#why is that something that needs to be said | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harrysfolklore · 3 days ago

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future wife - ln4

summary: lando always says that yn russell is his future wife. the entire paddock thinks he's just joking, but he's not. wc: 6k + social media posts

folkie radio: HERE IT IS !!! FINALLY !! i loved writing lovesick puppy lando so so much and i really hope you love him too. PLEASE SEND YOUR FEEDBACK AND LEAVE A REBLOG !

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by georgerussell63, landonorris and 206,378 others

yn.russell silverstone race weekends always hit different 🥹 big bro starting front row tomorrow and i couldn’t be prouder LETS GOOOO

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username1 the most iconic russell

username2 COME ON RUSSELL NATION

landonorris excuse me why didn’t you include a picture of your future husband here ??

↳ yn.russell lando your delusions are talking again

↳ username1 hey he ALWAYS does this

↳ username2 lando and yn’s banter will never get old

carmenmmundt Love you both ❤️

username3 LANDO BEING ANNOYING IN THIS COMMENT SECTION AS ALWAYS

charles_leclerc I see homeboy trying to shoot his shot again

↳ landonorris what are you talking about? we’ll get married

↳ yn.russell LANDO STOP 😭

username4 she’s the real paddock princess

username5 lando really said fake it till you make it

username6 GEORGIE BOY DID IT

georgerussell63 Love you so much little one 🤍 Also Lando, she’s still my sister

↳ landonorris and? she’s my girl 😍

↳ yn.russell STOP

liked by yn.russell, maxverstappen1 and 986,409 others

landonorris honey i’m hooooome 🇬🇧😘 picture by my favorite girl @/yn.russell

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username1 LANDOOOOO

username2 the papaya hat is killing me

username3 CALLING LITTLE RUSSELL HIS GIRL AS ALWAYS

mclaren Papaya forever 🧡

username4 manifesting lando and yn wedding

carlossainz55 Just wait until George finds you cabron

↳ landonorris he knows she’s my future wife

↳ georgerussell63 I HATE YOU

username5 DYING AT THIS COMMENT SECTION LANDO YOU HAVE NO SHAME

username6 lando and yn are my favorite platonic lovers (actually there’s nothing platonic about them we all know it)

username7 SO BOYFRIEND CODED

yn.russell lando i need you to look at me when i tell you this…

↳ landonorris yes i do darling 😍

↳ georgerussell63 I’m literally never letting you two fly together again

↳ username1 IM WHEEZING

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You're lounging in George's motorhome at the track, scrolling through your phone while he reviews data with Alex. Carmen is perched on the sofa beside you, both of you sharing occasional knowing looks at the boys' intense focus on lap times.

"Oh, by the way," you say casually, not looking up from your phone, "I won't be around for dinner tonight. Got a date."

The effect is immediate. George's head snaps up from the screen, Alex nearly drops his water bottle, and Carmen tries (and fails) to hide her amused smile.

"A date?" George's protective brother mode activates instantly. "With who?"

"That new marketing guy from McLaren," you reply, finally glancing up. "Jacob. You know, the one I was talking to at the paddock party last week?"

"The tall blonde one?" Alex pipes up, earning himself a sharp look from George.

"Not helping, mate," George mutters.

"He seems nice," Carmen offers diplomatically, though there's something knowing in her expression that you can't quite read.

"Speaking of nice," Alex says with a poorly concealed grin, "should we tell Lando? You know, since he's been planning your wedding since 2018 and all."

The friendship between you and Lando dates back to karting days, when you'd tag along with George to races. You were fourteen when you first met a tiny, curly-haired Lando who immediately declared you were "pretty cool for a girl." Despite George's protective big brother routine, you and Lando became inseparable during race weekends.

The marriage jokes started right when Lando was making his F2 debut. You were both hanging out in the paddock when he suddenly announced, "When we get married, our wedding colors have to be papaya orange. Because I know I'll drive for Mclaren"

"Bold of you to assume I'd marry you, Norris," you'd laughed.

"Please, you love me," he'd grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "Plus, I've already told my mum you're the one. Can't disappoint her now, darling."

That was the first time he called you darling, but it certainly wasn't the last. Over the years, the pet names multiplied - love, sweetheart, future wife - each one delivered with that characteristic Lando grin that somehow managed to be both cheeky and endearing.

But at the end of the day, he was Lando. And it was all jokes.

"He's probably too busy planning our honeymoon in papaya-colored paradise to care about my actual dating life," you said, trying to sound casual.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Carmen murmurs, just as the door bursts open.

Lando's characteristic energy walks in, his curls slightly messy from his helmet. "Hello lads! Future wife," he grins, making his way over and dramatically flopping onto the couch, his head landing in your lap like it's his designated spot.

"Comfortable?" you ask dryly, but your hand automatically goes to his curls.

"Very," he beams up at you. "Why's everyone looking so serious though? Did George finally realize his neck's too long?"

"Ha ha," George deadpans, while Carmen tries to hide her laugh behind her hand.

"Little Russell was just telling us she's got a date tonight," Alex announces, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding.

Lando sits up so fast he nearly headbutts you. "A what now?"

"A date," you repeat, watching as his face does a complicated journey before settling on forced nonchalance. "With Jacob from marketing."

"McLaren Jacob?" Lando's voice goes up an octave. "My Jacob?"

"He's not your Jacob," you roll your eyes. "And yes, that Jacob."

"The one who still can't figure out how to work the coffee machine?" Lando scoffs, repositioning himself to face you properly. "Come on, darling, you can do better than that. What happened to our sacred Friday night FIFA tournaments?"

"Sacred?" George snorts. "Is that what you call screaming at the TV when she beats you?"

"Oi, whose side are you on?" Lando throws a nearby cushion at George. "Besides, I let her win. Can't have my girl crying, can I?"

"Your girl?" you raise an eyebrow, ignoring the way your stomach flips at his words.

"Obviously," he grins, but there's something slightly off about it. "Who else is going to fulfill my mum's dreams of having you as a daughter-in-law?"

"I'm sure Jacob would love to hear about these marriage plans," Alex teases, earning himself a glare from Lando.

"He better watch himself," Lando mutters, then louder, "Where's he taking you anyway? Probably somewhere boring like that chain restaurant near the factory."

"Actually," you say, "he's taking me to that new rooftop place in town."

"The one I said we should try?" Lando looks genuinely offended now. "That's just... that's just rude, love. I called dibs on taking you there."

"When exactly did you call dibs?" Carmen asks innocently.

"In my head," Lando protests. "This is not fair."

You poke his side. "Jealous, Norris?"

"Of course I am," he says, and for a moment, his voice loses its playful edge. "Can't have someone stealing my future wife away. We've got plans, remember? House in Surrey, three kids, dog named Fernando..."

"You've really thought this through, haven't you?" you laugh.

"Been planning our future since I was fourteen, love," he grins, but there's something soft in his eyes. "Now, would you cancel on Jacob and have a proper movie night with your future husband instead?"

"Still not your wife, Lando," you remind him.

"Not yet," he corrects, "But I'm a patient man, darling."

"Okay this is getting weird," Alex chimes in, "Lando, we're leaving. Little Russell, have fun on your date."

"Right," Lando stands up, but his usual bouncy energy seems subdued. "Have fun with boring Jacob. But just remember," he points at you with mock seriousness, though something flickers in his eyes, "I'm not giving up without a fight. Can't let some marketing guy steal the love of my life, can I?"

"The love of your life?" you roll your eyes, ignoring the way your heart skips.

"Since karting, darling," he winks, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Come on, Alex, let's leave the Russell siblings to their protective brother-sister chat."

As soon as the door closes behind them, Carmen turns to you with raised eyebrows. "You really have that boy pining over you, you know that right?"

"Oh please," you wave her off, though your cheeks feel warm. "We're just joking around. We've been doing this since forever."

"Sure, sister, sure," George snorts, exchanging a knowing look with Carmen. "Because every guy I know plans out their future house in Surrey with their 'joke' wife."

"And names their future dog Fernando," Carmen adds.

"It's just Lando being Lando," you insist, but you can't help glancing at the door where he'd disappeared. "He jokes like this with everyone."

"Really?" Carmen leans forward. "Because I've never heard him call anyone else 'the love of his life' or 'darling' or plan out their wedding colors."

"Or look like someone kicked his puppy when they mention going on a date with someone else," George adds.

"You're both reading way too much into this," you say, standing up and grabbing your bag. "I have to go get ready for my date with Jacob."

"The date that Lando looked absolutely thrilled about," George mutters under his breath.

You pretend not to hear him as you leave, trying to ignore the way Lando's slightly hurt expression keeps playing in your mind.

Because it's all jokes. And he's just Lando.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 211,984 others

yn.russell great great night 😙

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username1 OMGG LITTLE RUSSELL

username2 she's so pretty its not fair

flonorris1 we need to catch up 👀

username3 HUHH DID LANDO FINALLY ASK HER OUT

username4 how did george allow her to go on a date

charles_leclerc Oblivious little baby russell

↳ yn.russell ?

↳ username1 EXPLAIN

iamrebeccad Prettiest girl 😍

jacob___ ❤️

↳ yn.russell 😘

↳ georgerussell63 I'm watching...

↳ username1 IM YELLING

↳ username2 WHATS GOING ONNN

landonorris the prettiest girl in the world and my future wife idc idc

↳ username1 lando have some class ffs

↳ yn.russell ENOUGH

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liked by carmenmmundt, jacob__ and 229,836 others

yn.russell snaps from the summer break 💙 happy happy

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username1 AN ICON

username2 i wish i was this pinterest feed coded

carmenmmundt Love you my girl !

username3 HOLD ON. THE SECOND PICTURE

username4 did she just soft launch 👀👀

username5 LITTLE RUSSELL HAS A BOYFRIEND ?????

username6 if her bf is not lando we don’t want it

alex_albon i know someone who’s NOT going to like this

landonorris my darling 😍😍 do u miss me as much as i miss youuuu?

↳ username1 HES SHAMELESS

↳ yn.russell STOP THIS MADNESS

georgerussell63 I know a lot of ways to make a crash look accidental

↳ yn.russell you’re literally not intimidating anyone BYE

↳ username1 SO SHE DOES HAVE A BF

jacob__ ❤️

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The sun is surprisingly bright as you make your way through the Zandvoort paddock, dodging various team personnel rushing around for Thursday preparations. The summer break was finally over and it was time for race cars again. You're just turning the corner when you hear a familiar voice.

"There's my darling!" Lando calls out, jogging over with his signature grin. "Thought you'd forgotten about your future husband during the break."

Before you can respond, he's pulled you into a tight hug. You catch a whiff of his familiar cologne, the one he's worn since F2, and automatically hug him back.

"How was your summer?" he asks, keeping an arm around your shoulders as he starts walking with you. "Did you miss me terribly? Cry yourself to sleep thinking about our FIFA rematch?"

"Actually," you start, feeling unexpectedly nervous, "I've got some news."

"Oh?" His eyes light up. "Did George finally admit his neck is abnormally long? Because I've been saying—"

"Jacob and I are officially together," you cut in quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. "Like, properly together. Boyfriend and girlfriend."

Lando's step falters slightly, his arm dropping from your shoulders. "What?"

"Yeah," you continue, fiddling with your paddock pass. "We kept seeing each other after that first date, and during the break... it just got serious."

"Serious?" His voice sounds strange. "How serious? When did this— why am I just finding out about this?"

"We wanted to keep it quiet at first, you know? But he talked to the higher-ups at McLaren today about dating someone connected to another team, and they're cool with it, so..." you trail off, watching his face carefully.

"Cool with it," he repeats slowly. Then, visibly forcing his usual grin, "Well, that's... that's great, love. Really great. Though I have to say, my mum will be devastated. She was really counting on those papaya-themed grandchildren."

But his joke falls flat, lacking its usual warmth. His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Lando—"

"No, really," he cuts in, running a hand through his curls. "I'm happy for you. Even if he is rubbish at making coffee. And boring. And probably doesn't even know your favorite ice cream flavor is mint chocolate chip, or that you secretly love watching those terrible reality shows, or that you—" he stops himself, clearing his throat. "Anyway. Good for you. Both of you."

You're about to respond when his race engineer calls him over.

"Duty calls," he says, already backing away. "But hey, tell Jacob he better treat my future wife right. Even if she's... not actually my future wife anymore."

He tries to wink, but it looks more like a flinch. Before you can say anything else, he's gone, leaving you standing alone in the paddock with an inexplicable heaviness in your chest.

But you immediately brush it off. Because at the end of the day, he's just Lando.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 276,504 others

yn.russell making it official 🤍 @/jacob___

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username1 OH?

username2 YALL HE WORKS FOR MCLAREN ??

username3 what happened to lando ?? the marriage proposal??

georgerussell63 About time you stopped sneaking around 🙄

↳ yn.russell shut up old man

↳ carlossainz55 Protective brother mode activated

carmenmmundt You guys look so cute! ❤️

↳ yn.russell love you xxx

alex_albon Well this is going to be interesting 👀

↳ landonorris mate.

↳ alex_albon what? I said nothing

username4 But what about Lando?? 😭 They were literally perfect together

usernsme5 nooo my ship is sinking

username6 the way lando looks at her tho…

jacob___❤️

↳ yn.russell 🤍

landonorris i guess i need to find a new future wife then 🤷‍♂️ applications open x

↳ danielricciardo i volunteer as tribute mate

↳ landonorris sorry mate you're not george's sister

↳ carlossainz55 You okay there buddy?

↳ yn.russell don't worry, you'll always be my favorite husband-that-never-was x

↳ landonorris 💔

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

yn.russell has added to their stories

landonorris has replied to your story

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The Singapore night air is thick with humidity and celebration. The club's bass thrums through your bones as you watch Lando being congratulated for what feels like the hundredth time. He's practically glowing, champagne-drunk and victory-high, but something seems off about his smile.

"Babe, want another drink?" Jacob's voice pulls your attention back. His hand is possessively placed on your lower back, and you notice Lando's eyes flicker to it before he quickly looks away.

Across the VIP section, Alex nudges Charles, nodding towards where Lando is now aggressively stabbing at his ice with a straw.

"Subtle, mate," Alex smirks, sliding into the booth beside Lando. "Very subtle."

"Don't know what you're talking about," Lando mutters, but his eyes betray him, darting back to where Jacob is now whispering something in your ear.

"Ah, l'amour," Charles sighs dramatically. "It is painful, no?"

"Nothing's painful," Lando protests, straightening up. "I just won a Grand Prix, in case you forgot."

"And yet you look like someone stole your puppy," Alex points out.

"Or your future wife," Charles adds with a knowing look.

"She was never actually going to be my future wife," Lando says, but his voice lacks conviction. "It was just jokes. Always has been. She's George's sister, for fuck's sake."

"Right," Alex drawls. "So you wouldn't mind if I told you they're probably going to move in together soon?"

Lando chokes on his drink. "They're what?"

"He's joking," Charles quickly intervenes, shooting Alex a look. "But your reaction..."

"Means nothing," Lando insists, but his knuckles are white around his glass. "I just... I don't want her to rush into anything. As a friend. A protective friend. Who happens to be her brother's mate. And her future husband. But like, as a joke. Obviously."

"Obviously," Alex repeats dryly.

Suddenly, Charles straightens up. "Where did they go?"

The spot where you and Jacob were standing is empty. Lando's eyes scan the crowd, something uneasy settling in his stomach.

"Probably just getting more drinks," he says, but he's already standing up.

"Lando..." Alex starts.

"I just need some air," Lando cuts him off, making his way through the crowd.

The corridor leading to the outdoor area is quieter, the music muffled. That's when he hears raised voices.

"You're being ridiculous," Jacob's voice is sharp. "I was just talking to her."

"With your hand on her waist?" Your voice sounds tired. "While I was right there?"

"Oh, so I can't even network now? That's literally my job, YN. But I wouldn't expect you to understand that, since you're only here because of your brother."

Lando's feet move before his brain catches up.

"Everything alright out here?" His voice is deliberately light, but there's steel underneath.

"Fine," Jacob snaps. "Just having a private conversation with my girlfriend."

"Doesn't sound very private," Lando steps closer to you instinctively. "Or very pleasant."

"This doesn't concern you, Norris."

"See, that's where you're wrong, mate," Lando's usual playful demeanor is gone. "YN's wellbeing always concerns me. Future wife contract, remember? Legally binding and all that."

"We're still doing that joke?" Jacob scoffs. "Bit pathetic, don't you think?"

"Not as pathetic as hitting on sponsors' daughters while your girlfriend watches," Lando retorts, then softer, to you: "You okay, darling?"

The familiar pet name makes your chest tight. "I'm fine, Lando."

"Great, she's fine," Jacob moves to grab your arm. "Let's go."

"Touch her like that again," Lando's voice is deadly quiet, "and you'll be looking for a new marketing job. Might want to learn how the coffee machine works first though."

Jacob looks between you and Lando, jaw clenched. "Whatever. This is bullshit anyway. Call me when you're done playing happy families with your brother's friend."

He storms off, leaving you and Lando in charged silence.

"So," Lando finally says, attempting his usual lightness, "does this mean I can keep the dog name Fernando?"

You let out a watery laugh, and without thinking, he pulls you into a hug. You fit against him like you always have, his cologne familiar and comforting.

"My darling," he murmurs into your hair, then catches himself. "I mean... sorry. Probably shouldn't call you that anymore."

You pull back slightly to look at him. "You've been calling me that since we were teenagers."

"Yeah, well," he gives you a half-smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, "things change, don't they?"

The way he's looking at you makes your heart stutter. Has he always looked at you like that?

"Is he always like this?" Lando asks quietly, still holding you close. His usual playful tone is gone, replaced by something more serious than you're used to hearing from him.

"No, no," you shake your head quickly. Maybe too quickly, because Lando's brow furrows as he studies your face. "It's not— he's not usually... it was just a misunderstanding."

He's silent for a moment, his hands fidgeting like they always do when he's worried about something. "You'd tell me though, right? If he ever... if he's not good to you? Or tell George at least?"

"Of course," you try to smile reassuringly. "But really, today was just a bad night. Too much pressure, too much champagne..."

"YN," he cuts in, and the way he says your name instead of one of his usual pet names makes you look up at him. His eyes are intense, concerned. "Promise me."

"I promise," you say softly. "You're a great friend, Lando."

Something flickers across his face – so quick you almost miss it – before his signature grin returns, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Friend?" he scoffs, but his voice sounds slightly strained. "Future husband, remember? Can't have my darling dealing with drama alone. Bad for our future marriage prospects."

You laugh, and he joins in, but there's something heavy hanging in the air between you. Before either of you can say anything else, Alex's voice carries from the doorway.

"Found them! Everything okay out here?"

"Never better," Lando announces, stepping back and throwing an arm around your shoulders with practiced ease. But you notice how his smile doesn't quite match the one in all those podium photos from earlier. "Just reminding the future Mrs. Norris about our very legitimate marriage contract. Very binding. Legally waterproof and everything."

He's doing that thing he does when he's uncomfortable – talking too fast, jokes tumbling out one after another. But his hand squeezes your shoulder gently before he lets go, and you catch him glancing back at you as he bounces toward the club entrance, his "Let's celebrate my amazing win, shall we?" almost drowning out the sound of your heart beating too fast.

Alex watches the exchange with knowing eyes but mercifully says nothing, just offers his arm to escort you back inside.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

texts between george and yn

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 287,540 others

yn.russell british boy steps foot in mexico city and instantly thinks he's a local... who's gonna tell him

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username1 LANDO X LITTLE RUSSELL IS SO BACKKK

username2 he looks so cuute

username3 i know her bf is not going to like this

alex_albon he can't even keep tequila shots down. such a fake

↳ landonorris want to test that theory?

↳ charles_leclerc Poor little Lando Norris

username4 HELP SHES SO IN LOVE WITH HIM 😭

jacob___ 👀

↳ username1 i know he's JEALOUS

username5 the way yn's feed is like 60% lando

username6 MY PARENTS

landonorris why is my future wife so mean to me

↳ yn.russell LANDO

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Later that afternoon, you're sitting with Carmen in the Mercedes hospitality when George joins you, stealing a bite of your sandwich.

"Get your own food," you swat his hand away.

"Sharing is caring, little sis," he grins, then notices your expression. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," you say automatically, but Carmen raises an eyebrow.

"She's overthinking," Carmen supplies helpfully. "About Jacob."

"I'm not overthinking," you protest. "I'm just... thinking. Normal amounts of thinking."

"About?" George prompts.

You fidget with your paddock pass. "He wants me to meet his parents. After Abu Dhabi. Says it's time we got more serious."

George's expression shifts slightly. "And you want that?"

"I mean... yeah? I think so. It makes sense, right? We've been together for a few months now, things are good..."

"Are they?" Carmen asks gently.

