#.° ���🗝️⋆₊ becca’s drabbles

[lovings4turn]

funny blurb where lando talks in his sleep. idk i just thought of it once and it sounded funny to me (bonus if the reader records him and shows him the next morning)

ᯓ★ 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 (𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬)

ohhh nonnie darling i love the way your mind works i truly do 🤭🤭

"you're a liar."

"am not!" you protest with a laugh. "i swear, you were having a full on conversation with yourself, lando. it was honestly pretty entertaining, if you ask me."

"i do not sleep talk!"

the discussion has been going on for ten minutes now.

lando is adamant that he doesn't sleep talk, never has and never will, thank you very much. you, on the other hand, are sure you've bore witness to it, his last offence occurring just last night.

"lando, i heard you. i don't know what you were dreaming about, but you wouldn't shut up."

"what were you even doing awake?" lando counters with a raised brow, as though he's having some sort of 'gotcha' moment. "think the sleep deprivation's messing with your head, baby."

a dramatic gasp tears from your throat, and you shoot him an incredulous look.

"fine. next time, i'm recording it. i'd like to see you try and deny it then."

funnily enough, 'next time' rolls around quicker than you expect. because that very night, you're woken by faint mumbles coming from the sleeping man next to you, his thick brows furrowed as incoherent words spill from his lips.

you hold back laughter as you lazily fumble around for your phone, squinting as the bright light of the screen hits your bleary eyes. once you finally regain sight, you begin to record lando, glad that the camera was unable to pick up your endeared expression.

what he's actually saying, you're none the wiser. you manage to pick out a few words, your name sprinkled amongst more mundane murmurs of 'tv remote' and 'fucking freezing'. as if to emphasise his point, the sleeping lando rolls over, taking the better half of your duvet with him.

you're glad you have concrete evidence of this, because you know when accused lando will deny everything vehemently. you always knew he was a blanket hogger, and now, you've caught him redhanded in not one, but two crimes.

lando can talk for england, but there's no way he's getting himself out of this one.

when he wakes up to your phone in his face the next morning, only barely able to make out his own sleeping frame, he groans in defeat and pulls the blanket up over his head.

"oh christ, take the smug look off of your face, babe. don't wanna kiss you when y'looking at me like that."

[lovings4turn]

well done m’love!! so happy for you!!

BOOK WORMS / 1K CELEBRATION.

💌 thank you all so much omg

invited: anyone and everyone

open: until the end of august.

rules: be kind, as always. and please don’t spam if i don’t get to your ask right away. any asks sent before the deadline will be answered in due course.

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[lovings4turn]

ᯓ★ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 (𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐂)

— charles’ girlfriend likes to wake up a little earlier every morning in order to take her time getting ready. charles tries to wake up a little earlier, too. (1.2k words)

+ more than inspired by my need to wake up hours before i realistically need to (and then complain about how tired i am)

+ fluff ! mentions of reader wearing make-up but nothing overly specific !

gentle clattering served as charles’ alarm clock as he pried his eyes open, rubbing at them clumsily to rid his vision of the bleariness that came with just waking up. a throaty grumble escaped his lips, the sound coming from deep in his chest as he pushed himself up onto an elbow.

after a long overdue movie night, charles had spent the night at your place, something he would never, ever complain about. somehow, sleep always came to him much easier when he was by your side, wrapped in sheets that harboured the smell of your perfume.

though you'd already left the bed, currently sitting at your dressing table as you laid out your skincare products, charles could still feel the warmth of your body travelling along the mattress and up his body like vines of ivy.

time wasn't important to him right now, but he could assume that it was fairly early.

despite your incredibly sleepy nature, you'd surprised charles towards the beginning of your relationship by revealing to him that you quite enjoyed waking up a little earlier in order to take your time getting ready.

rushing to get out of the door was something that always provided you with feelings of anxiety, and you could never shake the thought that you'd forgotten something important. this way, you could slowly wake yourself up and spend a little more time focusing on yourself, an idea charles couldn't find fault in.

any amount of love and care shown towards you was welcomed by charles with open arms.

whilst charles' job required him to be a morning person, thanks to early training sessions and odd schedules on race weekends, it by no means meant that he was magically transformed into someone who delighted in waking up before the sun rose.

dragging himself into the gym at ridiculous hours in the morning required copious alarms and a boatload of motivation, but somehow when it came to this - watching the love of his life follow the same routine she performed almost daily - mornings felt easier.

"good morning, baby," charles said, deliberately keeping his voice low so as not to startle you. the words were thick with sleep, almost slurred together and syrupy, and a smile immediately rose to your face at the sound.

"g’morning love. sorry, did i wake you?"

a fond expression washed over charles' face as you turned to look at him over your shoulder, moisturiser poised in one hand ready for you to use. he shook his head gently, messy chestnut hair falling a little into his eyes.

