "Open up."

You did as you're told, and he slides his finger into your mouth. You moan softly as you taste yourself on your tongue. Henry gripped your jaw and held you still as you sucked his finger clean.

"That's it, baby. So sexy."

When he removed his finger, he pulled the dildo out of your pussy and shut it off. You whimpered at the loss of contact, desperation to feel him touch you threatened to overwhelm you.

"Shh," he whispered. "Such a needy little thing."

Your hips jerked up, your body desperately seeking relief anywhere it could be found. You couldn't see him, but you were certain Henry was purposefully shifting to avoid touching you where you needed him most. It was driving you crazy, and you started begging in earnest.

"Please, sir, touch me. Just do something, anything. I'll do whatever you want sir, just please...please," you whimpered.

Henry's large, warm hands gently caressed your thighs. "I could never deny such sweet pleas, my love. You clearly need me, so I shall oblige."

You could hear the movement, as well as feel his body shifting around, but no matter how you shifted your head, you couldn't see what he was doing. Was he about to thrust into you? Finger you? Eat you out?

Seconds later, you found out as he licked a thick stripe up your pussy, moaning at the taste. You gasped at the sensation, your body overly sensitive from all the teasing.

He moved slowly, taking his time licking you and sucking at your clit, ignoring your pleas to speed it up. It was obvious he was in control and he wasn't going to give it up that easily.

As he continued eating you out, your brain was filled with blinding pleasure. All you wanted was to grab his hair and push him into your pussy...but you couldn't move. You wriggled against the bonds on your legs and arms, struggling to free yourself so you could touch him.

Henry felt your movements and lifted his head to look at your face. Even with your eyes covered, he could see how desperate you were. "What's wrong sweet girl?"

"I--I wanna touch you, sir. Need to. Please."

Henry hummed approvingly, but made no move to untie you. "Beg for me, pretty baby."

You started rambling, words pouring from your mouth almost nonsensically. "Need touch you please can't take it please sir I need you wanna feel you please."

He laughed at your garbled words. "I love it when you beg, baby, but I'm sorry. I'm just not ready to untie you yet." Without another word, he dove back in, eating you out with renewed vigor.

You cried out in pleasure, your climax building within you. Somehow, not being able to touch him only made the pleasure more intense. It took him no time at all to have you falling apart on his lips, his tongue lapping up your juices as you came.

Your body jerked beneath him as he continued to suck on your clit, even after you'd come down from your high. Your whimpers of "too sensitive" fell on deaf ears, but they quickly turned to moans of pleasure as your second orgasm began to near.

After you came a second time, Henry finally relented, head lifting from beneath your thighs to kiss your skin as he moved up your body. He kissed your lips, allowing you another taste of your release, and you moaned desperately.

"Baby, please," you whimpered. "Please let me touch you."

Henry had actually been considering releasing you up until that moment. "Sorry, sweets...but you didn't call me by my title, so you're gonna have to wait a while longer."

"Nonononononono please, sir. I'm sorry, please. Please just untie me, sir, please."

The desperation in your voice made him pause for a moment, his dominant demeanor breaking for a second. "What's your color, my love?"

"Green," you responded instantly.

He grinned and kissed you softly. "Good girl." He sat back up, admiring your body as it writhed beneath him, begging to be touched. "Now...where was I?"

"About to let me go?" you tried.

He chuckled. "Nice try, baby." You felt him shift so he was back between your legs. "I think I remember now."

You felt the tip of his cock tease your entrance and you gasped at the feeling. Even after years of fucking him, his cock still stretched you to an almost painful level, but there was no better feeling in the world.

"Please," you whispered.

Henry wanted to keep teasing you, to deny you some more, but he was finding it more and more difficult by the second. He needed to fuck you and he needed it now.

Normally, he would give you a moment to stretch out, take his time, go slowly, but tonight he was simply too far gone. He couldn't wait.

His cock slammed into your pussy in one quick thrust, eliciting a sharp gasping moan from your throat. He instantly set a brutal pace, hands gripping your hips so tightly you knew there would be bruises tomorrow.

"Fuck, baby girl, feels so good. You're so fucking tiny," he groaned.

You were too far gone to formulate any coherent words, moans all you managed in response.