"Of course they are," you say, but your voice lacks conviction. "The Singapore thing was just a one-off. He apologized. He's been really sweet since then."

"Sweet enough to make up for being a dick?" George mutters.

"George."

"Sorry, sorry," he holds up his hands. "Just... you don't sound very excited about meeting his parents."

"I am excited," you insist. "It's just... a big step."

"Not as big as naming your future dog Fernando," Carmen says under her breath.

You shoot her a warning look. "Can we not?"

"Not what?" George asks.

"Nothing," you say quickly. "Just... Carmen thinks I'm not fully committed because..."

"Because you still light up every time Lando calls you 'darling'?" Carmen finishes.

"That's not— he calls everyone darling."

"No, he doesn't," George and Carmen say in unison.

"I hate you both," you groan. "Look, Lando and I are friends. That's all we've ever been. The whole future wife thing is just our running joke."

"Sure," Carmen nods. "That's why he looks like someone kicked his puppy every time Jacob touches you."

"He does not—" you start, but stop when you catch sight of Lando walking past. He gives you a small wave and his signature grin, but something about it seems off.

"Doesn't what?" George prompts.

"Nothing," you shake your head. "I should go. Jacob's waiting for me."

As you leave, you hear Carmen say to George, "They're both idiots, aren't they?"

"Complete idiots," George agrees. "But at least they're consistent about it."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and 298,605 others

yn.russell happy birthday to my favorite “future husband” 🎂 from stealing your caps in karting to stealing your FIFA records (still undefeated btw), you've somehow become one of my favorite people in this weird little world of ours. here's to many more years of terrible jokes, impromptu dance parties in the garage, and you pretending to let me win at everything (we both know I'm just better 😌). love you loads landolorian 🤍

ps: fernando the nonexistent dog says happy birthday to his future dad x

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username1 THIS IS TOO CUTE

username2 YOUR HONOR IM CRYING

landonorris still waiting for that marriage certificate darling 💍 also you definitely cheated at FIFA last time

↳ yn.russell sounds like someone's a sore loser

↳ landonorris sounds like someone's avoiding the marriage topic

↳ georgerussell63 get a room you two

↳ landonorris working on it mate

↳ username1 LANDO WTF

↳ username2 HE HAS NO SHAME

mclaren Happy Birthday @/landonorris! @/yn.russell when's the wedding?

↳ landonorris asking the real questions admin

↳ oscarpiastri I'll officiate

↳ landonorris DEAL

↳ yn.russell STOP IT

jacob___ 🙄

↳ landonorris problem mate?

↳ yn.russell boys.

↳ username3 THE TENSION

username4 why aren't they together yet??

username5 my heart can't take this anymore just date already

liked by username1, username2 and 3,976 others

f1.gossip Lando Norris and YN Russell spotted getting cozy at his birthday celebration last night. Swipe for more 👀

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username1 "just friends" my ass

username2 no because why does he look at her like she hung the stars

username3 wait where's jacob? 👀

↳ username1 apparently he left early...

↳ username2 he posted from a different party later that night

username4 george watching his best friend and his sister like 🧍‍♂️

↳ username1 he's been watching this slow burn for years poor man

username5 jacob watching these photos like 👁👄👁

username6 the way lando calls her darling more than her actual boyfriend does

username7 who's gonna tell jacob his girlfriend has better chemistry with lando in these photos than their entire instagram feed

username8 the "future wife" jokes don't seem so jokey anymore huh

username9 okay but can we talk about how she literally glows when she's around him?

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The afternoon sun filters through your apartment windows as you put the finishing touches on your makeup. You're going out to dinner with Jacob - another fancy restaurant, another chance for him to network while you smile politely beside him.

A knock at your door makes you pause. Opening it reveals Lando, holding a bag of takeaway and what appears to be your favorite ice cream.

"Oh," he says, taking in your dress and heels. "You're going out."

"Yeah," you adjust your earring, but can't help smiling at the familiar sight of him with food. "With Jacob. Remember?"

"Right," his smile dims slightly. "The boyfriend. Must've slipped my mind." He holds up the bags. "I brought provisions for our traditional post-race debrief. You know, where you tell me how amazing I was and I pretend to be humble about it?"

You laugh despite yourself. "Since when are you ever humble?"

"I'm incredibly humble. The most humble. No one's more humble than me," he grins, then peers around you into the apartment. "But seriously, can't you reschedule? I got your favorite ice cream. Mint chocolate chip, because I'm the best future husband ever."

"Still going with that, are we?" you ask, turning back to the mirror to check your lipstick.

"Always, darling," he follows you in, setting the food down and flopping onto your couch like he owns it. "It's legally binding, remember? Can't disappoint my mum now."

"I can't tonight," you say, checking your phone. "Jacob said he has something important to tell me."

"The one who made you cry?" Lando's voice loses some of its playfulness.

"That was one time," you defend, though without heat. "And he apologized. He actually told me he loves me last week. Says he wants us to be serious."

Lando sits up straighter, his usual energetic demeanor momentarily stilled. "And do you? Love him?"

"You don't know anything about my relationship, Lando," you say, but it comes out softer than intended.

"I know you," he counters, standing up and moving to lean against the wall near your mirror. "I know you scrunch your nose when you're trying not to laugh at bad jokes. I know you secretly love those terrible reality shows but pretend you're 'just watching them ironically.' I know you stress-eat ice cream when George has a bad race."

"That's different," you say, but you're fighting a smile.

"Is it?" he challenges, but his tone is gentle. "Look, I just... I want you to be happy. Even if it means dealing with boring Jacob who still can't work the coffee machine."

"He figured it out last week, actually," you laugh.

"Finally! Only took him what, six months?" Lando grins, then sobers slightly. "But seriously, if he makes you happy..."

"He does," you say, though something in your chest tightens. "Most of the time."

"Most of the time?" Lando raises an eyebrow. "That's not exactly a ringing endorsement, darling."

"Nobody's perfect."

"I am," he says immediately, making you laugh. "What? I'm just saying, our future children would have excellent genes. Plus, I make a mean cup of coffee."

Your phone buzzes - a text from Jacob asking where you are.

"I have to go," you say, grabbing your purse. "Lock up when you leave?"

"Fine," he sighs dramatically. "Abandon your future husband with melting ice cream. But just know, Fernando the dog is very disappointed in you."

"Still haven't given up on that name, huh?"

"Never," he grins, but something flickers in his eyes. "Save me some time this weekend? For proper FIFA revenge?"

"You mean so I can beat you again?"

"Excuse you, I let you win," he protests, following you to the door. "It's part of my long-term strategy."

"Which is?"

"Can't have my future wife thinking I'm bad at something, can I?" he winks. "Even though we both know I'm actually terrible at FIFA."

You shake your head, laughing. "Goodbye, Lando."

"Wait," he calls as you start down the hall. "Just... be happy, yeah? Even if it's with someone who took six months to learn how to make coffee."

"I am happy," you say, but even to your own ears, it sounds more like a question than a statement.

"If you say so, darling," he says quietly. "But just remember, the Fernando name reservation is still valid. You know, in case the coffee-challenged boyfriend doesn't work out."

You roll your eyes but can't help smiling as you walk away, trying to ignore the way your heart seems to be arguing with your head about exactly what - or who - makes you happiest. Behind you, you can hear him humming what sounds suspiciously like the wedding march, and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

Because at the end of the day, he's still Lando. Your Lando. Even if you're not quite ready to admit what that really means.

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liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 276,498 others

yn.russell last dinner date before heading back to the circus 🏎️ @/jacob___

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username1 ewww

username2 cute couple tbh

jacob___ miss you already x

↳ yn.russell ❤️

landonorris see you in las vegas darling x

↳ jacob___ can you not?

↳ landonorris sorry mate, contractual future wife obligations

↳ yn_russell boys. please.

↳ georgerussell63 🍿

↳ carlossainz55 Share some with me

↳ username1 LORD

↳ username2 THIS IS SO MESSYYYYY

username3 THIS COMMENT SECTION HAS ME IN TEARSSSS

username4 i feel like shit is about to hit the fan reaaaally soon

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

"I just don't understand why you have to be there for every single race," Jacob's voice carries down the paddock corridor. "It's not like you're actually part of the team."

You're standing outside the McLaren hospitality, what started as a casual conversation having turned into yet another argument. "My brother races in F1, and Lando's one of my closest friends. Of course I'm going to be here."

"Right, Lando," Jacob scoffs. "Because God forbid you miss one of his races. Wouldn't want to disappoint your 'future husband.'"

"Don't do that," you say tiredly. "You know it's just a joke."

"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you'd rather spend time with him than support your actual boyfriend's career."

"Your career? I've been to every single marketing event you've asked me to attend. I've smiled and networked and played the perfect girlfriend."

"Perfect?" He laughs humorlessly. "You barely talk to any of the sponsors. You're too busy hanging out in the Mercedes garage or watching Lando's practice sessions."

"That's not fair—"

"You know what's not fair? Having a girlfriend who's more invested in other people's careers than mine."

"I didn't realize I was supposed to give up my entire life just because we're dating."

"Your entire life?" His voice rises. "You mean hanging around the paddock like some glorified fan?"

You step back like he's slapped you. "Is that what you think I am?"

"I think," he says coldly, "that you need to figure out what's more important - playing happy families with your brother's friends or having a real relationship with someone who's actually going somewhere in life."

"Hey!" A sharp voice cuts through the tension. George is standing there, face thunderous. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Just having a private conversation with my girlfriend," Jacob says stiffly.

"Doesn't sound very private to me," George steps closer, positioning himself slightly in front of you. "Or very respectful."

"George, it's fine," you start, but he cuts you off.

"No, it's not fine," he says, not taking his eyes off Jacob. "No one talks to my sister like that."

Jacob holds up his hands. "Look, this is between me and YN."

"Not anymore it's not," George's voice is dangerously calm. "I think you should leave."

For a moment, it looks like Jacob might argue, but something in George's expression makes him think better of it. "Whatever. Call me when you're ready to be a proper girlfriend."

As he walks away, George turns to you, his anger melting into concern. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," you say automatically, but your voice wavers.

"Come on," he wraps an arm around your shoulders, leading you toward his driver room. "Let's talk."

Once inside, you sink onto the couch while George grabs two water bottles. "How long has he been talking to you like that?"

"It's not... it's not usually that bad," you say, fidgeting with the bottle label. "He's just stressed about work."

"That's not an excuse," George sits beside you. "Has he said things like this before? About you being just a fan?"

You stay quiet, which is answer enough.

"YN," George's voice softens. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it's embarrassing," you admit quietly. "He's right, isn't he? I am just hanging around because of you."

"Stop," George says firmly. "You've been part of this world since we were kids. You understand racing better than half the people in the paddock. Hell, you probably know more about tire strategies than some of the engineers."

You manage a small laugh. "Only because you never shut up about them."

"Exactly," he grins, then turns serious again. "Look, being here isn't just about me. It's your life too. You've built relationships with everyone here. Carmen loves you, Alex considers you a little sister, and Lando..."

"Don't," you cut him off. "Please don't bring Lando into this."

George studies you for a moment. "Why not? He's your best friend."

"Because..." you trail off, not sure how to explain the complicated mix of emotions that surface whenever Lando's name comes up lately.

"Because Jacob's jealous of him?" George suggests gently.

"He's not... it's not like that."

"Isn't it?" George raises an eyebrow. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like your boyfriend has a problem with how close you are to someone who's been in your life a lot longer than he has."

"Lando and I are just friends," you say, but the words feel hollow.

"Are you?" George asks softly. "Because friends don't look at each other the way you two do. Friends don't have elaborate future plans including dogs named Fernando. Friends don't get that look in their eyes when the other person is dating someone else."

"George..."

"I'm just saying," he continues, "maybe Jacob isn't entirely wrong to be jealous. Just... wrong about everything else."

You're quiet for a moment, processing. "I don't know what to do."

"Yes, you do," George says simply. "You just need to be honest with yourself about what - or who - actually makes you happy."

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?" He challenges. "Because from what I just heard, Jacob doesn't make you happy. He makes you feel small. And my little sister," he squeezes your shoulder, "deserves someone who makes her feel like she could take on the world."

"Someone like Lando?" You ask quietly.

"I didn't say that," George grins. "But now that you mention it..."

You shove him playfully. "Shut up."

"Make me," he laughs, then sobers. "Seriously though, YN. You deserve better than someone who makes you question your place here. This is your home too."

You lean your head on his shoulder. "When did you get so wise?"

"I've always been wise. I'm the older sibling, remember?"

"By like two years!"

"Still counts," he says smugly, then adds more seriously, "Just... promise me you'll think about what I said? About being honest with yourself?"

"I promise," you say softly, even as your mind drifts to a certain curly-haired driver who's probably wondering where you are for your traditional pre-race FIFA tournament.

"Good," George stands up. "Now, want to go watch Lando absolutely butcher his quali prep? I heard he's still convinced he can take turn 3 flat out."

You laugh, letting him pull you up. "Some things never change, do they?"

"Nope," George agrees, but there's something knowing in his smile. "And some things are just waiting for you to realize they've been there all along."

As you walk toward the McLaren garage, you can't help but think about how some of the best things in life start as jokes - like a fourteen-year-old boy declaring you'll have papaya orange wedding colors, or a nickname that feels more like home than any other word in the world.

Maybe it's time to stop pretending it's all just a joke.

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liked by georgerussell63, carmenmmundt and 301,988 others

yn.russell my big brother just won in VEGAS!!! 🏆✨ from watching you race karts in the rain to watching you stand on top of the podium under those lights... i've never been prouder to be a russell. you deserve this more than anyone georgie. also thanks for letting me steal your champagne and ruin your hair before the photos 😘

ps: mum's crying, dad's crying, i'm crying, even fernando the dog is crying and he's not real x

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username1 I LOVE THEM SMMMM

username2 THIS IS MY FAMILY

georgerussell63 love you little sis ❤️ (but i was definitely the cuter kid)

↳ yn_russell keep telling yourself that x

↳ landonorris can confirm yn was the cuter kid

↳ georgerussell63 no one asked you lando

↳ landonorris just supporting my future wife mate

↳ yn.russell boys please this is george's moment

username2 THE WAY SHE RAN TO HIM IN PARC FERME 😭

username3 sibling goals fr

username4 ok but can we talk about how lando waited to celebrate with george until after yn had her moment with him 🥺

↳ username1 future brother in law behavior

username5 wait why isn't jacob in any of these photos? Wasn't he there?

carmenmmundt so proud of you both ❤️

↳ landonorris *all three of us

↳ carmenmmundt ?

↳ landonorris future wife = future family

↳ yn.russell this is GEORGE'S post omg

↳ landonorris sorry darling carry on x

charles_leclerc the russell genes are strong

↳ landonorris hopefully our kids get her genes

↳ georgerussell63 LANDO.

↳ yn.russell i swear to god

↳ landonorris what? just planning ahead 😌

username6 THIS COMMENT SECTION IS KILLING ME

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yn.russell has added to their stories

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The Abu Dhabi night is alive with celebration, the McLaren garage covered in papaya and champagne. But you're hidden away in one of the quiet corridors behind hospitality, mascara smudged, trying to muffle your sobs.

"There you are, darling! We've been looking everywhere for—" Lando's voice cuts off abruptly when he sees you. "YN?"

You quickly try to wipe your tears, but it's too late. His championship-winning smile vanishes instantly as he drops down beside you.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" His voice is soft, concerned. When you don't answer, he gently takes your hands away from your face. "Talk to me."

"It's stupid," you manage to say. "You should be celebrating. You just won the constructors'."

"Pretty sure the champagne will still be there in ten minutes," he says, thumb brushing away a tear from your cheek. "What happened?"

You take a shaky breath. "Jacob... he..." Your voice breaks.

Lando's expression hardens. "What did he do?"

"He broke up with me," you let out a bitter laugh. "Apparently now that he's secured a position at Mercedes for next season, he doesn't need the Russell connection anymore."

"He what?" Lando's voice is dangerously quiet.

"Turns out I was just... convenient. A way to get closer to Toto. To Mercedes." Your voice cracks again. "God, I feel so stupid."

"You're not stupid," Lando says fiercely. "He's the stupid one. He's worse than stupid, he's a complete—"

"I really thought..." you cut him off, fresh tears falling. "I actually thought he cared about me."

Without hesitation, Lando pulls you into his arms. You bury your face in his race suit, still damp with champagne, and let yourself break.

"I've got you," he murmurs into your hair. "I've got you, darling."

You stay like that for a while, his hands running soothingly up and down your back as you cry. The distant sounds of celebration feel like they're from another world.

"Want me to crash his car?" Lando finally asks, making you let out a watery laugh. "I could do it. Make it look like an accident. I am a professional driver, after all."

"Lando..."

"Or we could put laxatives in his coffee. Though he'd probably notice, since he still can't make a proper cup himself."

Despite everything, you find yourself smiling slightly.

"There's my girl," he says softly, then catches himself. "I mean... sorry. Probably shouldn't..."

"It's okay," you whisper. "I've always been your girl. Even if it was just as a joke."

Something shifts in his expression. "YN..."

"Don't," you pull back slightly. "Please. I can't... I can't lose you too. Not tonight."

He studies your face for a long moment, then nods, pulling you back against his chest. "You'll never lose me. Future husband contract, remember? Legally binding. Can't get rid of me that easily."

You close your eyes, breathing in his familiar scent. "Promise?"

"Promise," he kisses the top of your head. "Besides, Fernando still needs both his parents."

This gets a real laugh out of you. "We don't actually have a dog, Lando."

"Yet," he corrects. "We don't have a dog yet. But when we do—"

"His name will be Fernando," you finish with him, and for a moment, everything feels okay again.

"Want me to get George?" he asks after a while.

You shake your head. "Not yet. Can we just... stay here for a bit?"

"As long as you need," he says, and you can hear his heart beating steadily under your ear. "I'm not going anywhere."

In the distance, someone calls his name.

"Go," you start to pull away. "They need their champion."

"They can wait," he says firmly, pulling you back. "You need me more."

And maybe it's the way he says it, or the gentle kiss he presses to your temple, or how his arms feel like the safest place in the world, but suddenly you realize what everyone's been trying to tell you all along.

This was never just a joke to him.

And maybe, just maybe, it was never really a joke to you either.

But that's a revelation for another night, when your heart isn't quite so broken and his race suit isn't covered in your tears. For now, you let yourself be held by your best friend, your future husband, your Lando, as the Abu Dhabi night carries on without you.

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liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 288,760 others

yn.russell back to my favorite job: professional thirdwheel 🏖️ (at least they feed me occasionally) @/georgerussell63 @/carmenmmundt

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username1 MY PARENTS

username2 wait... where's jacob? 👀

↳ username1 he unfollowed her last week 👀

↳ username3 tea incoming

georgerussell63 You love us

↳ yn.russell debatable

↳ carmenmmund We literally paid for your dinner

↳ yn.russell okay fine you're alright

landonorris need a fourth wheel? 👀

↳ yn.russell ...

↳ landonorris i'll bring snacks

username4 THE WAY LANDO COMMENTED SO FAST

username5 LANDO THIS IS YOUR CHANCE

username6 single little russell era is coming

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The winter sun is setting early, casting long shadows across your apartment. It's been a month days since Abu Dhabi, a months since Jacob revealed his true colors, and you're curled up on your couch in your comfiest sweats, surrounded by empty ice cream containers.

George and Carmen tried to cheer you up, making you tag along on their vacation, but now that you were back home, the sulking feeling inevitably came back too.

A familiar pattern of knocks at your door makes you groan. "Go away, Lando."

"Not a chance, darling," his voice calls back. "I come bearing provisions!"

"I don't need provisions," you call out, but you're already getting up to open the door. "I need to wallow in peace."

You open the door to find Lando, arms full of bags, wearing a ridiculously oversized hoodie that you're pretty sure belongs to George.

"Wallowing is officially cancelled," he announces, breezing past you into the apartment. "We're having a proper heartbreak recovery session."

"We are?"

"Absolutely," he starts unpacking the bags. "I've got all the essentials. More ice cream - mint chocolate chip, obviously. Every terrible rom-com Netflix has to offer. Popcorn. Those weird crisps you like that no one else understands. And..." he pulls out a bottle with flourish, "your favorite wine."

"Lando..."

"No arguments," he says firmly, but gently. "I'm not leaving you alone to cry over that coffee-challenged idiot."

"I wasn't crying," you protest weakly.

He raises an eyebrow at your clearly tear-stained face. "Right. And I'm not the most talented driver on the grid."

This actually makes you laugh. "Your modesty never fails to amaze me."

"I know, I know, I'm incredible," he grins, already making himself at home on your couch. "Now come here. We're starting with The Notebook because I know it's your guilty pleasure, even though you pretend to hate it."

"I do hate it," you say, but you're already curling up next to him.

"Sure you do, darling," he throws a blanket over both of you. "Just like you hate reality TV and actually love Jacob's boring marketing presentations."