"no, no, you're fine," he assured, throwing in a gentle smile to fully placate you.

and it was true. charles wasn't woken by the noise - or lack thereof - that you were making. it was as though his body had subconsciously realised you were awake and moving, and had forced his eyes open so he could savour every last second with you, satisfying his desire to get as much of you to himself as he possibly could.

water, oxygen, food, and you: those were the four things charles was certain he required for survival.

noticing that your eyes were still fixed on him, his upper body bare above the crumpled sheets of your bed, a lazy smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as his words took on a teasing tone.

"don't let me distract you, baby. keep getting ready."

you playfully rolled your eyes at his teasing, ignoring the way that his words made heat bubble beneath your cheeks. it was nothing a cooling moisturiser couldn't fix, and you relished in the feeling of the cream on your tired skin as you turned back to face your mirror.

meanwhile, charles was utterly mesmerised, transfixed by the glimpse of your reflection he was granted from his spot in bed. 

how you could be performing a task charles had seen countless times before and still spark flames of awe in his heart should have been baffling, but to charles it all made sense.

everything about you set him alight, provoked a jolt of white hot electricity that ran through his veins and left him breathless. yet at the same time, you were the epitome of comfort and peace. your effect on him was far too powerful, so much so that it could break the rules of the universe and cause his heart to both pound and stop simultaneously. 

charles settled back against the plush pillows, stretching his arms above his head with a soft grunt before letting them fall to rest against his stomach. 

even in your silly fluffy headband, designed to look like a snail and complete with two eye-stalks, you were striking to him. every movement was fluid and precise, and it reminded him a little of himself in the car.

just as he knew every button of the steering wheel like it were an extension of his own body, had learned exactly where the breaking points were on each track and tuned himself into the car's movements, you had perfected your own artistry. your hand never faltered as it moved from product to product, and you barely batted a sleepy eye as you followed the routine you had down to a tee.

the two of you had fallen into a comfortable silence, not wanting to break the tranquil air that an early morning provided. now and again, you would meet his eye in the mirror and stick your tongue out at him, a gesture which he would return without hesitation. 

it took about twenty or so minutes for charles’ body to begin to wake up, finally registering that the man wouldn’t be trying to get back to sleep any time soon. though his eyes were still a little heavy, charles swung his legs over the edge of the bed and made his way to his feet, muffling a yawn into the palm of his hand.

he padded over to you, leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder and peer at you through the mirror. 

“mm,” you mumbled, relaxing into his warmth. “hi, sleepyhead.”

charles pressed a lingering kiss to your temple before running a thumb lovingly over the spot that his stubble had grazed, attempting to reverse any disturbance to the makeup you’d carefully applied moments ago.

“hello beautiful.”

reluctantly, charles stood up to his full height and flicked one of the headband’s fuzzy stalks with a look of fondness before speaking.

“gonna go make us some coffee. don’t miss me too much”

even with his teasing tone, you almost melted at his words, sure that when charles returned he’d find a pile of sweet, syrupy goo in your place.

charles never needed to tell you how much he loved you - though he never missed an opportunity to do so. instead, your boyfriend preferred to show you, actions speaking louder than words as the famous phrase said.

so, if waking up early on his rare days off to watch you get ready and make you a coffee made your smile a little brighter and your day a little easier, charles would take the mid-day crash he was inevitably going to experience.

anything was worth it when it came to you.

[lovings4turn]

Lando has often said he has a big neck and I am a big fan of neck kisses even not sexually speaking (most people see them just that way). So what about various moment of kissing Lando's neck (peck, various little kisses, etc). Like before/after a race, on stream, at a party, after waking up, while cooking, to give a couple ideas

oh nonnie darling thank you for this.. i'm a huge neck kisser in every aspect so this was perfect prompt material!!

it's always been a joke, to lando, at least. having a huge neck comes with the job, after all. he has to withstand g-force one way or another. but what he doesn't realise, is how much you love it.

it's become a tradition. ever since you got together in 2021, you've gone through the same routine pre-race. a kiss to both cheeks, for luck. a kiss to his lips, so he remembers you. and a kiss to either side of his neck, for strength. you can't count the times a photographer has caught you, trying to frame it as something scandalous. but in reality, it's anything but. it's a reminder that you're there to support him through the gruelling race, and lando dedicates his every lap and podium to it.

fans have also caught on. you rarely appear in streams, but when you do, they adore it. getting to see lando a little softer, more in his element, is something the fans eat up, but your cameos are always the star of the show. twitter definitely went crazy when you appeared one stream, pressing a kiss to the crook of his neck before asking if he wanted a tea, a coffee, a snack. lando, in true fashion, only shrugged it off with a smirk.