"Tight little pussy squeezing me so well," he mumbled. "Makes me wanna stay here forever."

His cock was hitting all the right spots, making the pressure build in your abdomen. He could feel how close you were, so his pace never relented. "I know you're close, baby girl."

You hummed in response, silently begging him to never stop.

He thought about it for a moment, but decided against making you wait. He knew he wasn't going to last much longer, but he wanted at least two more orgasms from you before he came. "Come for me, baby," he whispered.

His command shattered you, orgasm pulsating through your body with such force that you screamed his name.

He had to slow down his thrusts as you came, pussy clenching him so hard he almost lost control. "Shit, baby. You gotta stop doing that or I'm gonna come."

Your body shook with aftershocks as Henry gently rubbed your aching muscles. "Sir, please," you whimpered.

"What is it, darling?"

"Let me touch you," you practically sobbed.

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry. You've been so good." Henry moved to uncuff you, quickly releasing your hands from their hold.

You grabbed at him immediately, wanting to feel his skin against yours. "Can I see you?" you asked softly.

He smiled and slowly removed your blindfold. "Hey beautiful," he whispered.

Your pretty (y/e/c) eyes fluttered open, landing on his incredibly handsome face. His curls were wild, his chest shone with sweat, and his cock was still inside of you...it was easily the sexiest image you'd ever seen.

He grinned, noticing your expression. "See something you like?"

"Mhmm...You're pretty cute," you teased.

He chuckled warmly, preening under your appreciative gaze. He shifted slightly, causing you to gasp as his cock moved inside of you. His eyes darkened and his hands slid up your body, tracing the curves he found along the way. "I'm not quite finished with you, my love."

Your eyes widened. You knew he hadn't come yet, but you figured he would let you off the hook, having come several times already yourself.

He saw your slightly panicked expression and grinned wolfishly. "Just one more, baby. You can do that for me."

"I'm not sure--"

He cut you off with a particularly strong thrust. "You were saying?"

"Don't stop," you gasped.

"That's what I thought," he said smugly, hips once again setting an intense pace.

Your legs were still tied to the end of the bed, which only heightened your experience...you couldn't get away from him if you tried, not that you wanted to. He was pounding into you with such force that you would have been slammed into the headboard if your legs weren't secured.

It didn't take long for you to be so far gone that all you could do was cling to his body, nails digging into his flesh. "Close," you mumbled.

Henry grinned. "I know baby girl. I can feel you squeezing me."

He reached between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with ease. He gently teased the sensitive nub as he continued to fuck you into the mattress.

Your moans shook the walls, mixing with his deep groans of pleasure. Through your haze, you could see that he was close. His eyebrows were weaved together in concentration, eyes focusing on a spot just above your head.

He'd been teasing you relentlessly since he got home, so you decided it was only fair to get back at him. "Look at me, baby," you whispered.

His eyes dropped to yours and you immediately clenched your pussy tightly.

"Fuck," he growled, body straining with the effort of staving off his orgasm. "What do you think you're doing, (Y/N)?"

You smiled. "Giving you a taste of your own medicine."

He raised a single eyebrow, eyes still glued to yours. Normally he would have corrected you, reminded you that you were his to command, but he secretly loved it when you took the reins.

You slid your own hand between your bodies, knocking his out of the way and taking over massaging your clit. "Keep your eyes on me handsome, and don't come until I tell you to."

His eyes widened slightly, but he nodded his agreement.

"Henry," you warned.

"Yes, ma'am. I won't come until you tell me to."

You smiled. "Good boy. Now, fuck me like you mean it."

Henry renewed his pace, quickly bringing your orgasm closer. You matched his pace against your clit, pussy clenching every few seconds to urge him on.

He was beginning to truly struggle, body so close to the edge he could barely breathe. His eyes closed as he thrust into you, but fluttered back open when he felt you grab his jaw.

"Eyes. On. Me," you said firmly.

The intensity of your gaze nearly pushed him over the edge, and he found himself begging you for permission to come. "Can't take much more, baby. Need to come. Please."

You enjoyed the neediness in his voice, and even though your own orgasm was impending, you decided to prolong his pain just a while longer. "Not yet, handsome. Be patient."