You wince slightly at Jacob's name, and Lando immediately softens.

"Sorry," he says quietly. "No more mentions of He Who Shall Not Be Named. Though I still think we should put glitter in his car ventilation system."

"George already offered to have him banned from the paddock," you smile slightly.

"Good man, your brother," Lando nods approvingly. "Though my revenge plans are much more creative. I was thinking we could reprogram his laptop to only play 'Baby Shark' when he opens PowerPoint..."

You can't help but laugh. "You're ridiculous."

"Made you smile though, didn't I?" he says softly, and something in his voice makes you look up at him.

"You always do," you admit quietly.

He holds your gaze for a moment before clearing his throat. "Right, well, that's what future husbands are for, isn't it? Can't have my darling being sad. Bad for our wedding photos."

"Still going with that, are we?"

"Always," he says, and despite his light tone, there's something earnest in his eyes. "Someone's got to look after you properly."

"I can look after myself," you point out.

"Oh, I know," he grins. "But it's more fun together, isn't it? Plus, who else is going to appreciate your terrible taste in movies?"

"My taste is not terrible!"

"Darling, you genuinely enjoyed that film about the talking cats."

"It was artistic!"

"It was horrifying," he laughs, pulling you closer. "But I watched it three times with you anyway."

"Because you're a good friend," you say softly.

Something flickers across his face. "Yeah," he says after a moment. "The best friend you'll ever have. Even if you have questionable taste in everything except future husbands."

You roll your eyes but can't help smiling. "Speaking of questionable taste, weren't we supposed to be watching The Notebook?"

"Oh right!" he brightens, grabbing the remote. "Time to pretend you're not going to cry at the end."

"I never cry at the end."

"Darling, you've cried every single time we've watched it."

"Have not!"

"Have too! Remember last time? You got tears all over my favorite hoodie."

"That was one time!"

"One time this month, maybe," he grins, then softens. "It's okay though. My hoodies are always available for your tears. Even if they're about stupid coffee-challenged marketing guys who don't deserve them."

You lean your head on his shoulder. "Thank you, Lando."

"For what?"

"For being you. For being here. For..." you gesture at all the supplies he brought. "For everything."

He's quiet for a moment, then presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Always, darling. In sickness and in health, remember?"

"We're not actually married, Lando."

"Yet," he corrects, but there's something in his voice that makes your heart skip. "We're not actually married yet."

The movie starts playing, but you're more aware of his steady breathing, of how perfectly you fit against his side, of how safe you feel in this moment. And maybe it's too soon, maybe your heart is still too raw, but you can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, the right person has been here all along.

But that's a thought for another day. For now, you let yourself be comforted by your best friend, your constant, your Lando, as he quotes along with the movie and keeps you supplied with ice cream and terrible jokes until you're laughing more than you're crying.

And if you do end up crying at the end of The Notebook, well, his hoodie is already there to catch your tears.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and 291,483 others

yn.russell FIRST RACE OF THE SEASON. WHAT A RIDE !!!! lando winning and georgie on podium. ALEX P5 !!!! all of my boys killing it 🥺 so happy to be back, i missed this so much

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username1 LITTLE RUSSELL BIGGEST SUPPORTER

username2 SHE WAS SO HAPPY FOR LANDO OMFG

username3 still gutted for the missed mclaren 1-2 but GEORGE P3!!

carmenmmundt You almost broke my hand with all the squeezing !! Missed you so happy my girl 🤍

↳ username1 AHH LITTLE RUSSELL IS HEALING

username4 the way she JUMPED into lando's arms

ciscanorris My future daughter in law! It was so good to see you

↳ username1 AHH MAMA NORRIS CLAIMING HER

landonorris THAT WAS FOR YOU MY DARLINGGG

↳ yourinstagram 🥺

↳ username2 AHH SHE DIDN'T CORRECT HIM

georgerussell63 Love you sis, even tho you hugged Lando first

↳ yn.russell he won okay

↳ landonorris and i'm her future husband

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The Miami night air is warm and sweet, carrying the distant sounds of celebration from the post race party below. You're leaning against the balcony railing, watching the lights of the circuit sparkle in the distance, when familiar footsteps approach.

"There's my darling," Lando's voice is soft as he joins you. "Hiding from your adoring public?"

You smile, not looking away from the view. "Just needed some air."

The past few months flash through your mind - Lando showing up at your door with takeaway after particularly hard days, marathon gaming sessions that somehow always ended with you falling asleep on his shoulder, countless movie nights where he'd quote every line just to make you laugh. He never let you wallow, never let you retreat into sadness. Whether it was surprising you with your favorite coffee in the morning or sending you ridiculous memes at 3 AM, he was constantly there, slowly piecing your heart back together without you even realizing it.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asks, bumping your shoulder gently with his.

"Just thinking about everything that's changed since last season."

He hums in agreement. "Good changes though, right?"

You finally turn to look at him, really look at him. His curls slightly messy from running his hands through them - a nervous habit you've known since you were teenagers. But there's something different in the way he's looking at you now, something that makes your heart skip.

"Yeah," you say softly. "Good changes."

He takes a step closer, and suddenly the air feels charged with possibility. "You know, I've been thinking..."

"Dangerous hobby," you tease, falling into your familiar pattern.

"Very dangerous," he agrees, but his voice is serious. "Been thinking about how sometimes the best things in life start as jokes."

Your breath catches. "Lando..."

"Like when a fourteen-year-old boy tells this pretty girl she's going to be his future wife," he continues, taking another step closer. "And he keeps saying it for years, making it this big running joke, because it's easier than admitting that maybe, just maybe, it was never really a joke at all."

"What are you saying?" you whisper, though your heart already knows the answer.

He reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering on your cheek. "I'm saying that I've been in love with you since we were kids. I'm saying that every time I called you darling, every time I talked about our future dog Fernando, every time I claimed the future husband title - I meant it. All of it."

"Lando..." your voice wavers.

"I know it's only been a few months since... everything," he says quickly. "And if you're not ready, if you don't feel the same way, we can pretend this never happened. We can go back to just joking around. But I needed you to know that for me, it was never just a joke. You were never just a joke."

You stare at him, this boy who's been your constant, your safe place, your home for so long. And suddenly everything clicks into place.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he says softly, giving you time to pull away if you want to.

You don't.

His lips meet yours, gentle at first, like he's afraid you might break. But when your hands slide into his curls, pulling him closer, the kiss deepens into something that feels like coming home and falling free all at once.

When you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours. "So," he says, slightly breathless, "about that legally binding marriage contract..."

You laugh, the sound full of joy. "Still going with that, are we?"

"Always," he grins, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. "Though now I'm thinking maybe we should make it official. You know, for Fernando's sake."

"We still don't have a dog, Lando."

"Yet," he corrects, pulling you closer. "We don't have a dog yet. But we will. Right after the wedding. Which will definitely have papaya orange colors because I called dibs when we were fourteen and—"

You cut him off with another kiss, feeling him smile against your lips.

"FINALLY!"

You break apart to find George standing in the doorway, grinning like he just won the championship.

"Ever heard of knocking?" Lando grumbles, but he doesn't let go of you.

"On a balcony door?" George raises an eyebrow. "Besides, I've been watching you two dance around each other for months. Years, actually."

"Have not," you protest.

"Have too," both men say in unison.

"I hate you both," you mutter, but you're fighting a smile.

"No you don't," Lando says confidently. "You love me. You're going to marry me and we're going to have a dog named Fernando and—"

"Still with the dog name?" George groans.

"It's tradition!" Lando defends. "Tell him, darling, tell him how important traditions are."

You look between your brother and the boy - no, the man - who's been your everything for so long, and feel your heart might burst with happiness.

"Actually," you say slowly, "I was thinking maybe we could name the dog George."

"What?" both men exclaim.

You burst out laughing at their expressions. "Just kidding. Fernando it is."

"See?" Lando beams at George. "She agrees with me. Because she loves me. Because we're getting married. Because—"

"Because it was never really a joke?" you finish softly.

His expression softens as he looks at you. "Never."

"Right," George clears his throat. "I'm going to leave before this gets any more sickeningly sweet. But Lando?"

"Yeah?"

"Hurt my sister and they'll never find your body."

"Please," Lando scoffs, pulling you closer. "I've been planning our future since I was fourteen. I'm not about to mess it up now."

As George leaves, shaking his head but smiling, Lando turns back to you.

"So," he says, his eyes twinkling, "about those wedding colors..."

You silence him with another kiss, thinking about how sometimes the best love stories start as jokes, and how sometimes the person you're meant to be with has been there all along, calling you darling and planning your future with a dog named Fernando.

And maybe, just maybe, those papaya orange wedding colors don't sound so bad after all.

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liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 201,384 others

yn.russell turns out some jokes become reality 🧡 @/landonorris (yes, we're actually getting the dog. yes, his name will be fernando. no, this isn't a drill - the future wife position has officially been filled, i love you my lando)

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username1 SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP IS THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENING??? 😭😭😭

username2 THE WAY I JUST SCREAMED IN THE MIDDLE OF STARBUCKS

username3 THE FUTURE WIFE JOKES WERE REAL ALL ALONG

georgerussell63 About bloody time 🙄 (but actually very happy for you both)

alex_albon the group chat can finally rest, no more "should I tell her?" messages from lando every 5 minutes

carmenmmundt The paddock's favorite love story

ciscanorris Finally! I've only been waiting for this announcement since they were teenagers 🥰

username4 the way this man has been calling her darling for YEARS and we all thought it was just banter 😭😭

username5 THE WAY I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS SINCE 2019

username6 ok but can we talk about how he's literally been manifesting this since they were TEENAGERS???

username7 this is actually the cutest thing ever like???? he's been planning their wedding since he was 14???? hello???

username8 the way george is probably somewhere being like "finally i don't have to pretend i don't see them flirting"

landonorris worth the wait, every single second❤️ love you darling x

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

It's a lazy Sunday afternoon in late summer, and you're curled up on your couch with a book when you hear Lando's key in the door. You smile, not looking up - he's been coming and going from your place so much lately that it feels more like his home than his own apartment.

"Darling!" his voice calls out, sounding suspiciously excited. "Close your eyes!"

"Why?" you ask warily. "Last time you had a surprise, it didn't end well."

"Just trust me!"

You sigh fondly, closing your eyes. "Fine, but this better be good."

You hear him moving around, and then something warm and furry lands in your lap.

Your eyes fly open to find yourself face to face with the most adorable chocolate Labrador puppy you've ever seen. The puppy immediately starts licking your face while Lando watches, beaming with pure joy.

"Lando..." you breathe, already in love with the wiggling bundle of fur. "What did you do?"

"Well," he drops onto the couch beside you, reaching over to scratch the puppy's ears, "I was thinking about how we've been together for months now, and living together basically even though we pretend we don't, and how there's this one very important member of our family still missing..."

"You didn't," you whisper, even as the puppy settles contentedly in your lap.

"I did," he grins. "Meet Fernando. Finally."

You look between Lando and the puppy - Fernando - feeling your heart might burst. "You actually named him Fernando?"

"Of course I did! I've been planning this since I was fourteen, remember?" His eyes soften. "Plus, I made you a promise, didn't I?"

"We're not married yet," you point out, but you can't stop smiling.

"Yet," he emphasizes, leaning over to kiss your cheek. "But really, I thought... I mean, we practically live together anyway. Might as well make it official. You, me, and Fernando."

You look down at the puppy, who's now snoring softly in your lap, then back at Lando. "Are you asking me to move in with you? Properly?"

"Maybe," he fidgets slightly. "Unless you think it's too soon? I know we haven't been together that long, but it feels like we've been building towards this forever, you know? And I thought, with Fernando here now..."

You cut off his rambling with a kiss. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll move in with you. Properly. All three of us."

His face lights up like you've just given him the best gift in the world. "Really?"

"Really," you laugh.

"You're ridiculous," you tell him fondly.

"You love it," he says confidently.

"I do," you admit softly. "I love you."

His expression melts into that soft look he reserves just for you. "I love you too, darling. Both of you," he adds as Fernando stirs and licks his hand.

Just then, your phone buzzes - a text from George.

"Oh no," you groan, reading it. "George is coming over."

"Perfect!" Lando brightens. "He can meet his nephew!"

"You did not just call our dog George's nephew."

"Of course I did! He's family now. Speaking of which..." he pulls out his phone, "my mum's been asking when we're bringing Fernando to visit."

Before you can respond, George's voice carries through the door. "Why is there puppy food in the hallway?"

Lando jumps up excitedly. "Ready to meet Uncle George, Fernando?"

The puppy perks up at his name, tail wagging as George opens the door.

"You didn't," George says, taking in the scene.

"We did!" Lando announces proudly. "Meet your nephew!"

"My... nephew?"

"Fernando Russell-Norris," Lando declares. "Well, technically just Norris for now, but that'll change once your sister finally agrees to marry me."

"Still waiting on that proposal, aren't you?" George smirks.

"All in good time," Lando winks at you. "Got to do it properly, haven't I?"

You watch George pretend not to be completely smitten with Fernando, while Lando chatters about all his plans for family weekends and teaching Fernando tricks. You can't help but think about how sometimes the best things in life start as jokes about future marriages and dogs named Fernando.

"Our little family," Lando says softly, pulling you close while Fernando attempts to climb into George's lap.

And as you lean into his side, watching your brother and your boyfriend argue about who gets to be Fernando's favorite uncle (while the puppy seems more interested in chewing George's shoelaces), you realize that this - this moment, this love, this little family - is better than any dream you could have had.

It's your reality. Your perfect, slightly chaotic, absolutely wonderful reality.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

4K notes · View notes

ilovemilestellersmoustache · 3 days ago

Text

Home Is Where The Heart Is

Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts!reader

Summary: Wanting to feel more included Bob decides to help on a mission but in efforts to protect you he injures himself leaving him with amnesia. Your boyfriend not remembering isn’t the biggest problem because he’s always going to find you again, even in a hundred lifetimes.

WC: 5.9K

⸻

The team had been crouched in that half-collapsed factory for what felt like days, waiting on a deal that intel swore would be “low-risk.” Off-grid. Lo-fi. Not worth a full Avengers pull.

Bob had practically begged to come.

“I’ll carry gear, patch wounds, whatever you need. I just- please- I need to feel useful.”he’d told Valentina.

She rolled her eyes but nodded. “Don’t get in the way, Goldilocks.”

So now, with dusk bleeding into night, Bob was in medic-mode. His hair was pushed back, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he passed out water, adjusted bandages, and murmured encouragements. His eye, however, never strayed too far from Y/N.

His girl. His light in all the noise. She’d joined him on this mission reluctantly, her usual grace exchanged for tension in her jaw. She didn’t trust the “low-risk” label and she had good instincts.

She was halfway up the ramp to the team’s transport jet, ready to head home with no sign of enemy lines for days. Ava right behind her, when it happened.

The building cracked.

A sound like the world being split open echoed across the premise. The kind no one expected. The kind Valentina explicitly said wouldn’t happen.

“AMBUSH!” John screamed, diving behind a shipping container.

Yelena flipped backward, drawing her pistol mid-air. “I KNEW THIS FELT WRONG!”

Bob didn’t think.

Didn’t hesitate.

His eyes scanned for Y/N and found her on the ramp, instinctively moving to cover Ava behind her. But she was exposed. Too exposed. A chunk of the building’s upper ledge shuddered, then gave way, right above her.

“Y/N!”

Bob was already sprinting, shoving through smoke and static. His boots hit the ramp just as the slab of concrete dropped.

Time slowed.

He threw himself forward, arms outstretched, not to push her, but to shield her.

He caught her eyes. Hers widened.

“BOB-!”

And then-

CRASH.

The slab connected with his back, hard. The force sent him flying into the side of the jet, head colliding with the reinforced wall. A wet, dull hit echoed beneath the chaos. He fell on the floor with a thud, hair tangled in blood.

Y/N screamed his name, crawling toward him, bullets ricocheting around her.

“BOB! NO, no no no- Bucky, HELP ME!”

Bucky was already sliding beside her, laying down cover fire with one hand, dragging Bob’s limp body back into the jet with the other.

“He’s breathing,” Bucky snapped, but barely. “We need to lift now.”

Alexei and Yelena were already firing back, bodies moving as one in furious rhythm. John threw himself behind the controls while Ava climbed into the jet’s hatch.

As the engines roared to life, Y/N knelt beside Bob, hands trembling. Blood was running down his temple, soaking into the collar of the utility jacket she’d tailored for him before the mission. His pulse was shallow.

“You stupid idiot.” she whispered, voice cracking. “Why would you- why would you do that?”

His eyes fluttered, just for a second. A hint of gold flickered in the whites. Weakly, through split lips, he breathed.

“Had to make sure…you were safe…”

Then darkness took him again.

⸻

The fluorescent hum of the Thunderbolts medbay lights was too clean. Too sterile.

Bob blinked slowly, vision swimming back to clarity as the haze of sedation lifted from his limbs. Everything felt wrong. The bed beneath him, too firm. The blanket, military-issue, rough. The equipment around him, futuristic, foreign. It wasn’t the room that disturbed him most, though. It was himself. The reflection in the monitor screens a man with soft brown hair, a faint scar on his temple, eyes too heavy with something he couldn’t name.

And then, her.

She stood by the far wall, posture sharp in a dark tactical jacket, arms folded. Not cold, not distant- just… restrained. She looked like she had practiced stillness as a defense. Her face was familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Like a song heard in another language.

“Hey.” she said gently when their eyes met, moving off the wall inching closer to him. Her voice carried a weight behind the calm. “You’re awake.”

Bob swallowed hard, cheeks turning a slight shade of pink at this breathtaking woman gazing at him in this state he was in. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

Doctors immediately rushed in, swarming around him with tests and clipped questions, their voices overlapping in a blur of medical urgency. Monitors beeped. A flashlight flicked across his eyes. Blood pressure. Reflexes. Vitals.

After what felt like hours, the pace slowed. One doctor, older, composed asked what should have been a routine memory check, his voice calm as he turned to the patient.

“Do you know who she is?” he asked, gesturing toward Y/N, who stood a few feet away, arms folded tightly across her chest, her expression unreadable beneath furrowed brows.

Bob blinked, his gaze landing on her with a faint frown. “I- No. Should I?”

The silence that followed wasn’t loud. It was quiet. Devastatingly so.

There was no desperate rush to his side. No trembling hand reaching for his. No whispered reassurances, no kiss to his forehead. Just a pause. Then a slow, measured nod from Y/N, her face still guarded, her eyes glassy but dry.

The doctor exhaled gently. “He has retrograde amnesia.” he explained, his tone careful but clinical. “It’s not uncommon with head trauma. The memories may come back gradually, or they might not. It’s too soon to tell.”

Y/N didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just kept nodding, as if she’d been expecting this. As if she’d already mourned the version of him who used to know her.

⸻

Bob learned quickly that no one blamed him for the memory loss. Not Yelena, who perched on the edge of his bed, slicing an apple with deliberate focus while muttering something about experimental tech frying brain cells. Not Ava, who wordlessly handed him a protein bar like it was the only thing she knew to offer. Not Alexei who was trying to force a collection of polaroids he’s taken over the last phew months into his vision. Even John, ever the smartass, only gave him a half-hearted, “Actions have consequences,” before softening with a quiet, “Glad you’re alive, man.”

Bucky tried though, and Bucky didn’t try for just anyone. Calm. Steady. The way someone might be when they’ve seen too much and somehow lived through it. He spoke like he’d walked people through this kind of grief before, the kind where you can’t even name what you’ve lost.

“You were with her.” Bucky said simply, arms crossed over his chest. “The two of you… it was real. Solid.”

Bob nodded, but the words floated past him like smoke.

With her?

The phrase felt like it belonged to someone else’s story, someone else’s life.

He could still see the way she looked at him earlier, cool, unreadable, posture tight like she was bracing for impact. She didn’t rush to him. Didn’t touch him. Didn’t fall apart.

That was the woman he was with? That he loved? That loved him?

But she hadn’t looked at him with love. She’d looked at him like he was made of glass, fractured and razor-edged, something you didn’t dare hold too tightly in case it shattered.

⸻

That night, sleep evaded him. The sterile sheets felt foreign, the shadows too still. The silence was heavy, not peaceful, but oppressive. Bob decided to get up and wandered the halls of the tower like a ghost, barefoot and cautious, as though the quiet might break beneath his steps. No one stopped him. Maybe they trusted him. Maybe they pitied him. Either way, he moved unnoticed, a stranger in a life that was supposed to be his.

He drifted toward the faint whistle of wind slipping through steel beams, drawn by something instinctive. Not memory. Just a pull. When he stepped out onto the upper balcony-level watch post, the night stretched out before him, wide and quiet. And there she was.