and many may praise the invention of the alarm clock for ensuring they wake up on time, but lando owes his punctuality to you. more specifically, your kisses. he's groggy when he feels a sensation against his skin, but quickly stirs as he registers your lips against his neck. a soft grumble escapes his lips, only providing a vibration against your lips as you pepper kisses to his neck. a raspy "g'morning, baby" escapes his lips, and he knows he's had the intended reaction when you imprints curve into the shape of a smile.

lando loves that it's your go to spot for affection! any time you pull him into a hug, he holds you tight and squeezes your waist, anticipating the feeling of soft lips against the skin of his neck. you can feel him physically relax against you, taught muscles turning to mush at your presence.

and of course, lando works to return the favour! with every kiss he recieves to his neck, you get one back! sometimes it's a little awkward, lando having to nudge your face out of the crook of his neck with his chin, but it's all worth it for the feeling of his mouth against your neck, kisses as gentle as fallen snow.

cause the truth is, lando loves your neck just as much as you love his

[lovings4turn]

hey can u do alex albon sending u selfies while ur apart

i love this prompt for alex omgosh !!! thanks sm for sending it in lovely — tried somethin a little different n i’m not sure how i feel about it but i hope you like it !!!

taking off now baby!

wish u were here to talk my ear off while im trying to sleep:/

y/n 🥰

alexander albon that better not be my sleeping mask…

albono ❣️

in my defence i needed it more

plane bad sleep hard:(

y/n 🥰

YOU’RE LITERALLY ON A JET RN ???

albono ❣️

point still stands

y/n 🥰

…

ur so lucky ur cute

imy already babe have a safe flight ☹️🫶

albono ❣️

what six hours of good sleep does to a man

ready to cook in australia😮‍💨

y/n 🥰

you’re gonna do great babe

i’ll be cheering you on from the living room !!!

try to smuggle a quokka back in ur suitcase for me 🥰

albono ❣️

i’ve been staring at the floor for the past thirty minutes

this is what the bugs down there are seeing

y/n 🥰

aren’t you supposed to be in media???

albono ❣️

i have five minutes

and i need my dose of you before i go out there

apparently it makes me smilier

y/n 🥰

oh boooo cheesy🍅🍅🍅

(kidding i’m blushing 🤭🤭)

albono ❣️

don’t be fooled by the smile masking the sheer terror in my eyes i couldn’t let him get suspicious

i think george forgot he isn’t in an f1 car rn and is just driving us back to the hotel

y/n 🥰

five second penalty for driver 63 incoming 😔

least you look cute 🫶 fear looks good on you

albono ❣️

…

thanks?🤨

y/n 🥰

tell george i want my boyfriend to remain in one piece please

flying back will be a lot harder for you if not and i can’t deal w not seeing you for even longer:(

albono ❣️

“only because y/n asked nicely” — george

y/n 🥰

i always knew i was the better half <3

[lovings4turn]

nico , who just about melts every single time your fingers find their way into his hair . it’s gotten long enough now , long enough that you can twirl it around your fingers , watch honey strands curl around your flesh . nothing works better to placate him .

your soft scratches against his scalp work wonders to ease him out of a deep sleep , his early morning wake up call appearing less harsh under your affections . hard losses always sting , of course , but it’s harder for him to reassess his mistakes , reevaluate what could have been , when you’re carding your fingers through his locks , humming sympathetically as an apologetic ‘oh baby’ slips from your lips .

and , of course , nothing feels better than when you grip at his hair , tugging it like a lifeline as he works between your legs . the harsh sting of the pull against his scalp only encourages his movements , prompts his tongue to work harder against your weeping centre .

it’s safe to say your hands find a home in nico’s hair .

[lovings4turn]

ᯓ★ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐈𝐓! (𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐉 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐅𝐊𝐎𝐕𝐒𝐊𝐘)

— juraj isn’t much of a reader, but stories always sound ten times sweeter coming from your lips

+ aka. pure fluff about reading to slaf . yes this is glaringly and shamelessly self indulgent but i am just a girl !!! very short but HEY its my comeback !!!!

compared to the fast-paced, adrenaline producing sport of ice hockey, reading always seemed somewhat arduous to juraj. he just didn’t have the patience to sit for god knows how long, mind not allowed to wander as he digested black ink printed onto page after page.

that was until he met you.

reading had always been something you’d found comfort in, the structure of word after word, chapter after chapter a reliable rhythm you could relax into.

fictional worlds were an escape, an opportunity to let your mind wander from the mundane for a few hours.

with your love for the hobby, it was no surprise juraj had learned to love it, too. it didn’t really matter what you were reading, just as long as you were reading it to him.

he wasn’t too picky, enjoying your rendition of a crime novella with just as much passion as the cheesy romance book you’d bought at the airport one time. he even found comfort in you reading him classics, the convoluted sentences he hardly understood transforming into the sweetest melody thanks to the way your voice wrapped around each and every word.

the way your accent would highlight certain vowels, your cadence a reliable beat, and the silly character impressions always an amusement.

he would lay between your plush thighs, head on your stomach as your free hand carded through his grown out hair absentmindedly.

mid sentence, you heard a soft puff of air escape juraj’s lips, and before you could speak, his hand curled delicately around the top of your book, pulling it down so he could look at you properly. his features were contorted in puzzlement, thick brows furrowed and nose scrunched just so slightly as he wet his lips to speak.