He groaned and his hand snaked up your chest, landing directly at the base of your neck. He might be letting you have some control, but he wanted you to know that you were still at his mercy.

He also knew exactly what that action would do to you, even without any pressure. You gasped in pleasure, the feeling of euphoria mere seconds away. "Come with me baby," you ordered, finally allowing yourself to orgasm.

Henry's hips stuttered as he came, filling you with his spend. He thrust a few more times as he emptied within you, voice hoarse and broken, a mixture of curses and your name falling from his lips.

When he was finally spent, he collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily. You immediately wrapped your arms around his large frame, entangling your fingers in his curly hair.

The two of you laid like that for some time before he broke the comfortable silence. "I think we need to do cardio more often, I'm exhausted."

You laughed lightly. "You're exhausted? I came...three times? Or four? I can't remember."

He shifted, lifting his torso off you, angling his head to look at your pretty face. "It was four," he said with a grin.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head good-naturedly. "My apologies, sir. I shall endeavor to count next time."

His eyes lit up. "Oh that's a good idea, sweets. I should make you count them."

You groaned. "I regret opening my mouth."

"You love me," he teased.

"You know I do."

He kissed you sweetly before sitting up completely and dragging himself off the bed. "Not as much as I love you," he said softly.

He disappeared into the en suite, returning a few moments later with a warm, wet towel, which he used to clean you up. He took his time, admiring your body and all the love marks he'd made on your skin. He liked the idea of you walking around with the evidence of his adoration adorning your body.

Once you were clean, he laid down beside you, pulling you close to him. You laid your head on his chest and let out a sigh, "I love you, Hen."

He kissed the top of your head and squeezed you tightly. "I love you too, sweets."

You quickly fell asleep, but Henry laid awake for a while, basking in the feeling of your warm body in his arms, along with the afterglow of the best cardio a man could ask for.

[magic-can]

wait… what’s the 1d rp that got turned into a book plz I must know

So the book is called After and it was originally a 1D RPF fanfic on Wattpad about Harry Styles (I think Hardin Scott is the character in the book that replaces Harry) and from what I’ve heard it’s apparently really gross. Like yeah it being based on RPF is gross on its own but I’m talking about like, what happens in the book. Apparently it comes across as treating an abusive relationship as healthy and normal which is you know. bad. Another terrible thing about it is that Hardin/Harry apparently witnesses some really horrible, traumatic shit which wouldn’t be weird if it weren’t for the fact that, you know, Harry’s a real person. Also it got a film adaptation, 2 sequels and a graphic novel

[ramp-it-up]

II Most Wanted Pt.I: And I don't know what you're doin' tonight…

Pairing: Syverson x OFC Reader "Buttercup"

Summary: The feeling and flashbacks you get when you saw your high school boyfriend Jake Syverson at your 20 year reunion was quite the unexpected twist in your orderly life.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, Angst, pining, body image issues, flashbacks, horny teenagers doing horny things (over 18 tho) heavy petting, fingering, mentions of teen pregnancy, mentions of breakups, teenage mean girl behavior, the Powerpuff Girls, old automobiles, mentions of drug abuse and difficult childhoods, 20 year high school reunion, drinking, swearing. Explicit description of sex acts. Read at your own risk.  Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N: This is the first installment of II Most Wanted. This is also my first fic in nearly half a year. If you like it, please reblog and comment.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-------

June 2024

The visceral reactions started as soon as you entered the parking lot. There it was, Sy’s 1978 white Ford Bronco. Not thinking, you pulled into the space right in front of it, wanting to look inside. You almost lost it when you saw the old charm hanging from the rear view mirror. You couldn’t believe he still had that.

Especially with everything that happened since you put it there.

April 2004

“I claim this ancient truck as my throne!”

You were lit and in love, parked with Sy at the lookout. You were also silly and giggly from smoke and hormones.

“Mmmmm, careful Buttercup.” 

Your boyfriend growled in your ear, making you shiver against him. His attempt at menace was thwarted by the smile you felt against your neck, where he was busy marking you up, a sure sign later for everyone to know who you belonged to.

Sy was known for making bloody the face of those who expressed hate for his beloved Betty Bronco. But you had him whipped.