Y/N stood at the edge leaning against the rails, her silhouette sharp against the backdrop of city lights and stars. She wore a lightweight jacket, shoulders squared, eyes trained forward through night-vision lenses. Her presence was steady, unshakable. A soldier on alert. But there was a stillness in her posture that said more than readiness. It was grief, maybe. Or exhaustion.

A breeze swept past, and a faint scent clung to it, lavender, soft and nostalgic. It hit him like a blow to the chest. Not a memory, not quite. But a feeling. Something warm. Familiar. Safe.

She didn’t flinch when he approached. Didn’t acknowledge him, but didn’t move away either. He took it as an invitation. He settled beside her, placing his arms across on the cold metal railing, careful to keep his distance. He didn’t want to crowd her. He didn’t even know if he could anymore.

They stood like that for a while. The kind of silence that wasn’t awkward, but reverent. Like they were both trying to listen for echoes of something long gone.

Eventually, he broke it. Quietly, like he wasn’t sure if he had the right.

“What were we like?”

Her body tensed. Not visibly, not dramatically, but enough. He saw her jaw shift, her hands subtly clench at her sides. When she finally responded, her voice was caught somewhere between startled and guarded.

“What? Who- who told you?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I just… I thought maybe it would help. Jog something.”

Y/N exhaled through her nose, gaze still fixed ahead. For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t answer.

“…We were quiet.” she said at last. “But not in a bad way. It was the kind of quiet that felt… easy. You always made me laugh. Not loud laughs, just those little breathless ones. The kind that slip out when you’re trying not to smile.”

Her voice was steady, but he could feel the cracks beneath it.

Bob turned to look at her. Her expression didn’t shift, but her throat moved when she swallowed. She was holding something back. She had been holding it back since the hospital.

“You used to make breakfast.” she continued, voice softer now, like she was afraid if she spoke too loud, the memory would disappear. “Badly. You’d burn toast every time, and then get all dramatic when I didn’t want to eat it. And you always made coffee, made mine every morning. Just the way I liked it. Never forgot.”

There was a pause. Then her voice wavered, almost imperceptibly, on that last word.

Bob looked down at his hands. They felt unfamiliar. Like maybe the man who used to hold her hand, who used to make that burnt toast and pour her coffee, was someone entirely different.

“I don’t remember any of that.” he whispered. The admission tasted bitter. Hollow.

“I know,” she said. Not accusing. Not bitter. Just tired. Just sad.

The words hung between them, fragile and final.

And then, silence again. But this time, it wasn’t easy.

⸻

Later in the night, when he decided to head back, sleep finally took him, it wasn’t gentle. It dragged him under like a riptide. The sterile white noise of the tower faded, and in its place came fragments, uninvited and half-formed. Not memories, not quite. But echoes of something once real.

The first was laughter. Not his, hers. Light and effortless, like water trickling over smooth stone. It filled his chest with a warmth that bordered on pain. He didn’t know what had made her laugh like that, but he knew, somehow that it had been him. And he knew he would give anything to hear it again.

Then, sunlight. Her face turned toward him, golden and radiant. Eyes crinkling at the corners. Lips parted, like she was just about to say something teasing or tender. There was a weightless joy in the image, but it slipped too fast, like a leaf on the wind.

Another shift.

His heart pounded. The dream turned sharp. He saw her leaning over him, breath close to his cheek. Her hand, warm and trembling, pressed to his chest, not in fear, but in relief. She was giggling, the sound laced with adrenaline, tears clinging to her lashes.

“Don’t do that again, Reynolds.” she whispered, her voice cracking with everything she wasn’t saying. Her fingers fisted his shirt like she was holding him together with her bare hands.

And then-

Lavender. Not a color, but a scent. It hung in the air like a memory all its own. A pillow. Her pillow. It carried the comfort of something known, something intimate. It flooded him with longing. He could almost feel the curve of her body pressed beside his beneath cool sheets.

Then came the sound. Quiet. Distant.

Humming.

A melody. Familiar but unplaceable. Maybe something from her childhood. Maybe something she sang when she thought he wasn’t listening. It was the kind of tune you’d hear while doing the dishes or tying your shoes, mundane, but sacred. A sound of home. Her voice, wordless, soft, wrapped around him like a blanket.

He tried to follow it. To hold on. But the dream began to dissolve, slipping through his grasp like fog.

Bob jolted awake in the dim pre-dawn light, lungs tight, fingers clenched in the sheets. It took him a moment to realize the wetness on his face wasn’t sweat. It was tears, fresh and hot, sliding silently down his cheeks.

He didn’t remember. Not truly. Not enough to hold onto. But the ache was real. Bone deep. He felt hollowed out, like his heart was trying to mourn a life he’d never lived but somehow missed all the same.

He pressed a shaking hand to his chest, right where she’d touched him in the dream.

And for the first time since waking up in that hospital bed, he felt the true weight of what he’d lost.

Not just memories.

Her.

⸻

Over the course of the next week, Bob found himself drawn to her in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

It wasn’t fear that made him watch her from across rooms, from training mats, from the dining table he shared with others but never truly listened to. It wasn’t suspicion either. It was something quieter, something closer to longing, even if he didn’t yet understand why.

Curiosity, maybe. Or recognition. The soul’s memory, even when the mind forgets.

She moved like someone who had been forged in fire and didn’t flinch at the heat anymore. There was nothing soft or performative about her presence, no wasted gestures, no unnecessary emotion. Every movement had purpose. Every word she spoke during briefings was clipped and precise, stripped of anything sentimental. She was a soldier, yes but there was something beneath the discipline. Something deeper. She wasn’t cold. Just… contained.

He noticed how she never hovered. Never lingered too long after meetings or volunteered small talk to fill the gaps. She didn’t crowd him with the weight of what had been. She never asked if he remembered her, or them, or the way her voice sounded when she called him by name.

She simply stood back. Present. Measured. Waiting.

And maybe that was why he started coming to her.

First it was subtle. He’d take the seat next to her in mission briefings, even when there were other chairs open. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to hear her quiet breath, to catch the lavender scent that still clung to her jacket.

He started showing up earlier. Hanging back after meeting. Sharing his seat without asking. Once, he handed her a towel after watching her spar in a match without even realizing he’d done it. She took it silently. But her fingers brushed his just a second too long.

In the dining room, he noticed she rarely ate her full plate. The others didn’t comment, but Bob did. Casually offering her his extra bread roll or protein bar. She would scoff, wrinkle her nose, roll her eyes like he was being ridiculous, but sometimes, she accepted. And sometimes, when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, he caught her smiling.

Not big. Not wide. But there. Barely there creases at the corners of her mouth. A warmth that hadn’t surfaced in days, maybe weeks. And always, always gone before he could say anything.

He wasn’t sure what any of it meant.

Only that, in the stillness of his new life, her presence anchored him.

And that the ache in his chest grew sharper every time she walked away.

⸻

His confusion, once sharp and disorienting, gradually melted into something gentler. Something warmer.

It was a strange kind of torment to feel so deeply for someone you didn’t remember. Because it wasn’t just the absence of memory that haunted him anymore. It was the presence of emotion. The heart, it seemed, didn’t wait for proof. The body didn’t require context. The feelings arrived without invitation, and they came in waves, sudden, steady, and impossible to ignore.

She would laugh at something Ava said, usually something dry and unexpected and it would hit him square in the chest. Not because the moment was funny, but because her laughter felt like a melody he used to know by heart. A sound that once lived in the private corners of his life.

He’d catch her braiding her hair before a mission, standing in front of a window or mirror with practiced ease. And every time, his hands would twitch. The muscles moved without command, a ghost-memory that didn’t belong to his mind but to his body. He knew those braids. Knew the rhythm of her breath when she leaned back against him. Knew the weight of her trust when she let him close enough to touch.

Sometimes she’d pass him in the hallway, her shoulder barely brushing his and his breath would hitch, the hairs on his arm rising like he was expecting the graze of her fingers, the low murmur of his name in a voice only meant for him.

But it never came.

She didn’t reach for him. Didn’t slip notes into his hand or steal glances when she thought no one was watching. She didn’t cling to hope or pressure him with memories he hadn’t recovered.

Instead, she gave him space.

Too much space.

And yet, somehow, the ache kept growing.

Every time she walked away with that same quiet grace, every time her expression stayed carefully unreadable, it carved a little deeper into him. A hollow expanding behind his ribs where something important used to live.

He didn’t remember their first kiss. Their inside jokes. The late nights or shared scars.

But something in him missed her, all the same.

And worse still-

He was starting to fall for her all over again.

Without even remembering why he did the first time.

⸻

A week later, he found her again, alone, tucked away in the quiet hum of the tech bay. She sat beneath a low-hanging heat lamp, sleeves rolled to her elbows, forearms smudged with pencil marks as she adjusted the inner circuitry of her weapon. Her hair was messy, hastily tied back. No makeup. No armor of sarcasm or sharpness. Just her.

Raw. Real. Beautiful.

“You look tired.” Bob said gently from the doorway.

She didn’t flinch. Just glanced up with a dry smile and replied, “So do you.”

He didn’t argue. Just stepped inside and leaned against the wall, watching her hands work in silence for a beat. The room buzzed with the faint sound of tools…

Then, finally, he spoke again. Softer this time.

“Is it weird if I say I think I’m starting to… feel things? About you?”

She paused, fingers stilling over a coil of wires. Her eyes lifted to his, cautious but not cold.

“What kind of things?” she asked, voice carefully neutral.

Bob looked down, almost embarrassed, before he met her gaze again. “Good ones. Familiar ones. Like… maybe my heart remembers, even if my head doesn’t.”

Her breath caught. And for the first time in weeks, she let the exhaustion show. Let it settle in her shoulders, in the delicate downturn of her mouth. Her fingers curled around a tool like she needed something to hold on to.

“I miss you.” she said, barely above a whisper.

He took a step closer. Then another. Still careful. Still slow. But he wasn’t afraid this time.

“I’m still here.” he said. “Even if I don’t remember who I was… I think I still want to be him.”

For a moment, she didn’t speak. Just stared at him like she was trying to memorize this version of him too, this half-stranger with familiar eyes and a voice that sounded like home.

Her hand lifted slightly, hovered midair as if it might reach for his cheek. But she stopped herself. Just inches away.

Not yet.

Still, her voice was softer now. It trembled just a little around the edges. “Then let’s take it slow. Start over, if we have to.”

Bob nodded, a small, earnest smile curling his lips as he extended a hand like it was the first day of something real.

“Hi. I’m Bob.”

Y/N blinked. And then she laughed, gentle and quiet, like the echo of a memory he couldn’t quite catch but never wanted to stop chasing.

“Hi, Bob.” she said, slipping her hand into his.

“I’m Y/N.”

And just like that, something shifted. Something healed.

Not fully. Not yet.

But it was a start.

⸻

And somewhere, deep in the fog of his fractured mind, a thread of gold began to glow. Subtle. Elusive. But unmistakably there.

Bob’s recovery was steady. Methodical. Predictable in the way a machine recalibrates itself, just input, output, routine. His vitals stabilized. His strength returned. The neurologists nodded solemnly over scan results and EEG charts, murmuring about neuroplasticity and “hopeful signs of cognitive repair.” The Void within him, the chaos fused to his cells like a shadow stitched to his soul, remained dormant for now, but pulsed quietly in the marrow of his bones. Like a storm cloud on the horizon, waiting.

But none of that, none of the science or tests or data, could explain the way his pulse quickened when she walked into the room.

She would start bringing him water without being asked. Left briefing notes folded neatly beside his tray, her compact handwriting a strange comfort in a world where everything else felt unfamiliar. She checked the charge on his comms unit before every debrief and stood silently beside him during med scans, as if her presence alone could ground him.

And every night, when she thought he was asleep, she sat beside his bed. Just for a little while. Just long enough to keep the nightmares away.

But she never touched him.

Not once.

No graze of her fingers across his knuckles. No guiding hand at the small of his back. No welcome back hug when he stumbled through the door after his first real training session, bruised and soaked in sweat but alive. Alive and somehow still not enough.

He noticed the way her hands twitched sometimes. Just the slightest flinch when he got too close. Like her muscle memory wanted to reach for him but her heart had already buried the version of him that belonged to her.

Because she kept telling herself even if he wanted to try, she’ll never get back the old him.

The man who braided her hair. Who burned her toast. Who held her in the quiet moments between chaos.

He was a ghost in his own skin. A stranger with his voice and his eyes and none of the history.

And she didn’t know how to grieve someone who was still breathing.

So she kept her distance.

Kind. Careful. Controlled.

And utterly heartbreaking.

But Bob-

He saw her.

Not with the eyes of the man she once loved, but with something new. Something fragile and blooming.

And somewhere deep inside, that golden thread tugged again.

A whisper. A memory.

A promise he hadn’t made yet.

But still intended to keep.

⸻

It was Ava who finally gave voice to the thought neither of them had dared to speak aloud, the unspoken weight that had settled between them like a shadow neither wanted to face.

They sat on the rooftop between missions, legs dangling over the edge as the world below slowly awoke. The city was a blur of distant sounds and shifting lights, but up here, it felt like time had paused, delicate and still, suspended in that fragile space just before a heartbeat.

Ava tossed a small pebble into the air, catching it effortlessly on the back of her hand, her eyes never leaving the softening sky as dawn’s first light spilled pale gold across the horizon. Her voice was calm, steady, but carried an undeniable certainty as she finally spoke.

“You act like he’s not still yours.”

The words landed quietly but with a force that stirred something deep inside Y/N. She blinked, her chest tightening, a sudden ache blooming in the hollow spaces she hadn’t yet admitted existed. “He doesn’t remember.” she whispered, her voice barely louder than the gentle breeze rustling around them, fragile and tentative.

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it.” Ava said without hesitation, her gaze finally meeting Y/N’s with a softness that held understanding, compassion.

Y/N remained silent. Her jaw clenched as if holding back a flood, her breath catching in her throat. The truth in Ava’s words washed over her slowly, like a cold tide creeping in, unrelenting and undeniable. She had been holding herself apart, convinced that without memory, the connection between them was broken beyond repair. But now, confronted with the possibility that feelings could endure without facts, her walls began to crumble, piece by fragile piece.

The silence stretched out between them, vast and heavy, carrying the weight of unspoken fears and lingering hope. Finally, Ava reached out, a tentative hand brushing a stray lock of hair from Y/N’s face, a small act of comfort, a bridge across the distance.

After a long, quiet pause, Ava’s voice softened further, a gentle whisper carried on the wind. “You know, most people would kill for the chance to fall in love with the same person twice.”

The words hung in the air, delicate and shimmering like morning dew on fragile leaves. They were raw, hopeful, and aching all at once, cutting through the quiet like a promise. As the sun climbed higher, casting its warm light across the cityscape, something shifted between them, an unspoken invitation to believe in beginnings anew, to let the past and the present intertwine, fragile but real, like the slow bloom of dawn itself.

She felt it, of course, how could she not? The way Bob lingered, how his gaze clung to her like it hurt to look away. How his voice gentled when he said her name, how he remembered every little thing about her without even realizing it.

And it killed her.

Because she wanted to run to him. She wanted to bury her face in his chest and let the months of grief, fear, and waiting break open between them like thunder.

But she didn’t.

Because this wasn’t a fairytale. This was real. Messy. Fragile. Bob had lost everything, even himself. What he was feeling now wasn’t grounded in memory. It was instinct. Pull. Echoes of something he couldn’t touch. And if she leaned in too fast, too hard…

She’d break both of them.

⸻

Bob caught himself watching Y/N more often than he was willing to admit.

Observing her, getting ready to re learn all the things that made him fall for her in the the first place. Tactical necessity. Her habits, the subtle language of her body and gesture.

He noticed the way she tied her left boot tighter than her right, the deliberate care in each knot. How she tapped the corner of her datapad twice, always twice, before slipping it under her arm like a secret. The faint scar tucked beneath her jaw, visible only when the light caught her just so, small and sharp, like a whispered story.

When she spoke, he felt the ghost of a feeling, the memory of how it once was to listen to her voice, as if he’d shaped himself around its cadence long ago.

He learned to read her moods by the music she chose in the mess hall, Fleetwood Mac when exhaustion weighed on her, the jittery energy of Talking Heads when she was wired and restless. He noticed the way her eyes blinked three quick times when she fought back tears, the barely perceptible quiver in her hands during briefings.

He stored these fragments away like precious secrets, little clues she’d left behind just for him.

And then, quietly, without warning, it happened he started fully head first (no pun intended) falling for her all over again.

Not because of memories or history, but because this was something new. A slow, hesitant kind of longing, a fragile second chance his heart couldn’t ignore, even if his mind still wavered.

Late one night, after the rest of the team had long since retreated to their rooms, Bob found himself in the weight room with Bucky. The dull hum of machines and the steady clink of weights filled the space, but between them there was a comfortable silence, one that felt safe enough for truths to slip out.

Bucky handed Bob a towel, the gesture simple but steady, like a lifeline. Bob took it and sank back onto the bench, shoulders heavy, not just from the workout, but from something far more weighty inside him.

He exhaled slowly, trying to gather the words. “I can’t stop thinking about her.” he said finally, voice rough and low, like admitting it made the feeling more real.

Bucky’s eyes flicked up, sharp and curious. “Y/N?”

Bob nodded, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah. It’s weird. It’s like my body remembers her. All these little things I don’t actually recall, the way she laughs, the way she gets serious when she’s worried, how she always taps her datapad twice before putting it away.”

He paused, searching Bucky’s face for judgment or dismissal, but found none.

“It’s like this echo inside me that won’t shut up. Even if my brain can’t pull up the memories, the feelings are still there. I don’t know what that means, but it’s driving me crazy.”

Bucky nodded slowly, as if he understood that ache too well. His voice was quiet but sure. “Maybe that’s the part that really matters, the part that sticks around after all the rest gets lost. Sometimes the heart remembers before the mind catches up.”

Bob looked up at him, a flicker of hope mixing with the confusion in his eyes. For the first time in a long while, maybe there was a path forward, even if it was just one small, fragile step.

⸻

It came to a head one evening, late.

The others had cleared out after a long debrief. She stayed behind to finish reports. Bob… didn’t leave either.

He stood in the doorway for a moment before walking in. She heard him, but didn’t look up.

“You always work this late?” he asked quietly.

She smiled faintly, still not looking at him. “Someone’s gotta clean up your mission notes.”

He chuckled, soft and warm. “That bad, huh?”

“No,” she said, softer now. “Just… messy.”

A beat of silence.

Then, his voice. “I remember how you take your coffee.”

Her hand froze mid-type.

“I didn’t realize it.” he continued, stepping closer. “This morning, when I was making a cup, I poured two. Yours, black, one sugar. I didn’t think. I just did it.”

She finally looked at him.

Bob’s eyes held no confusion. No uncertainty. Only wonder. And something deeper.

“I don’t remember everything. I wish I did.” he admitted. “But every time I look at you, I feel like I’m home. Like you’re the part of me I’ve been missing.”

Her eyes filled. She blinked fast, pressing her lips together to keep them from trembling.

“Bob-“

“You don’t have to say anything.” he cut in gently. “I just… I wanted you to know I’d find you again. In a hundred lifetimes. Even if I didn’t remember your name, I’d still know you.”

She shook her head, tears slipping down now. “Don’t- don’t say that. Please. Because if you fall again and something takes you from me again, I don’t think I’ll survive it.”

Silence. Thick. Raw.

Then, he stepped closer, slower than slow, and stopped just short of touching her.

“I think.” he said, voice low and rough, “we both survived the first fall. Maybe that means we’re meant to do it again.”

Y/N looked at him for a long moment, heart shattering open in her chest.

And for now… she didn’t run.

She just breathed.

And stayed.

“I love you.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. Not yet.

“Even if all those moments we had are still fog to me, I love you now. Not because I did. But because I do.”

She closed her eyes. The ache inside her chest expanded like a dam threatening to break.

She stared at him, lips parted, a thousand emotions crashing behind her eyes. And for a second, she hesitated. As if the love she’d locked away so tightly might shatter everything if she let it out now.

But then, she broke.

Her hands cupped his jaw, and she kissed him like it was the last time and the first. Like the end and the beginning had always been the same. Her mouth trembled against his, but she kissed him with years of ache, of waiting, of love that had refused to die even when everything else had been taken.

And he kissed her back like he’d been waiting a lifetime.

Maybe he had.

⸻

They didn’t say anything when they re-entered the living room, hand in hand, flushed and quiet and overwhelmed.

They didn’t have to.

Yelena looked up from her spot on the couch and offered a half-smile, knowingly. Bucky gave a small nod of approval.

Even Alexei, wiping his eye a little too aggressively, muttered, “Dust. Stupid American dust.”

John and Ava exchanged a look but said nothing. Respectful silence wrapped around them like a blanket. The team didn’t tease. Didn’t pry.

They just let them be.