“It’s a classic, but I’ll let that slide...” 

He wished that you would let him slide, but you were adamant that you weren’t ready to be a parent. He was adamant that that didn’t have to be the outcome, but beneath the red blooded country boy was a gentleman. Sy would never do anything you didn’t want to, not that it stopped him from trying to convince you to admit that you in fact, wanted it as much as he did.

He wasn’t wrong.

You sighed as you placed the Powerpuff Girl necklace you got from Hot Topic on Sy’s rearview as you sat on his lap, giving him a treat. He had you in his grip by the hips and he was subtly moving you against his boner. The attraction between you two was heady, and he almost got what he wanted plenty of times. But you were a romantic and wanted it to be special. You promised him prom night, and Sy couldn’t wait.

“..Driving me crazy, Baby. You can put anything on my rear view as long as you let me get your rear view in the back seat….”

You giggled.

“You’re so corny, Sy.”

You whispered as you turned your head and kissed him over your shoulder. 

“Hmmmm. And you’re so sweet.”

Sy’s sea blue eyes gazed at you as he licked his lips.

He was crazy for you. And you were for him. You felt it. And you just knew you’d be together forever. You grinned as you climbed over him into the back seat. Didn’t hurt to fool around a little, even if you weren’t gonna give him the p that night.

——————

You shook out of the memory as a warm June breeze whipped your short skirt around your thighs. You pulled on the yellow and white designer dress as you contemplated driving back to your hotel and changing. This dress was not a good idea. The triumphant feeling of serving looks when you appraised yourself in the mirror was replaced with anxiety. The dress was too short and you were not the same size you were in high school. Thighs you considered pretty and thick in the mirror just an hour ago seemed massive and you tugged at the deep plunge of the neckline without a bra.

You sighed as you tried to center yourself. You told yourself that you were growing out of negative self talk, especially in the last seven years since your divorce. You were reminded of your promise to never care about the, male gaze again. It just wasn’t worth it.

But you hadn’t been under Jacob Syverson’s gaze in 20 years.

——

Sy posted up at the bar, blue eyes taking in the scene of his former classmates reuniting. He downed his two fingers of Maker’s Mark and asked for another. His heart rate was up as he scanned the room, eyes going back to the door again and again. He was waiting for you. No use in denying it to himself. He wanted to see you again, and more. It was his one objective. An objective he was unsure of attaining.

He was more nervous about being in a hotel ballroom tonight than in Afghanistan. 

Christ, he felt like that 17 year old kid again who first laid eyes on you.

——-

August, 2003

Sy knew what he wanted the moment he saw your face. 

You stopped the world when you first stepped into his British Literature class the first day of senior year. He was seated and talking with his best friend and wide receiver, Jeremy Atkins, when the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He let the conversation about which route they should run at the scrimmage that afternoon slip as his eyes lighted on your face. You were anxious, but trying not to let it show. Those eyes held fire, and your lips…

…well your lips besides being everything he dreamt of, he just knew the words that came out of your lips would light someone up as well. He could tell you had spirit by the way you carried yourself.

Your hair was wild and shoulder length, bangs swept aside for vision, and you couldn’t hide that body under your baggy clothes. He lasered in on the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra underneath your graphic tee, and power that  the strip of skin between your shirt and your baggy jeans was not lost on him. He was a 17 year old male, after all.

Sy shifted in his seat as he leaned back and grinned to himself when you scanned the room, glaring at anyone who looked askance. He tapped his pencil on the desk to try to get your attention but you just ignored him as the group of seatless students surrounding you dwindled. You were left alone under the scrutiny of soulless cretins, otherwise known as teenagers. 

You gave each one brazen enough to stare at you a side eye, but you stopped when you finally noticed Sy smirking at you. You stuck your tongue out at him, causing him to choke on a chuckle.

Becca Ferguson, Sy’s girlfriend, kicked him in the leg after noticing that not only Sy, but Jeremy were openly staring at you. Shit, he’d forgotten about her. He caught the way her eyes cut over to you, and he knew what came next. He tried to distract her with a flip of the shelf of his blown out curls and a smile, something that had worked many times before. 

But you were a threat to Becca now; she had to do something about you.

You raised your head high as you walked to the seat that Mrs.Beatty pointed out. You passed down the aisle between Sy and Becca, who scrunched up her face as if she smelled something bad. Sy got a whiff of you and you smelled divine, like that Sweet Pea bath gel stuff that he played off sniffing when he went to the mall with Becca. 

His head turned.

Becca glared at him and he turned toward the front of the room, where the teacher had started to pass out the syllabus. 

—--

June 2024

Just like lunch on the first day of school at Central High all those years ago, Carla and Tiffani engulfed you and took you under their wings when you walked into the Marriott, the venue for your reunion. They crowed over you; your hair, your dress, your glow. You forgot any anxiety that you were feeling about how you looked. These were your best friends. Your Bubbles and Blossom.

These women filled the gaping place in your heart torn open from attending 10 different schools from K-12, following your mother’s loves and whims when she didn’t take her meds, or when she self-medicated. They were your soul sisters. And you still kept in touch even though distance separated you.

Carla had that grin on her face while Tiffani expressed her excitement that you were in town.

“Girl! I am so glad that you made it!” 

Tiffani was the gentle one.

“Yeah, I owe Tiff a c-note, because I was sure you’d chicken out.”

Carla laughed at you while you scowled at her.

Tiffani tskd at her bestie, and took your arm while Carla took the other and they ushered you through the doors of the ballroom.

“Well, she has a new job in town and everything, she had to come.”

“Yeah, she had to come to town, but coming tonight is a wholeeee different story.”

You laughed.

“I don’t have the job yet, Tiff. Interview is Monday. And why wouldn’t I come tonight?”

The familiar banter was back, as if 20 years was no matter at all between you and your girls.

You heard someone clear their throat behind you and Carla peered over her shoulder and then smirked at you. She jerked her head back.

“Because of that.”

You looked over your shoulder, smiling right before your stomach dropped.

There was Jake Syverson, all grown up, and staring at you as if all this time hadn’t happened.

—-

Sy saw you enter the ballroom and he almost wanted to run away. Being in country on a dangerous mission was nothing compared to the thought of actually facing you again.

At least he was trained for war. 

Love was another thing entirely.

He took a deep breath as he focused on you. You had always been beautiful, but now, as a grown woman, you were absolutely gorgeous. Your hair was sleek and your face was perfectly beat with makeup that accentuated your natural beauty. You were glowing and that smile was…everything.

As he leaned on the bar and scanned the rest of your body in that dress, he took another drink. Sy indeed felt 18 again, because his body was reacting as if he were a randy teenager. Your body was everything he remembered, and more. More of everything he remembered loving and lusting over 20 years ago. 

“Damn.”

He said it out loud and the bartender replied.

“Agreed, Brother.”

Sy looked at the young man admiring you who couldn’t be over 25, and threw down some money.

“Watch it, kid.”

That little bit of jealousy fueled Sy’s bravado, and he found the courage to step to you. 

—--

You froze like a deer in headlights. 

Over the years, you imagined seeing him again, in all different kinds of scenario, and you thought you could handle it, but the reality of the situation just about knocked you on your ass. Time stopped as you stared at him. 

Sy was more handsome with age, if that was possible. His eyes, his shoulders, his hair! His gorgeous curls were short and a shock of hair was growing from his chin. Your body reacted as your traitorous brain instantly thought of how his beard would feel on certain parts of your body. He looked good in a suit, but he was massive. You had on heels, but Sy seemed bigger than you remembered. He wasn’t the lithe high school quarterback you remembered.

You unconsciously walked closer. 

He was taller. 

But he was also huge: bigger muscles, thicker limbs; his body seemed more powerful all the way around.

Heaven help you.

And the way he was looking at you as if he still owned you, as if all everything that happened hadn’t happened. As if all these years…

Your arms went out to Carla and Tiff beside you for some support, but they were gone, and you stumbled a bit. Sy grabbed your arm quickly as you laughed to play it off.

“Hey Buttercup. You good?”

Goodness, his voice!

How could that damn drawl be deeper and sexier than you remembered? And his touch on your skin felt familiar, yet strange, like a touch from a dream. What was happening to you?

“I need a drink.”