⸻

[Epilogue — 2 Months Later]

The morning light fell golden across the compound grounds, glinting off the dew-soaked grass and filtering through the windows of the common room. Someone had put on music, Fleetwood Mac, soft and low.

Bob sat on the steps just outside, a cup of coffee in hand, watching as Y/N barked a laugh across the courtyard, playfully tossing a sparring mat at Alexei, who pretended to stumble like he’d been shot.

Her hair was pulled up messily. She wore one of his old shirts, sleeves rolled, collar stretched. She looked free. She looked like home.

He didn’t have all his memories. Some things were still missing, like half-remembered dreams just out of reach. But he was okay with that.

Because this, now was real.

They had rebuilt something not from memory, but from the heart. From the quiet comfort of relearning one another. From the gentle rediscovery of touch, trust, laughter.

And they were better for it.

She turned then, sensing his gaze, and their eyes locked across the distance. Her smile softened. Not flashy. Not forced.

Just full of love.

Bob smiled back, heart full.

He’d crawl back home to her.

And he would.

Every single time.

⸻

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suliigwp · 3 days ago

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Hiii, im sorry if there is any mistake english is not my first language. But I have a request? Or idea??

So kimi bringing reader to paddock for imolia but she is a classmate so no one knows they are dating. So it's just random times when the media and other drivers are wondering if kimi and reader are dating.

Thanks🫶

(Can I be 🦕 anon?)

CLASSMATE? YEAH RIGHT.

Kimi Antonelli x reader

SULI: Hi 🦕 Anon! Oh it's so exciting to have a named anon! Thank you for being here and for requesting a very cute scenario.

Warnings: texts, Twitter posts

The classroom buzzed with low energy. It was late in the day, and the teacher’s voice was beginning to blur into background noise. You were doodling in the margin of your notebook when the door creaked open and Kimi walked in, late as always, a soft nod to the professor as he slid into his seat near the back.

Nothing about him stood out—plain hoodie, notebook closed, no effort to catch up on what he missed. But when the teacher called for the end-of-class announcements, Kimi suddenly raised his hand.

Everyone turned.

The teacher blinked. “Yes, Kimi?”

He stood, stuffing one hand into his jacket pocket. “I have something.”

You raised your eyes, curious. Kimi didn’t talk much in class. Actually, Kimi didn’t talk much—period.

He cleared his throat. “The Imola Grand Prix is this weekend. I talked to my team. I got passes for everyone.”

Silence.

People looked around, unsure if he was joking.

Kimi gave a half-shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. “If you want to come. Full paddock access. You’ll get to see the garages, meet the team. Everything is covered. Just let me know by tomorrow.”

“Wait—what?” someone whispered.

Another classmate laughed, “You serious, dude?”

Kimi nodded. “Yeah.”

The teacher looked stunned. “Kimi… are you saying the entire class is invited to Imola?"

“Yeah,” he said again, like he was offering snacks, not a world-class motorsport experience. “It’s a good track. You’ll like it.”

The room exploded with chatter.

“No way—”

“Do we get to meet Hamilton?”

“Do I need to bring anything?”

“I don’t even like racing, but I’m going—”

You sat frozen in your seat. He hadn’t looked your way, hadn’t singled you out. Just kept his gaze steady toward the board.

But you knew what this really was.

Not a flex.

Not a PR stunt.

Not just for the class.

It was the only way he could invite you—without anyone asking why.

And when the bell rang, and people gathered around him in a mix of awe and excitement, he finally glanced at you, the smallest flick of his gaze, quiet and deliberate.

...

The bus hissed as it came to a stop just outside the security gates. Your classmates practically jumped out of their seats, crowding toward the front. Excitement buzzed in the air like electricity.

You glanced out the window.

There he was.

Kimi stood just past the gates, flanked by two Mercedes staff. His team polo was tucked neatly into black slacks, lanyard around his neck, hair messy like he hadn’t bothered with it much since morning warm-ups. He looked calm—quiet—but even from the bus, you could tell his gaze was scanning the vehicle.

Looking for someone.

He found you.

Just a flick of his eyes. Just a second. Then he looked away.

No one else seemed to notice.

When the doors opened, the class spilled out, voices overlapping.

“Holy crap, that’s really the paddock!”

“Is that Ferraris motorhome? It’s huge.”

“Wait—is that Charles Leclerc?!"

You stepped down, slower than the others, keeping your eyes shaded behind sunglasses. Kimi didn’t move, but his hand shifted slightly, thumb tapping once against his leg—a subtle tic you recognized.

“Welcome,” said the Mercedes rep, a woman in her thirties with a polite smile. “You’ve all been cleared for full access this weekend. Please stay together for the initial walkthrough.”

Your professor clapped Kimi on the back. “Very generous of you, Antonelli. I imagine you’re the first student in school history to hand out paddock passes to their whole class.”

Kimi shrugged, voice low. “Better than doing a presentation.”

There were chuckles from the class, but a few people started whispering as eyes shifted to you.

As the group moved toward the paddock, Kimi stayed behind, just enough to walk near you but not beside you. When the rest of the class turned a corner, Kimi slowed.

He didn’t look at you—just spoke quietly.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “You?”

“Bit of a risk inviting everyone.”

“You did it to cover for me.”

You walked for a moment in silence before he added, voice quieter, “They’re already talking.”

“They always do. Don’t listen.”

You glanced at him. “Do you?”

Now he looked at you. Just briefly.

“Only to you.”

The moment passed. A photographer called his name. Kimi stepped forward again, already slipping back into the poised, untouchable driver everyone thought he was.

But he glanced back once, just to make sure you were still there.

...

The paddock was alive. Engineers rolled tires across the concrete, media crews weaved through with cameras, and somewhere in the background, the roar of an engine cracked through the sky like thunder.

Your class had been split into two smaller groups, each assigned a team liaison to walk them through the technical side of the weekend. You stuck with the group heading toward the Mercedes garage, but Kimi wasn’t there.

Not visibly, anyway.

“So this is where the cars are prepped before sessions,” said the engineer guiding you. “The driver debriefs happen over there, behind that glass. You probably won’t see Kimi right now—he’s in a strategy meeting with the engineers.”

You nodded along like the others, but you knew better.

He wasn’t in a meeting.

He was watching.

You felt it.

And you were right.

When the group stopped in front of a spare chassis and the engineer got pulled aside by a call, you wandered toward a cooler, supposedly reaching for water. The others were too busy snapping selfies to notice the door behind you crack open.

“Kimi,” you whispered without turning.

“Hi.” His voice was soft, lazy.

You turned, pretending to walk away, hand tightening around the water bottle. The moment had already been too close, too risky. Someone could’ve seen.

But you only made it two steps.

Grip.

Fingers closed gently around your wrist and tugged — not hard, but firm enough to stop you. You turned just as the door behind you opened wider, and Kimi pulled you in with practiced precision.

The door clicked shut.

The room wasn’t what you expected. Not the open garage floor, but a smaller prep room off to the side — dark, quiet, the kind of space people only passed through, not stayed in. A table with data sheets. A wall of monitors blinking gently.

And Kimi.

He stood in front of you now, a little breathless like he hadn’t fully thought this through, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes on you with that steady, unreadable look he always wore before a race.

“Kimi,” you whispered, glancing toward the door, “if anyone saw—”

“No one saw,” he cut in. “They’re all by the car.”

Silence fell between you. The kind that hummed with something more dangerous than noise.

He looked at you for a long second. “You looked like you were going to disappear.”

“I was. Because we said—”

“We said we’d be careful,” he murmured. “Not distant.”

You didn’t answer.

His hand found your wrist again — slower this time. Warmer. He ran his thumb across the inside of it, where your pulse beat a little too fast.

“I hate not being able to talk to you,” he muttered.

You let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “You invited the whole class.”

��Because I couldn’t invite just you,” he said again, this time quieter. “I wanted to.”

The words were so quiet they barely reached you. For a second, it was just your breathing and the dull buzz of electricity from the monitors.

Then he leaned forward, forehead brushing yours, voice nothing more than a whisper.

“You looked bored out there.”

You closed your eyes, just for a moment. Let yourself feel the soft press of his hoodie against your arm. The way he was still holding your wrist like it meant something.

“I wasn’t bored,” you whispered. “I was looking for you.”

He pulled back slightly, eyes on yours, and for a flicker of a second, his face softened as he smiled.

And then—

A knock at the main garage door. Loud. Startling.

Both of you jumped.

“Group’s moving!” a voice called.

You jolted upright, brushing your hands against your jeans, your heartbeat now racing. Kimi stepped back into the shadows.

“You go first,” he murmured. “I’ll wait a minute.”

You hesitated, then reached for the door handle.

Before you left, you turned back once more. “Kimi?”

“Yeah?”

You tried to smile, even as your heart pounded in your throat. “You’re worth getting in trouble for.”

His gaze softened — something small and real in the corner of his mouth.

“So are you.”

You slipped out, closing the door behind you, and jogged back to the group just as they were rounding the corner.

But your pulse was still racing, and your wrist still burned where he had touched you.

...

The post-session haze hadn’t worn off yet — Kimi’s race suit was half-zipped, chest rising and falling under his white shirt as he sat on the edge of the padded bench, sipping on electrolyte water. His hair was slightly damp from the helmet. The door creaked open and George strolled in, tossing a towel over his shoulder.

“Solid lap,” George offered, flopping into the seat across from him.

"Thanks."

George leaned back, glancing toward the tinted glass that looked out into the paddock below.

“You’ve got some fans today,” he said lightly.

Kimi didn’t look up. “Media?”

“Nope.” George grinned. “School group.”

That made Kimi glance up for a half-second.

George caught it.

“Didn’t know we were doing career day,” he teased, voice easy. “Or… was that your idea?”

Kimi’s face gave nothing away, but his grip on the bottle tightened just slightly. “Everyone got invited.”

“Everyone,” George echoed, feigning a thoughtful nod. “Right. Even that girl in flared jeans who keeps standing near the ropes by the garage? Real subtle.”

Kimi looked at him now, but his voice was calm. “Her name’s Y/N.”

George gave a lopsided smile, one eyebrow raised. “Of course you know who I'm talking about. Everyone was wearing jeans."

Kimi didn’t answer right away. Just turned back to the water bottle, rolling it between his palms.

“She likes the engineering side,” he said finally. “It made sense.”

George watched him for a moment, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Mate,” he said quietly, “I don’t care if she’s your girlfriend or your lab partner. But the way you were looking at her by the pit wall earlier…”

Kimi stiffened.

“…was not the way I looked at my lab partner.”

Silence.

George clapped him on the shoulder, playful again. “Just don’t get caught sneaking her into the sim. You’ll start a rumor faster than Toto can shut it down.”

Kimi rolled his eyes, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth — not quite a smile.

George stood and headed for the shower, tossing the towel into the hamper. But just before he stepped out, he called back:

“She’s cute, by the way. Good taste.”

Kimi said nothing, but when the door clicked shut, he pulled out his phone.

...

Sunday Night

The Italian night was warm and buzzing, a light hum of engines still lingering in the air from earlier that day. Below, Imola had already begun winding down. Above, on the rooftop of the hotel where the team had booked rooms, the air was quieter.

You found Kimi sitting alone near the edge, his team jacket still on, his cap pulled low. His phone was face-down beside him, untouched.

He didn’t look up when you sat next to him.

You didn’t say anything for a while, just stared at the dark sky with him. There was a slight breeze, tugging at your sleeves.

“They called it a ‘learning weekend,’” he muttered finally, voice flat.

You glanced over. His jaw was tight.

“I think that’s their way of saying it sucked without actually saying it sucked.”

You nudged his knee with yours. “It wasn’t a disaster.”

He huffed a short laugh, but it was dry. “P11. I missed points. I locked up twice. I made mistakes.”

“You’re eighteen,” you said gently.

“I’m not allowed to make rookie mistakes anymore,” he snapped. Then his tone softened. “Not here. Not in that car.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, frustration radiating off him like heat.

You watched him for a moment, then leaned over and rested your head lightly on his shoulder. He tensed — not because of you, but because he was so used to being on all the time. Then, slowly, he let himself breathe.

“You know what?” you said after a pause. “I think you’re allowed one bad weekend.”

“One,” he repeated.

“Maybe two. But don’t push it,” you teased softly.

He finally looked down at you, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

You pulled back just enough to see his face, but stayed close. “Also, how did we get away with it again? The whole class was here and literally no one clocked us.”

Kimi raised an eyebrow. “George asked.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Yesterday. Said, ‘So, is there something going on with you and the girl with flared jeans?’ I said you were just ‘a classmate.’” He smirked. “Worked again.”

You snorted. “Unbelievable.”

He nudged your side. “You’re the one who bolted every time someone looked our way.”

“Maybe because your idea of being subtle is pulling me into a storage room.”

“...They didn’t catch us.”

You both laughed quietly, the kind that bubbled from relief and affection and the thrill of a secret well-kept.

Then you leaned your head back on his shoulder.

“You’re still my favorite driver,” you whispered.

Kimi didn’t say anything, but you felt the way his arm brushed against yours, his pinky finger barely grazing your hand like a silent thank you.

For now, that was enough.

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli x reader #kimi antonelli x you #kimi antonelli x y/n #ka12 #ka12 x reader #ka12 fic #ka12 fluff #kimi antonelli imagine #ka12 imagine #george russell #kimi classmates

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madamechrissy · 9 hours ago

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Baby You're a Star chapter five preview

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

Warnings - just a LOT of angstt, sad shit, mentions of sex, it's gonna be a doozy - chapter four is here - will be coming this weekend most likely <3

“You want to be with him?” You glare at his ridiculous words now.

“I never said that, but would it matter? We are just ‘friends’ right?” Your words are harsh, way too harsh for the sweet girl he knows, and he feels it, the anger rising inside of him, making him so furious at the thought of someone with you.

“So, you’re gonna what, go fuck him?”

“Is that who you think I am!?” He gives a nasty little smirk, it’s a cruel one, something you’ve never seen on his face.

“You had no problem sleeping with me, not knowing me.” You step back, and the moment it spills from his lips, he knows he’s wrong, but he’s so fucking furious, he’s blinded to any good fucking reason. The hurt written on your pretty face is enough to make him feel like getting swallowed whole.

“I trusted you, I felt comfortable with you, the connection I…” you trail off, not wanting to make a bigger fool of yourself. “It wasn’t just random. You really think that’s what it was? A random hot guy I said - huh, let me call him and fuck him?” He tilts his head now, brows lowering.

“Isn’t that what it was, you saw my stream and wanted me? Now you think I’m making it all sexual?” You gasp, teeth clenched, almost unable to breathe you’re so fucking furious.

“You’re trying to fuck me because you’re jealous, so yes, that is making it all sexual. Surprised your phone’s not filming.” You shove at his chest and he grips your wrists, leaning low.

“So what, you got all the expertise you needed? Gonna go apply it to someone now?” Satoru’s words are so hurtful you can’t take it, you feel your heart pounding in your ears as you look at blue eyes gone cold.

“Excuse me, you think I used you for experience!?” He raises a brow then, while your hands clenched into fists at your sides as you drag them from his grip.

“You asked me for experience, remember? Weren’t you the one who started all of this, made it sexual? Asked me to show you things?”

His words resonate through your head until it spins, you have to sit down you feel so fucking sick then. Was he never even interested in you? Was this all you who caused it, who pushed it, when he never wanted it? The thoughts swirl through your mind quicker and quicker, nauseating, you shake your head and blink back tears then, looking up at him.

“I should never have pushed myself on you,” he blinks snowy lashes then, lips parting. “No, I shouldn’t have, you’re right.”

“I didn’t mean it that-”

“I am sorry I did, I’m sorry I asked for that. I was so pathetic.” You barely hold back a cry, and Satoru’s frozen, you have it so wrong, don’t you know his dick literally doesn’t work for anyone!? Don’t you know you’re all he can fucking think of, constantly, every waking moment?

“You never pushed yourself, ever,” he leans down, arms on either side of your chair. “Look at me.”

You do just that, and your tears break him. “What?”

“I didn’t mean it like I didn’t want you, I did. I just meant you crossed the line to make it sexual, that’s not to say I didn’t want to, but you were a good girl.”

“Were. Being the key word. Now I’m what, some pornstar fucking booty call?” You’re shaking your head, swiping at your cheeks, thinking of Jenna’s words. “And it’s all my own doing.”

You’ve lost yourself.

“Baby you’re still a good girl, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You’re right, you never would have hit me up for it, would you have?” Satoru pauses then, hands gripping the arms of your chair so tightly his knuckles whiten.

“I never said that!”

“Why would you, it’s Hollywood, you can have anyone, I just inconvenienced you, I should have never tried to join your world.” You’re standing now, brushing past him, he grips your wrist, his own emotions rising - especially one - panic.

He can’t lose you.

“It’s not what I meant,” he brushes his hand across your cheek, sticky already with your tears, feeling your body tremble as he holds you closer. “I shouldn’t have said it that way, I was just upset.”

“It’s true, don’t take it back now.”

“You think I don’t want you!?” He’s gripping your upper arms, shaking you gently, you’re sniffling, shaking your head as he stares at you in disbelief. “How can you think I don’t?”

“Maybe you felt sorry for me.” Satoru laughs then, without humor, before fucking glaring down at you.

perm tags- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoblue-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @shokosbunny

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #jjk gojo #jujustu kaisen #story preview

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my-castles-crumbling · 2 days ago

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clean - may 27 - jegulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 296

“Potter.”

James, who was in the middle of writing a painfully complicated Transfiguration essay, was quite sure he was hallucinating. Because there was no other explanation for why Regulus was storming into the 7th year Gryffindor boys’ dorm on a Wednesday evening. “What the fuck?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“Language,” Regulus chided, ignoring his boyfriend’s shocked expression. “Here–” he threw a t-shirt at James’s face, “I need a new one.”

Sputtering, the Gryffindor looked at the shirt, then to the Slytherin. “This–this is mine!”

“Yes, Potter. Do keep up. I took it a week ago,” Regulus rolled his eyes. “But I need a new one now. Let’s go, I’m waiting.”

Deciding he was far too smart to argue more with the pretty boy in his room, James got up numbly and walked toward his drawers, only to freeze when Regulus made an infuriated noise.

“Not a clean one, James! Are you daft? It has to smell like you,” Regulus corrected him, rolling his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh.” He had to take a few moments to process that. Regulus was stealing his shirts because they smelled like him? Well. That was fucking hot. “Erm. Okay,” he mumbled, trying to hide his blushing smile as he pictured the Slytherin wearing his clothes, inhaling the scent. Something rather primal inside him was very happy with the image.

“Less smirking, more searching,” Regulus snapped.

“Right, right.”

But it was only after the Slytherin snatched the new shirt he was offered and walked out of the dorm without another word that Peter, who had been sitting on his bed the whole time, spoke. “How the fuck did he get up here?” he asked incredulously.

“Dunno,” James said, beaming dreamily. “Don’t care.”

“Fucking embarrassing, mate.”

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yariation · 2 days ago

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🎀~ 𝕌𝕟𝕡𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝

Megumi sees you in a g-string/thong for the first time—immediately regretting calling them unpractical

aged up Megumi, lingerie, doggy-style, mdni

"What is that?" Megumi asks with a raised eyebrow.

He watches you as you take your shopping haul out of their bags. There a food, mostly sweets and some your guy's favourite snacks. A few clothes, some soft pyjamas for him and some tops for you. But what caught his eyes the most, was the small, thin, lacy piece of clothing you were taking out of a bag.

For each item you would say short sentence, about what is and why you bought it. Almost as if you were making a video. Megumi loves it, he finds your voice relaxing and watches intently, but would never admit that he likes it that much. Most of the time he pretends he couldn't care less.

But for this item, you didn't say anything, simply putting it to the side with the rest of the folded clothes you bought.

"Oh, just panties. Needed some new ones." You say casually, already un-bagging other items.

Megumi crawls closer to you on the couch, reaching to grab the piece of clothing beside you. He holds it with both hands, fingers pinching each corner as he holds it up in front of him.

"Why's it so... thin?" He says almost confused. "These do NOT look like your regular panties." You watch as your boyfriend messes with the fabric and measures it with his fingers.

"It's a thong, Megumi." You explain, watching him with a small smile.

"You said it was panties."

"They're the same thing."

"No. This one looks more uncomfortable. The straps are too thin, they'd barely cover and protect your skin. It's almost like it'll just go between your-" His face flushes at the thought. "A-and the lace... it look... itchy. It might irritate your skin."

You giggle softly, looking at your boyfriend who looks genuinely worried. But nothing can hide the blush that decorates his face. Gently, you take the white thong out of his hand, swinging it around your finger.

"I just wanted to try them out, okay?" You shrug, leaning back on the couch.

Megumi rolls his eyes. "It's unpractical."

"Impractical."

"Unpractical." He repeats himself. Using the less popular, but better word.