Sy was silent for a bit as you got your drink and had a sip. The way you licked your lips made him want to fall to his knees and beg.

—--

May 2004

“Please, please, please Buttercup. Just let me put the tip in. I promise I won’t move. It wouldn’t really be doing it…”

Sy was whispering in your ear and you were mute, waiting to hear more as your pussy pulsed in your jeans, the grind against his crotch delicious torture.

“I dream about it, Buttercup. I feel you, Baby. So fucking wet for me. I just know that it would feel so, so so good. I’d slip right in.”

It was midnight on your 18th birthday and you were in the Bronco, letting Sy feel you up under your panties for the first time. Your head was thrown back and your eyes rolled at how good it felt. You didn’t know how you would hold out. But it was just three weeks until Prom.

You were sat on his lap and he had one hand down your jeans and one up your shirt.

He pistoned his hips up, causing your back to arch against his chest. You could feel his heart beating a mile a minute.. Sy’s voice lowered to a whisper.

“‘M Gonna taste my fingers, Buttercup. Watch.”

You opened your eyes as Sy pulled his fingers out and brought them to his mouth. You whined when he closed his eyes and moaned. You throbbed. It had never been like this before.

“You are so delicious… Need more…”

Sy pushed his hand back down into your pants to get you to do that arch again. It sent him feral to see that for some reason.

His fingers found the source and circled it, causing your body to tense up and your fingers to grab his arms.

“Oh my god! Sy!”

You’d come close to this feeling before just grinding with him on the back seat, but this was incomparable.

Your fingernails sunk into his forearms, creating marks for sure. This fueled him even more as he continued his ministrations at your core. He toyed beneath your bra and your mouth opened to seek oxygen as the feeling in your belly continued to tune you to a fever pitch.

“Yes…. Baby….. fuck… You gonna cum on my lap?”

“Hunnnh, hunnh, hunnnh!”

“You’re so fucking hot… I’m about to jizz in my pants… cum for me, Baby…”

Sy grinded against your bottom, and you stiffened while the world’s most wonderful feeling washed over you. You cried out as Sy pinched your nipple and you came, feeling as if the Bronco was caught up in the Wizard of Oz Twister. The world was certainly now in color when you could open your eyes.

Sy held you, watching your beautiful face as you pouted and came back to earth. When you did, your smile was worth all the gold in the world to him. He kissed your temple and slipped his hand out of your pants, sucking your juices off of them again.

You were about to jump him, but Sy interrupted your thought.

“Now that you’ve got a preview of Prom night, let’s get you home, Buttercup. Gotta get your beauty sleep for the festivities later on tonight.”

—-

Sy cleared his throat after staring at you silently for a solid three minutes. The way you licked your lips clean and focused on him was some powerful magic.

“So. How have you been, Sy? How is the family?”

You tried to keep any bitterness out of your voice. The fact that Becca Spurgeon ruined your prom (and your relationship with Sy) by announcing that she was pregnant with Sy’s baby after she was crowned Prom Queen and he Prom King was something you’d tried to get over for 20 years. 

Sy straightened up and looked over your shoulder. You glanced in that direction to see Carla and Tiffani hovering protectively. 

“Well, now Buttercup, that’s a long story. I know you want to hang with your friends. And I don’t know what you’re doin’ later tonight, but I would like to go somewhere quiet and talk about it.”

——

If you like it, hit Reblog!

Next part here.

[bad268]

hey! hope you are well. I was thinking of an idea for a Kimi Antonelli x reader story and as you write for him the best I knew you would write it so well.

maybe reader is toto's daughter, and her and kimi are in a relationship. but y/n can't make it to the last race of the season but she ends up surprising him after the race (she was there the whole time) and he runs to her and its all adorable and everyone is clapping?

just a thought!

love your work!

Couldn't Keep Me Away (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Wolff! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (I think I cooked too much with this lol...)

Warnings: sick! reader, mentions cough medicine

POV: Second Person (You/your/She/her)

W.C. 1956

Summary: She's never missed a race…until now?

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(@/Kimi’s insta from February 13, 2024)

It all came down to this. Not in the literal sense, more along the lines of it was the last race of the season. The team’s champions and driver’s championship had already been decided, so there was nothing to lose in this race. Well, except his sanity.