"Whatever. I'm just gonna try them on." You push yourself off the couch and start heading to your bedroom.

Megumi just sits there, sighing before he continues reading his book while waiting for you. After a few moments, you emerge from the bedroom. Wearing your loose indoor t-shirt and the thong. Megumi's eyes flick up to you like a deer caught in headlights. Your face shows uncertainty and you do a quick spin. You didn't really think they looked good.

"They look kind of weird..." You mutter, looking at Megumi.

His lips are slightly agape, his grip on his book tightening. He realises he's staring and immediately looks away, clearing throat. His face is bright red and he hastily places his book on top of his lap, to cover a certain something.

"It looks good." He utters.

You tilt your head to the side and start walking over to him. He tenses up the closer you get. You take a seat on his lap.

"Oh? But I thought you said it's unpractical?"

~~~

"F-fuck, you better buy more of these..." He tugs on the thong with his right hand, his other hand pushing down on your back, keeping it arched.

Your face is smothered against the pillows, muffled noises leaving your lips with every thrust of Megumi's hips. His cock grazing against the narrow fabric of your thong that's pushed to the side. He's so deep inside you, you swear you feel him pounding your cervix.

Every time you try to shy away or escape his relentless thrusts into your poor pussy, he only presses you harder against the bed. Every time you try to bring your rear down, away from his length that slides in and out, in such ways that hit every perfect spot inside you that makes you squirm.

He uses his grip on your thong to pull your ass back up, so he could keep himself deep inside your battered pussy.

"This thing looks so- hck! G-good on you, fuck, Y/n..." He groans into your ear. His hard chest leaning against your back.

He lifts himself off you, angling his hips. He watches how your essence drips out of you, and ruins your thong. Loving how every time he hits the right spot, you just cry and squirm. He tugs you higher up by your thong. The fabric tight against your clit now. Friction being made as he tugs and pulls, very thrust making the thong move against your little bud.

His thrusts become sloppy and his hold on you tighter. He moves his other hand off your back and uses it to hold your waist. He buries himself deep inside you before releasing into the elastic of the condom, the warmth of his seed making your walls soak.

"C'monnnn, you too now." He lets go your thong and rubs his fingers against the fabric that cover your clit. Slowly moving inside of you a bit more until you come around him, making both your head fuzzy.

His thrown back head tilts back down to look at you. Writhing under him, your newly bought white thong wet and the lace slightly ripped.

"Let's get you washed up. We're going to the mall."

733 notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 23 hours ago

Text

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: sexual content, daddy kink

“Fuck!”

Simon’s neck nearly breaks as he turns to lay panicked eyes on where you’re standing in front of the oven with tears on your lashes, one hand in another. His body locks up. He’s faced more violence than any one man should know, but it all pales in comparison to the way his stomach twists when you’re distressed.

“What happened?”

“N-nothing I burnt myself.” Your cheeks are already wet by the time he makes it into the kitchen, carefully unfolding your arms, cradling your hand in his.

Burn is an understatement. It’s a second degree, skin already blistering and raw. You instinctively move towards the freezer, but he pulls you away, leading you to the sink where he turns the tap on cool. Your lower lip trembles and your voice shakes. “Owww, ow ow. Hurts, it hurts.”

“I know baby, I know. Here,” Duchess whines from behind him as you hiss when the water cascades across your skin, easily picking up on your pain. “She’s okay.” He never thought he’d be reassuring a dog, but here he is, trying to soothe both his girls.

“I didn’t want to drop it, I didn’t let go, I sh-should have.” Instinct is to blame here, pain receptors flooded and quick thinking a second behind, your desire to save the strawberry rhubarb crumble leading you to hold onto the cast iron too long, and you managed to get it onto the stove top after you pulled it from the oven barehanded, but it cost.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” It’s not. Even of a flicker of agony on your face is enough to send him reeling, and knowing you’ll wear this scar forever from something that happened when he was just across the room is a hard pill to swallow. “Just keep this here, don’t move your hand.”

“Where are you going?” You’re more calm now, lips tight in a grimace, but the tears still gather. He kisses your forehead.

“We need a washcloth. Stay right here.”

He keeps you against his chest, cool washcloth folded over the palm of your hand as you snuffle into his sweatshirt, curled up with him on the couch, tears dried, burn throbbing. Poor baby.

He knows why you didn’t want to let it go. You hand picked these strawberries from a local farm, painstakingly selecting each one as he followed behind you, a hulking shadow nearly blotting out the sun. It’s such a contrast. A brilliant, bright little berry girl and her reaper, a harbinger of death, her daddy.

He’ll be whoever he has to be now, to keep you happy and safe. Nothing else matters.

And that’s how he found himself on his neighbor’s porch, ringing their doorbell to explain how you saw their rhubarb plant in their backyard and pleaded with him to let you go over and ask if you can cut some. They’ve only ever seen him in passing, and quite frankly, they looked a bit horrified at the sight of him.

That didn't matter either. As long as they said yes.

“Never had rhubarb before.” He’s holding your hips, his chest to your back as you lean over the sink, scrubbing the pink red stalks clean.

“Never?”

“Nope,” he hums it into the top of your head, and you fidget against him, pressing back against his cock.

“O-oh. Is… are you…” His fingers dip beneath the waistband of your sweatpants, stroking over your panties.

“What does it taste like?”

“Um, it’s… sour.” You gasp when he slips inside the already slick cotton, skimming your swollen clit. “But when it’s ca-ca-caramelized it’s- ah-” Slow circles send shivers up your spine and you grind against him, looking for more, for rhythm.

“It’s what baby? Tell daddy.” His heat against yours, body on yours, all of it goes to his head, gives him tunnel vision. It’s all about you, everything, always, forever. Til death do you part, even if you don’t understand yet.

“It’s like a swe-sweet tart. It’s good with- with uh… um,” he slips inside you, one finger then two, nipping your neck as your head tips back. It doesn’t take much to bring you close, your inexperience leaves him plenty of room to learn what’s best, read your movements and translate your sounds.

“With?” You shake your head in denial, and a devilish smirk twists his lips.

“Daddy please.” You’re shifting your weight, restlessly chasing, forcing him to hold you still, his mouth on your ear.

“What do you want sweet girl? What is it?”

“Come, make me c-come please.”

“Hmm.” He steps away, uses his foot to spread yours apart, and you try to step away, confused. “Be still.” Your sweatpants and underwear are down to your ankles next, and he’s folding you at the waist, your cheek flush with the kitchen counter.

Pretty. So pretty. Pussy soaked, on display, little clit throbbing.

He sinks to his knees and spreads you wide, exposing everything while you gasp. “Look at you, little girl. So desperate to come.”

“Yes,” you breathe, clinging to the edge of the counter, elbows upward. The trembling precipice of anticipation makes your muscles quiver, and he lets you sit in it for a moment, linger in the uncertainty-

Before finally burying his face in you.

“Daddy?” Your voice is small, sleepy. He’s given you some naproxen, trying to dull the pain, and the ordeal has tired you out.

“Hmm?”

“Am I gonna have a scar?” You’re blinking at the offending injury, mouth turned down, and he sighs, tucking you in closer.

“I think so. It’s a second degree, sweetheart. But it will heal, and that’s most important. You won’t have nerve damage.” That was his biggest concern, especially considering where it is, but after inspecting it, the skin, the blister, the depth, he’s confident you won’t lose any feeling there.

“I won’t?”

“I don’t think so.” He knows well enough, how much it takes to damage the nerves. To make them obsolete. He’s got the marks all over to prove it. You relax, snuggling back into his chest.

“At least I saved it.”

“And earned yourself a spanking.” He warns immediately, and your eyes fly open.

“I didn’t do anything!”

“You hurt yourself to save a pie.”

“A crumble daddy, it’s a crumble.” He raises an eyebrow, and you look away sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay baby, but you did earn a punishment. Didn’t you?” You nod. He knows you’re well aware of the broken rule, but he’s not going to dive into it right now, your agreement, the recognition is enough.

“Yes daddy.”

#peaches writes #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #raspberry girl fic

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slutzforbueckers · 3 days ago

Note

14.“touch yourself.” + 28. “you’re so messy.” + 9. sending/taking naughty pictures + 19. taking pictures/videos during sex(paige/reader) with sub paige…

maybe something like reader is out with her friends, and paige is at home superrrr horny, so she starts sending reader nudes so she could come home faster, and when she does she makes paige touch herself and stuff, and the yknow the messy and taking vids/pics are incorporated

don’t make me wait

♡— pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

♡— warnings: smut

♡— synopsis: you’re out with your friends and paige is home alone… you can imagine how that turns out.

♡— a/n: why did i literally doze off while finishing this… going to bed immediately. ignore any mistakes

❥•°❀°•༢

you were halfway through a glass of whiskey when your phone buzzed against the table. you didn’t check it, you figured it would be paige checking in like she said she would. any other time you would’ve been quick to answer her texts but your friend was halfway through a long, exaggerated story and with the drinks in your system you were actually paying attention and soaking up every word she said.

plus, you had already told her what time you’d be back and offered her to join you but she just shook her head and told you to go have fun. she had been texting you nearly every hour to check up on you– just a quick text: “hey, babe. just checking in.”

“did she really say that?” you laughed, shaking your head, and finished the rest of your drink. your phone buzzed again and this time you picked it up, it unlocked with face id and revealed her messages. the notification showed that there was an image attached to the text and with curious eyes, you tapped on it.

the picture that showed up was not what you were expecting at all—paige on her back, nothing on but a skimpy pair of panties, and her hands cupping her tits.

paige 💋

i miss you

come home

your eyes widened and your breath caught in your throat, you quickly pressed the power button before anyone else saw. you dropped your phone on the table, face heating up, and tried to tune back into what your friends were saying.

one of your friends joined the table with a round of shots–you hadn’t even realized she was gone. you were the first to grab one and quickly down it. your phone buzzed again and you knew it was her. you didn’t wait to open it, even though you knew what it would be—afterall you were just a woman.

paige 💋

why are you ignoring me?

babe

come home

i want you so bad right now

you bit your lip and started to type a message, you deleted it and then your thumbs hovered over the screen for a second. just as you started typing again another picture popped up. this time she was fully naked and the angle was different. she was propped up on her elbow, her legs spread open wide, and her fingers were on her pussy, spreading herself to show how wet she was.

you

paige…

i’m out with my friends

paige scoffed on the other end of the phone, tossing her phone to the side and leaning over the bed to dig through the bottom drawer of the nightstand. she found the small purple vibrator she was looking for and settled back on the bed. she propped the phone up on the pillow in front of her and hit record.

“look what your missing…” she ran her hands over her thighs teasingly before grabbing the vibrator and turning it to the middle setting. she ran it over her thighs before pressing it to her clit. a sharp moan left her mouth when she felt the vibrations, a wave of arousal pulsing through her. paige moaned softly as circled her clit a couple more times before shutting her legs and ending the video—she sent it without a thought.

paige 💋

i don’t care come home

don't you wanna feel me?

make me cum?

please i need you

your thighs pressed together tightly under the table, your teeth pressing into your lip harder. you had watched the video with your brightness and volume turned all the way down, but you could just imagine how she sounded—so desperate and whiny. all the noise in the background had faded in your ears, you weren’t paying attention to anything else at this point.

you

damnit paige

i’m on the way

you better be just like that when i get home

paige smiled when she read your text, her thighs rubbing together impatiently.

paige 💋

i’ll be waiting ;)

you shook your head with a laugh at how easily you folded when it came to her and put your phone in your back pocket. you tuned back into your friends, one of them was talking about some one night stand she had the other night.

“hey guys, i think i’m gonna head out.” you interrupted the conversation, already standing up and placing a twenty dollar bill on the table. all of them turned to look at you and frowned.

“you’re leaving already?” one of them said, reaching over the table to grab your hand. you gave it a light squeeze and smiled at her softly.

“i’m sorry! paige is at home and she’s…” you trailed off, not wanting to spill why you were actually leaving. “i gotta get back to her but we’ll catch up later, yeah?”

❥•°❀°•༢

when you walked into your apartment the first thing you heard was loud moans coming from your bedroom. you shook your head and made your way to the source of the sound. the second you opened the door you saw paige with her hand between her legs, vibrator pressed against her clit just like in the video she sent.

“you just couldn’t wait, huh?” you stalked closer to the bed, pulling your top off as you moved. paige dropped the toy immediately, her legs closing instinctively. you crawled onto the bed, pulling her knees apart and opening her back up. “nah, you wanted it so bad.”

“i want you.” paige whimpered, her hips jutted up. you dragged your fingers up her inner thighs, slow and teasing, watching her squirm under your gaze. her chest was heaving, skin flushed, and her bottom lip was caught between her teeth. the vibrator buzzed softly beside her, still coated in her slick, but you ignored it.

“but you couldn’t wait.” you laughed and pulled your hands back. paige reached forward to grasp at your wrist but you pulled them back out of her reach. “touch yourself.”

“w-what?” she propped herself up on her elbows, staring up at you with wide eyes. paige blinked, stunned for a moment before a flush of heat spread down her neck and chest. her thighs instinctively pressed together again, but you shook your head, fingers curling around her knee to gently guide her legs open.

“c’mon, baby. you wanted to play while i was out, go ahead. show me how bad you wanted me.”

paige whimpered, staying still for a second before she slowly began to trail her hand down her stomach—attempting to mimic what you would’ve done if it was you touching her instead.

she held eye contact with you the entire time, wanting to please you so you’d touch her faster. you leaned back on your legs and watched her hand slip between her legs again. her fingers brushed her clit as she dipped her fingers through her folds, collecting her slick on her fingertips.

paige let out a shaky breath, her eyebrows scrunched and her lips parting with a quiet gasp. her hips jerked the second her fingers pressed into her entrance. it wasn’t the same—would never be the same—but she tried anyway. she wanted you to touch her so bad it almost hurt.

“there you go,” you said softly, your voice lower than before. “you were begging for attention. don’t stop now.”

maybe it was because of how good she looked all spread out under you or maybe it was the alcohol in your system, but you reached for your phone in your pocket. paige watched as you started recording, her legs in embarrassment and pleasure all in one.

“don’t be shy now, p. you had no problem with the camera earlier, now did you?” you slapped the back of her thigh and her legs fell open again. you angled your phone down to capture the way her fingers easily slid into her cunt.

“please…” her voice broke, hips lifting just slightly off the bed. her fingers were slick and messy now, losing rhythm every time she moaned. “please touch me.”

“finish what you started and i’ll think about it.” you mumbled, eyes locked on the way her pussy swallowed her fingers. your own breath was heavy as you watched and your fingers twitched, fighting the urge to give into her and give her what she wanted.

paige let out a soft, frustrated sound and let her head tip back, her eyes fluttering as her hips started to grind into her own hand. your phone picked up every squelch, every moan, every breathy whimper—everything. her cunt was drenched with her slick—from her clit to where it dripped down her ass.

“fuck paige— you’re so messy.” you groaned, your free hand finally dragging up the inside of her thigh because you couldn’t really help yourself. you wanted to drag it out, tease her, make her beg for it all night—but watching her fuck herself like this, desperate and ruined, was making your resolve crumble fast.

“because of you,” she gasped, eyes squeezing tight as she curled her fingers. she could feel herself getting closer and she let out another frustrated moan because she’s could already tell that it wouldn’t be as satisfying as when you did it. “you make me so—so fucking wet.”

you stopped the recording and tossed your phone off to the side before grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away. paige gasped at the way her orgasm was snatched from her but when you lowered yourself between her legs she wasn’t complaining. your mouth was on her clit in a second, your fingers replacing hers without warning.

paige sobbed, back arching as she rocked her hips into you, chasing it like it was the only thing on her mind—and it was. you pressed your other hand flat against her lower stomach, pinning her down and forcing her to feel every drag of your fingers deep inside her.

“so fuckin’ loud, baby,” you muttered, eyes flicking up to watch her. “you want the whole building to hear how much of a mess you are for me?”

“y-yes,” she cried, face scrunched and body trembling. “don’t stop, please, please don’t stop—”

her thighs were shaking, her moans tumbling into raw, breathless gasps, and you knew she was close again. “you gonna cum?” you asked, voice teasing. “you gonna make a mess all over me?”

“yes—yes, i’m so close—fuck—” her voice was wrecked, so high and desperate it went straight to your core. you sucked at her clit again and she broke right there—her back arched, her hand shot down to your head and she held you against her, her moans turned into near screams.

her body was still twitching under you when you finally pulled away, her chest was heaving, her legs trembling. you pressed a gentle kiss to her inner thigh and started to work your way back up her body. when your face was level with hers, you kissed her for the first time since you got home. paige wrapped her arms around your shoulders, her fingers tangling in the hairs at the back of your head.

“you done?” you asked, hand already reaching for the toy beside you. paige shook her head almost immediately and you smiled against her lips because you already knew she wasn’t finished.

you didn’t tease her this time, you brought the toy down and pressed it against her clit, watching her entire body jerk at the contact. her back arched off the bed and her hands clutched the sheets at her sides, knuckles going white.

“there we go,” you murmured, circling the toy over her sensitive clit. paige was moaning loudly again, her hips rolling, chasing the feeling. her thighs were trembling, her chest rising and falling like she’d just run a mile.

“so—so fucking good,” she gasped, her voice breaking halfway through. you circled the vibrator and her legs tried to close from how sensitive she still was.“it’s so much, baby, i’m—”

“i got you, baby. let go—i got you.” you whispered right before you kissed her afain, stealing her breath from her lungs. you pressed the toy harder against her clit, watching her fall apart. paige’s mouth dropped open in a silent mosn before the sound finally tore out of her throat.

you didn’t move the toy until her hand started to push at yours. she was gasping for air and tears clung to her lashes. you turned it off and tossed it to the side again.

“oh my god,” she whimpered, completely wrecked. you leaned down and kissed her again, slow and gentle, your fingers brushing the hair stuck to her forehead.

“you okay?” you asked as you moved to lay on the bed beside her, she immediately turned to rest her head on your chest. paige hummed and nodded her head.

“i really needed that.”

you laughed and started to run your fingers through her hair soothingly. “i can tell.”

#m speaks #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x fem!reader #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x fem!reader smut #sub!paige bueckers #dallas wings

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undyingdecay · 1 day ago

Note

Ughhh Bob with a breeding kink 😓😓😓

Like him just letting go and going all caveman brain about it after begging you to just let him pretend it'll take😖😖😖

bob’s pull-out game is genuinely awful. like, laughably bad.

which is how you ended up insisting on condoms in the first place—not that it ever stopped him. he’d find ways. not in a sleazy, frat-boy kind of way, not with lines like “i’m allergic to latex” or “it doesn’t feel the same”—no, bob’s excuses came soaked in something too sincere, almost sweet, if it weren’t for how calculated it ended up being.

“jus’ wanna be close to you,” he’d murmur, voice all thick and needy from where he lay slotted against you, his whole body tacky with sweat and arousal, a gleaming sheen of it covering every inch of skin like lacquer. his weight always followed—not rough, but whole. he liked collapsing on top of you after he slid in, his arms hooked under yours so he could wrap around your back, chest pressed to yours, breath fanning against your ear as if the closeness wasn’t just desire, but some primal need to merge. be inside and on top and around you all at once.

you never got the chance to argue. half the time the condom was off before you’d even realized he’d unrolled it—pulled off between sleepy kisses and soft “please”s, left sagging and useless somewhere near your hipbone. once, he didn’t even bother pretending. you caught him, right there in the bedroom light, jabbing something—his key? a paperclip?—into a row of condoms like he was testing for weak spots.

“bob,” you’d said flatly, and he blinked up at you, all wide-eyed innocence. like he might lie. like he might not lie.

“…thought i saw air bubbles,” he mumbled. his cheeks flushed. his fingers fidgeted. you knew damn well he was lying. knew it, and still did nothing.

because what were your options? fight? withhold sex? as if that would’ve been possible with the way he looked at you, touched you, moaned so gratefully every time he was inside you, like it healed something. instead, you started taking birth control—not as rebellion, but as quiet damage control.

you didn’t hide it. didn’t even think to mention it. why would you?

then came the morning—early, light still soft and blue through the windows, your legs sore, your thighs sticky with dried cum. bob behind you with one arm around your waist, trailing down the stairs like a sleepy barnacle. he didn’t even try to untangle, just followed, skin warm and clinging as you went through your morning routine.

you grabbed the small bottle of vitamins, handed him two, and he popped them without looking. a routine. natural. his chin rested against your shoulder as you reached for your birth control.

instinctively, he held his hand out again.

you hesitated. glanced at him with a faint smile.

“do you plan on getting pregnant anytime soon?” you teased.

his brows pinched, lips parted just slightly.

“birth control,” you clarified, still smiling.

and just like that, his expression shifted. confusion first. then something deeper—quiet, raw. hurt, maybe. or worse: betrayal.

his arm fell away from your waist.

“…you’re taking that?” he asked, voice low, soft. as if the question pained him to ask.

you turned, brows drawing together. “yeah. i didn’t think—”

“but why?” his voice cracked. “why would you do that?”

you turn toward him fully now, your lower back pressing against the counter edge, cool marble grounding you—but only barely. you can feel the way he watches you, gaze heavy and warm, like it might scorch you if you held it too long. he isn’t mad. not really. there’s no raised voice, no cruelty. just this awful, quiet hurt, like you’d taken something from him he didn’t even know he couldn’t live without.

and maybe you had.

the pill still sits between your fingers, tiny and pale in the soft morning light, like it’s nothing—just 3mg of synthetic hormone—but his eyes are fixed on it like you’re holding a loaded gun.

you open your mouth to explain, to give him something gentle and sane and logical, but the words clog up behind your teeth. the kitchen feels darker now somehow. close and still. like it’s holding its breath for you.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, the words barely there. you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for. but you mean it. that’s the worst part.

“i—i don’t want you to be upset. i love you. you know i love you. i’d do anything to make this better—”

his voice slices through your chest, quiet but wrecked. “throw it away.”

you blink. “bob—”

“please,” he breathes. “just throw it away. right now. i’ll feel better. i promise. i’ll feel better if you just—just let me—” his voice cracks around the edges, fraying like old thread. “i need to.”

you glance at the counter. at the pill. and you set it down without a word.

he breathes in like he’s just surfaced from under water.

his hands are on you again—gently first, palms warm and reverent at your hips like he’s still afraid you might back away—but you don’t. you let him close the distance, let him slot his body between your legs as he leans in to kiss you, deep and messy and grateful.

“i wanna be inside,” he mumbles against your mouth. “don’t wanna wait. let me… please—let me stay this time.”

you nod, not even realizing you’re nodding until he sighs like it’s relief and drops to his knees.

your sleep shorts are gone in seconds. no teasing, no preamble—just his mouth on you, warm and wet and desperate, tongue working like he’s trying to unravel something inside you, hands wrapped around your thighs like handles, pulling you open as if you owe it to him.

he licks until your legs shake, until your voice breaks, until he’s practically whimpering into your cunt, nose buried so deep you wonder if he can even breathe. when you finally try to push him back—half from overstimulation, half because you need him in you already—he doesn’t budge.

“you taste different when you’re not on the pill,” he murmurs, drunk off it. “sweeter. like your body knows.”

you don’t even know what that means. you don’t care.

“bob—fuck, come on, please?— do it for mommy”

that does it.

he rises like a wave, chest flushed, breath ragged, cock already slick and leaking through his briefs. he tugs them down with a frustrated groan and nearly cries when he presses against your entrance—his forehead drops against your shoulder, his voice high and fragile.

“gonna come so deep,” he moans, sliding in inch by inch. “gonna stay there, i swear—i’ll stay in you. don’t want it to leave.”

your hands thread into his curls, nails dragging at his scalp as he bottoms out. he’s trembling, hips stuttering already before he’s even pulled back. “i’ll be good. i’ll be so good. just wanna give you something—wanna fill you, please, let me—”

the counter digs into your spine. the kitchen lights feel too bright. and still, none of it matters except for him.

he starts fucking you slow at first, rolling his hips up into you like he’s memorizing it—like if he gets the angle just right, your body will take him in and keep him there. his hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, sweat slick between your bellies, every wet slap echoing too loud in the quiet morning space.

you can feel it when he gets close—when the whining gets louder, the thrusts more erratic. he’s babbling again, forehead pressed against your cheek now, voice ruined.

“make me a dad,” he gasps. “let me—please—fuck, i wanna come in you so bad—wanna give you everything—i’ll stay inside forever if you let me—please—”

you pull him in deeper. his body jerks.

then he’s coming—hard—right against your cervix, crying out into your neck, hips twitching with every desperate pulse of cum spilling into you. you can feel it, hot and thick, pooling where you’re still joined. he doesn’t pull out.

doesn’t even try.

instead, he slumps forward, cock still hard inside you, panting against your throat. “don’t move,” he whispers. “i’ll fuck it in deeper. just—lemme stay here.”

and you do.

you don’t even reach for the pill.

#.ᐟ.ᐟ #robert reynolds #bob reynolds fanfic #bob thunderbolts #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds smut #bob reynolds x reader #marvel #robert reynolds smut #thunderbolts #⤷ robert reynolds #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts fanfic #new avengers #afab reader #female reader

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cressidagrey · 2 days ago

Text

A Secret well kept

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: McLaren finds out about the tiny genius Oscar has been keeping a secret.

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Tom Stallard had spent the better part of two years learning Oscar Piastri’s rhythms.

He could spot when Oscar was overdriving by the tiniest spike in steering input. He could tell from a clipped radio “copy” when Oscar disagreed with a strategy call. He knew when Oscar needed silence and when he needed numbers.

What he wasn’t used to was Oscar checking his phone.

During sim hours.

Repeatedly.

The first time, Tom let it go. Maybe something with logistics. Or maybe Felicity—the now-infamous Secret Wife the entire paddock had learned about in the most dramatic fan-stage reveal in recent memory.

(He still wasn’t over watching Lando Norris shriek “YOU HAVE A WIFE?!” in high-definition footage. No one was.)

But by the sixth time Oscar glanced at his phone, unlocked it, frowned, and locked it again—all in the span of twenty minutes—Tom finally pulled his headset off.

“Alright,” he said calmly. “Who’s bleeding?”

Oscar looked up. “What?”

“Who’s bleeding or whose car is on fire,” Tom clarified, crossing his arms. “Because you’ve checked your phone six times in less than half an hour, and unless telemetry now runs on WhatsApp, I’m calling that suspicious.”

Oscar hesitated.

Then sighed. Tapped the phone once more. “It’s Bee.”

Tom blinked.

“…Bee,” Tom repeated slowly. “As in…?”

“My daughter.”

A long pause.

Tom stared at him. Then, slowly—very slowly—Tom set his clipboard down.

Oscar blinked again. “You didn’t know?”

Tom stared harder.

“You have a daughter?” he said, voice just slightly raised now.

Oscar nodded, like this was a completely normal Wednesday.

“3 and a half years old. Her name’s Bee. Short for Beatrice.”

Tom slowly sat down. “Okay. Sure. Why not. That tracks. Because you being married wasn’t enough of a revelation, let’s go ahead and throw in a whole child.”

Oscar winced. “I thought you knew. After the wife thing.”

“You said nothing.”

“I figured… it wasn’t relevant to tire compounding?”

“A daughter,” Tom repeated. “Like, a small human child.”

Oscar blinked again. “I mean, she’s not that small—she’s very opinionated. Knows more about chassis stiffness than most interns.”

Tom didn’t react. Just stared a moment longer. Then let out the deepest, most exhausted sigh in the history of Formula 1 engineering.

“You know,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I thought the wife reveal was bad. But this? This is somehow worse.”

Oscar scratched his neck. “Sorry?”

“You didn’t even mention her, Oscar.”

“It didn’t come up.”

“Didn’t come up?!”

Oscar winced. “Look, I wasn’t hiding her. She’s just… not part of the whole media thing.”

Tom just stared at him again, then picked up the clipboard like he might start smacking Oscar with it.

“And the reason you’re glued to your phone today?” he asked wearily.

Oscar hesitated. Then, quietly: “She hates kindergarten.”

That, Tom hadn’t expected.

“She’s smart,” Oscar continued, voice quieter now. “She’s been having a hard time lately. Doesn’t really fit in. She’s… different. Scary smart. And sweet. But she hates loud places and doesn’t like people who don’t wash their hands. One boy pushed her last week and said she was weird for talking about the moon.”

Something in Oscar’s voice caught there. He looked down at the edge of the simulator like it might offer an answer.

Instead, Tom just sighed.

Deep. Long-suffering. Strangely fond.

“Well,” he muttered, standing up and clapping Oscar lightly on the shoulder. “Congratulations. You’ve officially joined the club of race dads who can’t fix everything with telemetry.”

Oscar let out a soft laugh.

Tom finally exhaled. Deeply.

“This is exactly like the marriage thing,” he muttered.

Oscar frowned. “What?”

“You just—casually drop massive life updates like they’re tire pressure notes.”

“I didn’t think it was a secret.”

“I’m your race engineer, mate. I should at least know if there’s a three-year-old waiting at home who might need you to emotionally recover from kindergarten trauma.”

Oscar gave a weak laugh. “Fair.”

Tom shook his head and pulled his headset back on. “Alright. We’ll finish this run, then you can check your phone again.”

Oscar smiled, grateful.

“And Oscar?”

“Yeah?”

Tom glanced at him sideways. “If I find out next month that you’ve adopted a goat or something, I swear to god—”

“No goats,” Oscar said solemnly. “Only a dozen chickens named after WDCs.”

Tom elected not to even say anything about that.

“You know,” he said, “you’re allowed to be distracted sometimes.”

Oscar looked at him. “I don’t want to be.”

“I know. But that’s not how life works. Especially not with kids.”

Another pause.

“Go call your wife,” he said. “Text your kid. Reset the sim. We’ll pick it back up in thirty minutes.”

Oscar blinked. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll even let you drive the old config you like. The one with the twitchy rear end.”

Oscar blinked again. “…You hate that setup.”

“Yeah,” Tom muttered, turning away. “But apparently you’re a whole-ass father and I need a minute to process that.”

***

Andrea Stella prided himself on being prepared.

That meant data. Budgets. Team rosters. Track conditions. Tyre strategies. And sometimes, it meant Oscar Piastri’s unexpected personal life.

Which was how Andrea found himself in a Monday morning planning meeting that started with strategy documents and devolved—rather rapidly—into a conversation about Oscar Piastri’s three-year-old daughter.

He should have seen it coming.

In hindsight, the wife thing should’ve been the warning sign. One moment Oscar had been answering a harmless “Would you rather get married or get a tattoo?” fan question, and the next? He had nonchalantly dropped the news that he’d already been married for five years.

The PR team still hadn’t recovered. (Neither had Andrea.)

And now, apparently, there was a child.

“Bee and Felicity are joining us for Silverstone,” Oscar said evenly, scrolling through his phone as if he were reading weather forecasts, not detonating Andrea’s understanding of his life.

Andrea blinked once. Then looked down at the meeting notes. There was nothing in here about a Bee.

“Bee,” Andrea said carefully. “Is…”

“My daughter,” Oscar supplied, still calm. “I’ll need two extra paddock passes,” Oscar said, looking up from his phone. “One for Felicity. One for Bee.”

Andrea very slowly turned his head to look at him.

His daughter.

Felicity had only come to light three weeks ago, courtesy of a now-infamous fan stage moment that had left Lando shrieking and PR with three different emergency plans.

Oscar being married was already a saga.

But Oscar Piastri being a father?

Lando, who had shown up to this meeting with an iced coffee and no expectation of drama, raised a hand like he was in school.

“Just to clarify—I have met both the wife and the child,” he said. “So I am not spiraling this time. This is growth.”

Oscar gave him a faint, appreciative nod.

Andrea turned his stare toward Zak Brown, who looked—annoyingly—completely unsurprised.

Of course.

Zak leaned back in his chair with a mildly smug expression. “I’ve known since he signed. Mark told me.”

Andrea blinked. “You’ve known for years?”

Zak shrugged. “It wasn’t relevant until now.”

Sophie made a high-pitched noise that may have been the PR equivalent of a nervous breakdown. “So. To recap. You have a wife. You’ve had her for five years. You also have a child. Named Bee. And now’s she’s coming to the paddock?!” she asked, clearly already mentally preparing for press kits, child-safe wristbands, and a media nightmare.

Oscar shrugged. “She doesn’t do well with crowds, so she’ll mostly be in the garage. But I thought she might like to sit at the pit wall during Free Practice if that’s possible. Just for a bit.”

Andrea just stared at him. The silence was deafening.

“On the—?” Sophie began.

“She can bring headphones,” Oscar added. “She already has the proper ones. She doesn’t touch buttons. She’s very respectful.”

Zak looked like Christmas had come early. “Honestly, it’s great! Kid on the pit wall? Home race? We’ll sell it as wholesome, engineer-brain legacy. Sophie, write something nice.”

Sophie took a breath. “Okay, okay. We can do this. We can manage this. She’s three. This is fine. We’ve handled worse. We’ve handled… okay, no, nothing has been like this, but we’ll adjust.”

Andrea finally found his voice again. “Oscar, forgive me for asking, but—you’ve been married for five years and a father for over three. Why is this the first time we’re hearing about either?”

Oscar shrugged, deadpan. “I didn’t think it was a secret.”

Andrea stared. “You keep saying that. And it keeps being wrong.”

Zak leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Look at it this way. At least he tells us these things eventually.”

Andrea sighed and scrawled "Bee – pit wall access" under the Silverstone weekend plan. “Right. Fine. She can sit at the pit wall. As long as she wears the proper headphones and doesn’t touch anything. Zak?”

Zak waved a hand, amused. “Love it. Great look for the brand.”

Sophie sat up straighter, already regaining her footing. “If we position it right, it could actually be a great opportunity. You’re the quiet, analytical driver. The one who never shows emotion. This—this is an angle. This is family. Human. Relatable. It’s—”

“No.”

The word wasn’t loud. But it landed like a pin drop in a library.

Sophie blinked. “Sorry?”

Oscar looked up then. Calm. Direct. Dead serious.

“I’m bringing Bee to Silverstone because I want her to feel welcome in a world I’ve spent my life working toward. I want her to see where I go when I am not with her. I want her to sit beside me and watch what I do. That’s it.”

He set his iPad down. Folded his hands. “She’s not a brand. She’s not a marketing opportunity. She’s my daughter. And she deserves better than being used to soften a public image I never asked for in the first place.”

The room went very quiet.

Sophie looked chastised, but not defensive. “Of course,” she said softly. “You’re right.”

Oscar gave a small nod. “We’re not hiding her. But she’s not content, either. If you want to post something, clear it with me. And with Felicity.”

Andrea—who had sat through years of drivers micromanaging sponsors and pushing for the exact opposite of what Oscar was saying—just stared at him for a beat.

It wasn’t often a driver drew a boundary this sharp.

Even rarer that he did it so… gently. Without anger. Just certainty.

“She’s three,” Oscar said again. “She’s just a little kid who likes telemetry and mochi. If she wants to be in a photo, fine. If she wants to wear my hat and climb on the tyre warmers, fine. But if she doesn’t? I expect everyone here to respect that.”

Andrea watched as Zak’s amused expression faded into something more thoughtful.

Zak, unusually thoughtful, gave a slow nod. “Understood.”

Sophie, now quieter, said, “We’ll brief the whole team. No posts without approval. No filming unless you give the green light.”

Oscar exhaled softly. “Thank you.”

Andrea leaned back in his chair, watching him. The dots connected quickly now—the stillness under pressure, the precision, the impossible composure. This wasn’t about hiding anything. It never had been.

Oscar had simply been living a whole life quietly. Protectively. Lovingly.

And now he was letting them see just a glimpse.

“She likes telemetry,” Oscar added. “And correcting Lando’s sector times.”

Lando sat up. “She WHAT?”

“She thinks you overbrake into Maggots.”

“She’s THREE!”

“She’s observant.”

Sophie looked like she was about to combust.

Zak looked delighted.

“Does anyone outside of McLaren know?” Sophie said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, like she needed the physical act to keep herself grounded.

Oscar paused. “My family knows. Mark knows…some friends know as well. The grid knows, because Arthur Leclerc mentioned Bee to Charles.”

Andrea groaned, setting his pen down with dramatic finality. “Of course he did.”

Zak looked far too entertained by all of this. “Well, I’m glad the grid knows. Let’s just hope none of them tells a journalist by accident.”

Sophie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Oscar, have you posted anything? Even a story? A soft launch?”

Oscar shook his head.

Sophie’s sigh got louder. “Okay. Then we still have time to control this. We need to handle this properly. If you bring them to Silverstone without any warning, the media will go insane.”

Zak leaned back in his chair, almost smug. “They’re going to go insane either way.”

Oscar shrugged. “So what do you want me to do?”

Sophie’s eyes darted between her notes and Oscar’s completely unbothered expression. She took a deep breath, folded her hands together on the table, and said with all the patience she could muster, “We’ll draft something. A post. A statement. Something that doesn’t send the internet into complete meltdown.”

Oscar tilted his head. “Something simple?”

Sophie nodded. “Preferably. Something that says: yes, I’m married, yes, I have a daughter, no, it’s not a scandal, please don’t scream.”

Lando looked genuinely disappointed. “That sounds boring.”

“Boring,” Sophie said through gritted teeth, “is exactly what we want right now.”

Lando perked up. “Can I help write it?”

Sophie didn’t even look at him. “Absolutely not.”

Zak chuckled. “Maybe just include something cute. A dad moment. Casual but sweet. You know—‘Here’s my kid. I’m still me. She likes mochi and thinks Lando overbrakes into Maggots.’”

“She’s not wrong,” Andrea muttered.

Lando looked personally wounded.

Oscar, as ever, looked mildly amused. “You really think a post will help?”

Sophie nodded firmly. “It won’t stop the attention, but it’ll let you lead the story. People will be curious no matter what. This way, they hear it from you first. Not from a blurry pap shot or a gossip blog that calls Bee your niece. I’ll write something tonight. You can approve it. “

Oscar stood, collecting his iPad and coffee. “Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll run it by Felicity.”

Sophie nodded. “We’ll loop in comms, legal, and the social team. If we get this out before media day, we’ll control the narrative. Barely.”

Andrea exhaled, already picturing the media chaos anyway. “Just get it done. Before Silverstone.”

Sophie stood, already typing a draft in her notes app. “I’m going to need a quote. Something calm. Personal. Human. Oscar, tell me something nice you’ve said about Felicity recently.”

Oscar looked up, expression blank. “I said she had good taste in tire compounds.”

Sophie stared at him.

Lando wheezed.

Andrea stood up. “I’m leaving before I hear another word.”

Oscar, still deadpan: “It was a compliment.”

***

Sophie shut her office door with a click so controlled it was practically a scream.

Then she turned, leaned back against it, and let out a noise that could only be described as a strangled “what the actual—”, cutting herself off before the second syllable of profanity left her lips.

She stared at nothing for a moment. Just breathed. Tried to slow her pulse. Tried to remind herself she was a communications professional. That she had handled crises before. Paparazzi breakups. Grid penalties. That time a junior driver accidentally leaked half a launch plan on Twitch.

But nothing—nothing—had prepared her for Oscar Piastri casually revealing an entire secret family during a Thursday logistics meeting.

She moved slowly to her desk, as if sudden motion might trigger another revelation. Maybe Lando had a twin. Maybe Andrea had a side hustle as a DJ. Maybe Zak was actually fluent in six languages and just pretending to be Californian for brand alignment.

She slumped into her chair. Stared at her notes.

OSCAR

Needs two extra paddock passes for Silverstone

One for wife

One for daughter (Bee, age 3)

Wants her to try sitting at pit wall during FP1

“She likes telemetry”

????

Sophie dropped her forehead to the desk.

“He said it like we were supposed to know,” she mumbled into the woodgrain. “Like, oh by the way, I’ll need extra passes for my secret family, thanks, Sophie.”

She sat up again, ran both hands through her hair, and laughed once—loud, incredulous, mildly hysterical.

Because it wasn’t just that Oscar had a wife. Or a child.

It was the way he said "Bee likes telemetry” like that was normal.

Like most toddlers didn’t throw iPads when they got bored of Peppa Pig but instead asked follow-up questions about delta time.

Sophie opened her laptop. She had three drafted announcement posts in the works. She now needed a fourth. Or a funeral for her career.

Because the world didn’t know yet. But they would. Soon.

Oscar had given them the green light. Not that he’d said “go ahead.” No, Oscar just sat in the meeting with that maddening calm and said “I didn’t think it was a secret.”

Sophie snorted. “I didn’t think it was a secret.” She mimed strangling air. “Did you also think people knew how to breathe underwater, Oscar?!”

She paced.

Oscar Piastri. Their most unbothered driver. Calm. Calculated. Polite in every press pen. And apparently the most emotionally baffling person she’d ever worked with.

Because yes, he had a wife. Named Felicity. Who, by the way, was brilliant enough that Sophie had to stop reading her CV halfway through to cry and eat a biscuit.

And yes, he had a daughter. Named Bee. Who liked telemetry. At three years old.

Sophie stopped pacing. Looked at her mug. Then looked at the drawer with the emergency whiskey miniature. Considered her options.

Eventually, she opened a new file. Titled it: “Piastri Family – Soft Reveal Strategy (Try Not To Die)”

And got to work.

While muttering the whole time: “I need a raise. I need therapy. I need a vacation. I need… I need Oscar Piastri to stop casually reinventing his entire public image mid-season like it’s just another Wednesday.”

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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nightplvmes · 2 days ago

Text

pregnancy cravings (fluff)

sylus one shot (love and deepspace) sylus would spoil his wife, even if she weren't pregnant with twins⋆｡° | pairing : sylus x fem!reader ⋆｡° | word count : 1.5k (1,500) ⋆｡° | fluff, pregnant reader, husband sylus, twin pregnancy ⋆｡° | autor note: hi, i wrote this a long time ago and honestly i feel sylus would just take the damn car (spoiler) to not worry his wife and that's it, but i wrote this months ago and i didn't want to not post it, especially with all the time it takes me to write, edit and translate, so… you can read it with that in mind just as entertainment :) likes and reblogs are appreciated!! :) ★ masterlist here

you carefully slid to the other side of the bed. Sylus had fallen asleep again while reading, or so you thought because his glasses were still on the bridge of his nose.

"Sy…" you murmured softly but he continued sleeping. you knew your voice hadn't been audible enough to wake him anyway. "Sylus!" you touched his shoulder this time and although you had raised your voice slightly it had perhaps been too much.