You had been at every race this season. Not because of your father, Toto Wolff. Actually, maybe that played a part, but you were always in the Prema garage. He could not remember what it was like to not have you in the garage between practice and qualifying or during pre-race shenanigans. 

When you were not on track for media day, he knew something was up. Yes, he knew you hated media day because it was boring, but it was also the day you had the most time together since the F1 teams and drivers were more popular interviewees. He tried texting and calling you only to receive nothing in response. He knew what he was going to have to do.

Speak to your father. 

He decided to stop by before the sprint race. Walking into the Mercedes garage, he spotted your father immediately and standing beside him, your mother, Susie, and brother, Jack. He suddenly knew that you should have been here too. The only reason you gave him in the past for why you may need to miss a race was to watch your brother. You never did miss a race, but there was always the possibility.

He swallowed his concern, not needing to worry yet, as he walked up to your family. He waited for them to finish their conversation before he tapped on Toto’s shoulder. Immediately, Toto turned around to meet Kimi’s worried eyes.

“Kimi, is there something wrong?” Toto asked, sensing Kimi’s anxiousness, but chalking it up to the upcoming race. “Is it the race?”

“No…I mean, kind of?” Kimi answered but immediately contradicted himself. It was much more different talking to Toto about you than about racing. Despite knowing that both of your parents are aware of your relationship, he tried his best to only talk to Toto about racing whenever they were on the track. This was a first for Kimi, and he just did not know how he wanted to go about asking. Finally, after receiving multiple uneasy looks from Susie and Toto, Kimi took a deep breath before just deciding to go for it. “Do you know where she is? She’s not answering my texts or calls, and I’m getting worried.”

“Oh, Kimi, she’s sick,” Susie jumped in. She knew exactly who he wanted to know about, so she showed him a text from you that said you took some medicine and would try to sleep it off. “She’s been sick almost all week. I thought she told you.”

“Oh, have she sent any updates recently? Do you know how she’s feeling?” Kimi rushed. Looking back, he realized that every time he texted you, it would have been late back at home, so it made sense that you did not respond. Plus, to add the sickness on top of it? He felt like shit for not catching it earlier.

“That was the last text I received,” Susie said, sadly. Toto stepped away as he got a call, leaving Kimi and Susie to talk while Jack was distracted by Mick. “It was sent a few hours ago, so she might be awake now. You could call her?”

“No need,” Toto said as he walked back over, holding out the phone to Kimi. “Someone wants to talk to you.”

Hesitantly, Kimi took the phone and saw your name as the caller ID. He looked back up at Toto and Susie as they turned their backs to him and walked toward the pit wall to give him a little privacy. Immediately, Kimi raised the phone to his ear, “Amore (love)? How are you feeling? I heard you were sick. Are you staying hydrated?”

He gets cut off hearing you giggle lightly before descending into a light coughing fit. He smiled lightly for a second before growing concerned once again when he heard you cough. “Slow down, liebe (love). I am feeling better, just a few coughs here and there.”

“That didn’t sound like ‘a few coughs here and there,’” He mocked lightheartedly but in all seriousness. 

“That’s because you triggered it,” you laughed again. This time, able to hold back the coughs, just needing to clear your throat before you talk again. “I promise, I’m doing better. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“As long as you’re feeling better,” He sighed, knowing you’re alright now. Off to the side, he sees his race engineer looking for him, so he realizes that he needs to wrap up the call with you to race. “Keep resting, amore. I have to go race now, but I’ll call you after, I promise.”

“I’ll be watching, liebe,” you smiled to yourself, and Kimi could hear it too. “Good luck, Kimi. Give the phone back to my dad, please?”

With that, he walked up to Toto again to hand him the phone before disappearing with his engineer. Toto raised the phone, chuckling lightly at Kimi’s rush as he greeted his daughter. 

“Can I be on the first flight out? I feel better.”

~~

Kimi had a horrible sprint race. He was already starting in 10th because he was on pole for the feature race, but he became collateral damage in a fight between a couple of cars further back. It was the last lap too! They were all outside the points, so there really was no point in racing that hard. However, that’s what happened. 