Sylus opened his eyes immediately. he turned to look at you almost without blinking and quickly straightened up. it had all happened in a matter of seconds, was it just his reflexes that were stupidly fast? "what's wrong? is it the baby?" you pressed your lips together and nodded, somewhat embarrassed. "what happened? we're going to the hospital. get up."

"what? no! I'm fine." you shook your head, settling back down on the bed. "I'm just hungry."

Sylus raised an eyebrow in confusion and stood still. it took him a couple of seconds to understand what was happening around him and that his wife was not about to give birth. "you woke me up because you were hungry?" you nodded. it wasn't that Sylus would mind but he had gotten scared. "why didn't you just go to the kitchen?"

Sylus put one of his arms around your hips and gently pulled you towards him. you looked at your baby belly where their twins were growing. it seemed like yesterday the pregnancy test had come out positive and now you could give birth at any moment.

"remember that cafe that's open 24 hours and sells desserts?" Sylus nodded, his face buried in your neck, smelling his wife's scent. "well… I'm craving that amazing red velvet cake." you felt your mouth water just thinking about it.

Sylus sighed and lifted his face. he would fulfill any craving his wife had even if she wasn't pregnant. he had told you that you were doing enough carrying their twins.

"okay, I'll get your cake." he sighed, rubbing his eyes. he was still a little sleepy, although he had to admit that hearing his wife wake him up made him think you were about to go into labor, and that scare had helped wake him up.

Sylus moved around the room, grabbing something to protect himself from the cold while his wife watched his every move. it was cold, and more than once you had made it clear that he needed to stay warm; you didn't want him to get sick.

"where's my helmet?" he asked, looking around the room.

"your helmet? will you use your bike?" you quickly sat down on the bed and pulled the covers off you. your face was now utterly worried, and Sylus quickly noticed.

"I'll go faster that way," he nodded. he knew you hated when he used the bike. ever since you found out you were pregnant, you'd practically forced him to stay off his motorcycle unless absolutely necessary and to use a car like a normal person. you were afraid something might happen to him, especially since they were expecting twins. Sylus had seen how worried you were that he'd agreed.

"Sy…" you got up quickly, and he smiled at you. you were wearing one of his favorite sweatshirts that you'd stolen from his closet, but he loved seeing your baby bump even when the sweatshirt was too big for you. "you said you wouldn't do it anymore."

"I'll be okay. I'll be right back," he murmured, letting you wrap your arms around him. he closed his eyes for a few seconds, thinking that after all, you didn't need that cake so badly and could survive one more night.

"I don't want the cake anymore. you don't have to go."

Sylus laughed, knowing you were lying, especially because you loved that cake. "you don't know how to lie." he placed a kiss on your forehead and finally pulled away. he felt a little guilty about leaving you worried like that, but he knew it wouldn't take long.

you followed him through the house, down the stairs, and to the front door, following his every step like a duckling.

"you still have time to change your mind and go by car. there's no traffic at this hour." Sylus stopped when he heard her words, turned to look at her, smiled, and then shook his head.

"it'll take less than ten minutes." you nodded, still unsure. your eyes drifted to the helmet in his hand. you didn't know when you'd become so paranoid, maybe the moment you'd realized you were actually in love with him.

"be careful, okay? you can't leave me alone with two twins!" Sylus nodded, though he tried to hide the fact that it hurt him to think of leaving you alone. He would never leave you alone.

he leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead, his fingers brushing your belly as a silent farewell. he turned to walk to the door and glanced over his shoulder one last time before leaving.

you started counting the seconds the moment Sylus stepped outside the house. why were you so nervous? he'd been riding his bike for many years and wasn't a beginner; nothing bad was going to happen to him.

you sighed and headed to the kitchen, trying to distract yourself. you began to make some tea in silence while your thoughts wandered, and you made a short mental list of things you had to do.

you needed to go to the doctor to make sure everything was in order with the twins. you needed to buy more clothes. you needed to prepare the bag you would take to the hospital on the day of delivery. there was still a crib to be assembled, but Sylus said he would take care of that himself.

you smiled as you remembered how you had tried to get the pieces out of one of the cribs, but it hadn't been more than five minutes before Sylus entered the room and forced you to stop. he hadn't let you do much of anything since you found out you were pregnant.

when you came out of your thoughts, several minutes had passed, and you were holding a cup of hot tea. you looked at the clock on one of the walls and felt your heart sink when you noticed that almost 20 minutes had passed. the cafe was close; it usually didn't take more than ten minutes, what was happening?

you felt a lump in your throat as you walked to the living room. you looked out the window hoping to see some light in the distance from Sylus' bike, but everything was too quiet. too quiet.

you walked back to the bedroom and rummaged through the pillows, looking for your phone. when you found it, you looked for your husband's number and pressed "call" but your hopes crumbled when you heard Sylus' phone ringing in the room. you sighed, trying to calm down. you was too paranoid, and the doctor had already told you a million times that you needed to relax.

but… what if something had happened to him? what if you were right? you sank down onto the bed and suddenly felt short of breath and like crying. you couldn't raise twins alone. the only reason you were calm now was because Sylus was by your side. he had taken it upon himself to reassure you when they found out their babies were twins.

one of each, he'd said. you covered your face as a sad smile formed on your lips. what would you do without the father of your babies? most importantly… what would you do without the love of your life? the only person you'd ever felt comfortable with, the only person who—

"sweetie?" you quickly looked up and rubbed one of your eyes to wipe away the tears that had begun to form. your whole body relaxed when you saw him standing in front of you with a box in one hand and a bag in the other. had you been so lost in your thoughts that you hadn't even heard him come in?

"Sy…" he quickly put everything aside and sat down next to you. he let you wrap her arms around him, and you were soon clinging to him. you'd been overthinking again. "it took you longer than ten minutes."

"I stopped by to get you some things you like," he murmured, kissing your head. he'd accidentally gotten too distracted, and now his pregnant wife was on the verge of a mental breakdown; he'd noticed it because of the way your eyes were watering. "I'm sorry."

you shook your head; you couldn't be bothered when he'd woken up to get your favorite cake and had stopped by to buy some of your favorite things.

"was there still cake?" you asked, trying to change the subject.

"I bought two." he nodded looking at your slightly red nose. you smiled excitedly and kissed his cheek; you'd have enough cake leftover for a while longer.

Sylus couldn't sleep again the rest of the night but that wasn't new to him, seeing his pregnant wife happy eating her cake was better than anything.

#sylus #love and deepspace #sylus x reader fluff #sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lads x reader #lads fluff #lads sylus #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x reader fluff #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace sylus x reader #one shot #headcanon

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violetrainbow412-blog · 2 days ago

Text

Wrapped around you [B. R.]

Bob Reynolds x fem!reader

wc: 3k

summary: Bob has a secret lover in the city, and that night he feels the need to sleep in her arms.

masterlist

You were making instant soup when your phone buzzed with a text. It was late and you were tired, so you figured whoever it was, could wait a bit.

You'd spent fourteen hours working at the convenience store, covering your usual shift and also the shift of the college student who worked in the afternoons. More than just the money, it was a kind of favor. The poor girl had been sick the past few days, and you'd hate for her to lose her job. Still, the fact that it was an act of good faith didn't help ease your fatigue.

A minute after the first message, another one rang. You ignored it, thinking that if it was something urgent, the person could always call. Two more messages rang through shortly after. And when two more did, it was enough for you to turn away from the stove and search for your phone.

The contact record was flashing in the notification bar.

Bob ♡ : hi Bob ♡ : are you home? Bob ♡ : can i come over? Bob ♡ : I know it's late Bob ♡ : sorry Bob ♡ : you can say no

You knew he hated taking calls, and although the insistence seemed odd to you, you quickly responded. You thought that, after so many months, he would have understood that it wasn't even necessary for him to ask if he could visit you. But he kept doing it, and you kept saying yes.

When you met him, it wasn't under the best circumstances. The man had walked into the store all nervous, and judging by the way he was hyperventilating, you thought he'd been mugged. It turned out he was having some kind of anxiety attack and just wanted to stay somewhere to calm down. You –still afraid he'd escaped from a mental institution– let him. After a few minutes of analyzing him, something in you told you he was just a man who needed a little kindness.

You offered him water, asked if he needed any medication, and suggested he grab something from the store if he was hungry. Bob didn't accept either option, but he appreciated the consideration you were showing him, even though you didn't know him. A while later, when he was in a more decent state, he said goodbye.

You had trouble sleeping that night. You worried about not knowing what had become of that stranger, even if his visit to the store had been so brief.

A few days later, he appeared again. He looked better this time. He still had that shy air, but now he wasn't pale and staring into space. It turned out he'd come back to thank you. You thought it was such a sweet gesture that if you could have, you would have hugged him; you didn't because it would have been too weird.

Bob continued going to the store. At first, he at least pretended he was going to buy something, almost always grabbing the first thing he found and putting it in the checkout, hoping you'd exchange a few words.

You didn't want to bankrupt the poor boy, so after a few weeks, you told him he could stop by and say hi even if he wasn't going to buy anything.

At some point, you invited him out for ice cream. You started spending more time together, and finally, one day you invited him over to your apartment. The first time, you didn't have sex. It was the second time.

From then on, you had something going on, though you still didn't dare put a name to it. Bob didn't want to make you feel stifled or pressured, and you thought talking things out would bring you bad luck.

That's why it wasn't unusual for him to stop by your apartment sometimes, whenever he felt like cuddling. Of course, you two didn't just fuck, but to be honest, the activity was extremely beneficial for producing certain chemicals in your brains that made any difficult situation better. So it was something to relax, yes.

You hadn't told anyone about him. It was like a tacit agreement, almost as if you two were leading a double life where things were less stressful, confined mostly to your couch or bed.

As for him, he also kept you a secret with some suspicion. His friends noticed that he'd been absent more in recent months, but no one had been able to investigate. The few times they wanted to bring up the subject, Bob would excuse himself by saying he was going to the library or running some errands, and the matter was settled.

Now and then, he would sleep over at your apartment. It was always because you were having a good time and you suggested it, insisting that the night could hold many dangers. But both of you knew it was the need for closeness speaking for you.

However, it was unexpected that he would take the initiative to spend the night together. Because at that hour, he was definitely going to stay until the next morning, right?

Knock, knock, knock…

Someone was at the door. You didn't know how long you'd been lost in thought, but the lukewarm soup in your bowl gave you a clue.

Bob always arrived the same way: with that strange mix of imposing presence and quiet exhaustion. Tonight was no exception. He was wearing a dark sweatshirt—one of those old, oversized ones that seemed to have lost their shape from so much use—and faded jeans, his worn boots covered in a fine layer of dust. His disheveled hair fell over his forehead, damp at the temples, as if he'd been walking too far or had just stepped out of a quick shower without drying it completely.

His shoulders were tense, but his eyes… his eyes spoke volumes. Dark circles under his eyes, heavy eyelids, as if he hadn't slept well in days. And yet, when he looked at you as you opened the door, there was a faint flicker of relief in his expression. He didn't fully smile, but you could tell something in him had given way just by looking at you.

"Hi"

He was carrying a small paper bag—probably containing something for dinner, or some absurd craving he was using as an excuse to see you—and his knuckles were red, as if he'd been rubbing them together out of anxiety or cold. He didn't say much when he entered. He only looked at you for a few seconds, as if he needed to confirm that you were letting him into your home.

"How are you?"

“Fine,” you followed him with your eyes, noticing him walking to the counter to leave the package. “And you?”

"Fine"

His answer obviously didn't convince you completely. So you quietly approached him and cupped his face for a kiss.

Bob immediately let out a sigh and his shoulders relaxed under your touch.

"You sure?"

“Yes. I just… wanted to see you. That’s all.”

“Oh, just seeing me? How unfortunate, darling.”

Suddenly, you heard him chuckle, and then he came over to hug you, burying his head in the crook of your neck. A shiver ran through you when he kissed your bare skin.

“Seeing you, hugging you, touching you, kissing you…”

“That sounds better to me.”

Instinctively you leaned further against him, letting his hand settle on your lower back and holding that position for a while.

You noticed that in the paper bag Bob had brought a couple of rolls and a bottle of chocolate milk to share with you. It was odd how he almost always brought something, as if he wanted to show you that he wasn't just going to demand your affection. Even if he had, it wouldn't have bothered you too much.

You sat down in the living room to share a small dinner, and Bob asked how your day had been. He really enjoyed listening to you, though he couldn't exactly explain why, and you were always happy to share things with him. You only stopped when he took it upon himself to brush away a couple of crumbs that had remained at the corner of your lips, doing so with a gentleness that melted your heart.

It was past midnight when you finished eating. Even though the man's presence had lifted your spirits, you still felt like your eyelids would close at any moment and you'd simply collapse. He noticed.

“Do you want me to stay?”

His voice came out in a measured tone, almost as if he didn't want to upset the fragile balance of the night. You didn't answer him immediately, but instead looked at him. The dim light barely outlined his figure, his broad shoulders, his long legs crossed with a comfort that contrasted with the question he'd just asked.

“Are you asking because you really don’t know…” you said calmly, with that kindness you usually reserved only for him, “or because you need me to say yes to feel at peace?”

Bob looked up. That familiar expression appeared on his face: a mixture of honesty and a certain emotional awkwardness.

“Maybe both”

You nodded without saying anything. The tenderness he provoked in you wasn't effusive or naive; it was more like something that knotted in your stomach and spoke to you in a low voice.

“Of course I want you to stay. You can stay as many times as you want.”

With that, you walked toward him, extending your hand in a calm gesture, almost out of habit. It wasn't an invitation: it was a certainty.

He didn't hesitate. He stood up naturally and followed you, as if that was enough to remind him that yes, this was his place. You knew something was happening to him, but you couldn't figure out what it was; there was a sign written on his forehead, in a language you couldn't read.

Your apartment was modest, but—in Bob's words—cozy. Because of this, your mattress was barely bigger than a twin, not quite a queen size, but there was enough room for the two of you.

Throughout the room, there were a few things that denoted his intermittent presence. You had a comforter, white and crisp, that you unfolded whenever he stayed. He'd told you that being covered helped him sleep. You, on the other hand, hated doing it. He slept without a pillow, and you slept with this one. Bob on the left side, you on the right.

The mere knowledge of the opposite routine was proof enough that your relationship was more intimate than either of you would have liked to admit. There was a sweater he'd forgotten, you'd gotten him a toothbrush, and you also had his favorite brand of tea, as a thoughtful gesture. One of his books rested on your nightstand.

Sometimes, in a corner of your bed, he used to forget his heart.

Shortly after wishing him goodnight, you fell asleep. You could barely feel his presence, close in the small space, but far enough away that he couldn't reach your hand or wrap you in a hug. Either way, you were just getting used to it, as neither of you had ever slept in another person's arms. At least not as a regular activity, of course.

Hours passed until, unwillingly, you suddenly woke up. It wasn't due to a noise or a bad dream; it was just your brain deciding to interrupt your sleep. A second later, slightly more conscious, you realized you needed to pee.

Reluctantly, you dragged yourself out of bed, complaining about leaving the comfort of your previous position and hissing softly as your feet hit the cold floor. You crossed to the bathroom and, as you sat down, you remembered that you hadn’t brushed your teeth before going to bed, so, taking advantage of the fact that you were already there, you did. It lasted about five minutes, at most, then you flushed the toilet and forced yourself to walk again.

All the lights were off, except for the faint glow coming through the window from the street, because you didn't want to be disturbed from sleep. The silence of three in the morning accompanied you on your journey.

Then, as you turned down the hall, you saw him.

Bob was sitting up in bed, hunched slightly forward. He hadn't turned on a lamp either. His eyes were half-closed, blinking slowly, as if drowsiness were overcoming him, but he wasn't about to give in. He yawned, long and contained, covering his mouth with a piece of the comforter he was holding.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked, stopping in your tracks, softening your voice.

It took him a few seconds to react. He looked up, staring at you as if he needed confirmation that you were back.

“You left,” he murmured hoarsely, without reproach.

You walked slowly toward, sitting across from him. You took his face in your hands, warm and firm, recognizing that subtle tremor that sometimes appeared in his jaw when something happened to him.

“Did I wake you up when I got up? I’m sorry…”

“No. I just... didn’t feel you.”

He caressed, perhaps unconsciously, the space on the mattress that still held the silhouette of your body. You watched him with a hint of confusion.

“I just went to the bathroom, Bob. I wasn't going to leave. Why didn't you stay asleep?"

He didn't respond. He looked at you as if he were trying to absorb you with his eyes, as if your presence alone wasn't enough to quell the restlessness he'd felt during those minutes of absence.

Bob wasn't an easy man to read, not even when he gave in to exhaustion, as if all his emotions were seeping through a tiny crack. But there, in that barely tense stillness, you understood. He wasn't worried about your absence, but rather reacting to the possibility of being alone. Again. To the fleeting image of an empty bed in the middle of the night.

Suddenly, without a word, he leaned toward you. He rested his forehead against yours, closed his eyes, and then his lips sought yours with a silent urgency. Not hunger, not passion, just need. Like someone clinging to an edge to avoid falling.

You let him do it, without asking any more questions. You responded with slow, sustained kisses, not meant to heal him, just to let him know you were there.

He clung to your waist, wrapped his arms around you, and buried himself against your body as if he wanted to disappear into your skin. He didn't stop kissing you, not even when he laid you back on the mattress. You hugged him back, caressing the back of his neck, his back, his shoulders. You no longer tried to guess what was troubling him; you had learned that he didn't need to be interrogated, but rather to be enveloped.

His caresses weren't meant to be lascivious, but simply a quiet need for contact. When he finished kissing you, he buried his face against your chest and, as if that weren't enough, tangled a leg between yours. You noticed he was still tense, even in that embrace that should have been a relief.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, slowly stroking the back of his neck.

Bob nodded, but hesitantly.

“No, nothing. I just... wondered if this is... too much.” His voice was a broken whisper, as if he didn’t know how to say it without ruining the moment. “Am I being... clingy?”

"Why do you say that?"

“I don’t want to suffocate you”

You let out a low laugh, so soft it barely vibrated in your chest. You kissed his temple and then stroked him again, more deliberately, your nails barely grazing his scalp.

“You don’t, love. I’m fine. Excellent, in fact.”

After your confession, he relaxed a little, but didn't let go of the hug. You, without rushing him, continued to tangle your fingers in his hair.

"I like it when you say nice things like that to me. You know, when you call me love and all that..."

“With that little, pretty face it’s impossible to contain myself.”

Your eyes were already closed when you said that, but both he and you knew there was a small smile on the other one face. After a few seconds, you began to hum a melody without words, soft and repetitive, with the calm rhythm of someone who doesn't need to think.

Bob could feel the vibrations in your throat and tried to focus on it, as if it were a lullaby to help him fall asleep. Eventually, that, along with the massage you were giving him on his scalp, was enough to help him fall asleep. You knew he had done it when you felt his breathing take on a calmer, more steady rhythm against your body.

Even though you were exhausted, you still took a few minutes to meditate. Having him like this, practically fused against you, clinging to you as if he feared you'd evaporate, begging for kisses in hopes of drowning whatever demon was tormenting him now, you wondered how bad it would be to have him in your house more often. Except for your parents, you weren't good at sharing your living space with anyone else. But Bob made you want it, like you suddenly wished you two were serious, formal, and maybe even settled down with him. At first, the thought made you smile. A moment later, it completely terrified you.

Bob wasn't the perfect man, and you definitely weren't the perfect woman. But in that moment, you felt like you were what each other needed. Reflecting, you stroked his head a little more until you felt your own body giving in, surrendering to the rest you so longed for.

Before slipping into unconsciousness, you concluded that, even though you didn't know what the future would hold, you were determined to enjoy the present. For the moment, that was more than enough.

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