He did his best to hide his disappointment as he walked past the engineers to the driver’s room he shared with Ollie, who was already there because of a tire blowout from one of the earlier laps. Kimi started changing out of his race suit and into his normal clothes, just wanting to sleep the race off. 

“Your phone went off a few minutes ago,” Ollie said, breaking the silence and catching Kimi’s attention as he threw a Mercedes shirt over his head. “And don’t blame yourself. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Plus, it’s not like this race mattered. You already won the championship, we won the team championship, and you have a seat for next year.”

“Thanks, Ollie, but that’s not the point,” Was he lying? Partly, but there was some truth. He was upset at the race result, but he was also still slightly bummed that you were not there. Thinking of you, he wanted to call you.

Kimi looked through his bag for his phone, finding it with no problems. He noticed the number of notifications, but the only one that mattered to him was the one from you. It was a few minutes prior and it read, “I’m so sorry liebe! That crash was nasty, I hope you’re okay. I just took more medicine, so I might be asleep by the time you finish post-race media. I’ll call you when I wake up. Ich liebe dich (I love you).”

He sent a quick response, telling you he was alright and he loved you. Then, he went about the rest of his day. And the rest of his night. And the next morning. At that point, he started getting nervous again since you were not responding again. What kind of medicine were you taking that knocked you out for 12 hours, he thought. 

He wanted to go back to your parents again, but the feature race prep was different compared to the sprint. He did not have the same break he did with the sprint. Ever since he got to the track, he was warming up and prepping for the final race. He was nervous given the result the day before. He did not want to end the season on a double DNF, especially when he was going to get an F1 seat the following season in a Mercedes. He had to score well in the race.

If he had found a way to get to the Mercedes garage, he would have seen you sitting with your brother while your parents had a last-minute meeting. And if Kimi had been in any other starting position, he would have seen you walk into the Prema garage with Jack. Pole position was different though because they needed to do more interviews and promo pictures. If Kimi could have seen around his car from his grid box, he would have seen you sitting on the pit wall.

The race started without a hitch, Kimi was back in his groove, and it was clear to see that he was confident in his moves again. Sure, he was not fighting anyone for position, but there were a couple of times when he had to defend. He did so perfectly, and it made people wonder if the sprint race was just a one-off day for him. It was all worth it when he crossed the finish line first again.

The team immediately ran to Parc Ferme to wait for the cars as they scored a Prema 1-2. Kimi pulled into the first spot, Ollie into the second, and Victor in the third. Ollie and Victor jumped out of their cars immediately, running to their teams, but Kimi took a minute. This win should have felt good, especially after the disaster that was the sprint race, but it didn’t.

It was fun to win, but he was going to have to jump out of the car and celebrate with his team. Just his team. This is the first race you were not going to be there celebrating with him, and he would rather delay the inevitable. 

You could feel his hesitance to get out of the car, so you handed Jack over to your parents as you pulled up your mask and pushed through the people to get to the gate. You got there relatively easily considering you went through the Prema team, and they knew you would be the first person he’d want to see.

Kimi finally climbed out and stood on top of his car, posing for the camera momentarily. Then, his attention shifted to his team, and he froze. You were there! He’d recognize those eyes anywhere! Of course, you made it. He jumped off of the car and flung himself over the barrier to wrap you in his arms.

“You made it. I can’t believe you made it,” He whispered over and over, not even bothering to question if you could hear him through his helmet. That’s when he remembered, so he pulled back to take his helmet and balaclava off as well as his gloves. He put the back of his hand against your forehead to check your temperature, causing you to laugh. “Don’t laugh at me! I’m seeing if you’ve got a fever.”

“I’m all good, my fever broke yesterday,” You consoled as you pulled his hand off of your forehead to hold it as you kissed his cheek through your mask. “I’m all good. The mask is just a precaution.”

“Screw precaution, I wanna kiss you,” Kimi whined as he pulled the mask down to give you a long kiss. Despite not actually hearing it, the team all started clapping and F1 TV definitely got a good shot of you two. When he pulled away, he put the mask back on for you as he leaned his head against yours. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“You couldn’t keep me away even if you tried,” You whispered back, leaning up to bump your nose against his, “I’ll always find a way to be here for you.”

~~~~~

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