“okay, know i missed a lot, but still. what is this?”

you snorted, dropping the book low enough so that the pages fell to his line of sight.

“friend recommended it. hockey romance, apparently.”

as juraj’s face lit up, you snorted, shaking your head.

“i wouldn’t get excited,” you warned, flipping through the novel. “not much gameplay. just a lot of, well, extra curricular activities.”

a smirk tugged at his lips, and you swatted at his shoulder, shaking your head as he batted at the pages.

“what did i say? don’t get excited.”

“too late.”

the only thing more soothing than a good book in the evening? your boyfriend’s lips on yours.

[lovings4turn]

☆ page-turner (r.a.b.)

— trying to read your book whilst sat in regulus' lap proves a harder task than you first thought

+ contains: smut, fingering (f!recieving), edging, teasing, praise

+ nsfw — minors please dni

"that's it, darling," regulus coos, his chin resting on your shoulder. "keep going."

you're sat in his lap, your back flush to his chest with your legs spread wide as you clutch your book with white-knuckles. his fingers expertly slip in and out of you, his thumb deftly working at your clit in an intoxicating combination that makes your mind cloudy.

regulus has made the rules of this exchange pretty clear: you stop reading, he stops moving.

at first, you had thought he was merely teasing, wanting to see just how far he could push you. but when you had first dropped your book, head falling back against his shoulder to let out a shaky moan, he had pulled his fingers out instantly with a reprimanding tsk. it was only when you started up again, voice shaking and cracking around the words, that regulus resumed his prior motions.

every now and then, he curls his fingers up to press against your g-spot, a wicked glint in his eye as he watches you stumble over the current piece of dialogue you're reading

"reg, please-" you breathe, eyes screwed shut as you feel your orgasm slowly build. the muscles in your stomach tighten, and in an effort to finish faster, you grind down onto his fingers.

"ah, ah," regulus hums, using his free hand to cup your cheek and redirect your face towards your now forgotten book. "told you, love. have to keep going. y'doing so well for me."

you're so close that if he stopped now, you're sure tears will escape your eyes and roll down your cheeks, a pathetic display of desperation. your only option is to continue reading.

the words become blurry as you fight to keep your eyes open, and you're only half sure that whatever you're saying is even comprehensible as you stumble through paragraph after paragraph.

all it takes is the pad of regulus' thumb swiping over your clit particularly roughly for you to see white. your book hits the floor with a thump, drowned out by the sounds of your moans and mumbled thanks. regulus holds your hips as you writhe in his lap, pressing kisses to your shoulder as you come down from your climax, all the while muttering praise and compliments.

"did so well, love," he hums, kissing your temple. "wanna see how well you can focus w'my cock in you, now."

[lovings4turn]

☆ tw: smoking, suggestive content.

it's the hottest day of the year, and you're positively beat. the only thing bringing you comfort is the knowledge that your last assignments are gone and done, submitted after weeks of studying and hard work.

your eyes flit over to felix, whose body is sprawled across his dorm room floor. the open curtains allow the summer light to fall across his exposed skin, rays of sun highlighting his taught muscles and tan skin.

you're thankful that your eyes are so trained onto his face, because as he removes the cigarette from his lips, he begins to speak, mouth making shapes faintly in your hazy gaze.

"it's so fucking hot," he states, a cloud of smoke leaving his mouth to punctuate his every word. his chestnut hair is splayed across his forehead, and you swallow thickly as you respond, eyes never leaving his frame.

"yeah," you hum, curled up atop his windowsill as your head grazes the small window of the oxford dorm. felix thinks you're agreeing with him, the silly git, but no. you're admiring his outstretched form, shorts hanging dangerously low on his hips as his eyes flutter shut. "far too hot."

you're only human, after all. who could blame you for slinking over to him, eyes fixed on his face as you throw a leg over his waist and sink into his lap, grinding so gently? as your lips meet his, felix forgets all about his cigarette, lazily finding the ashtray as his seeks his main addiction: your lips.

[lovings4turn]

ᯓ★ 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 (𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑��𝐈𝐒)

— you know that you’re not the only girl in lando’s life; far from it, actually. but for now, you’ll take what he’ll give you, and act like none of it matters.

+ not quite cheating , lando just messes around a lot . little bit of angst and pining , but reader is over it at this point . sexual content - read at your own discretion please .

+ based on ‘nothing matters’ by the last dinner party

shallow, steady breathing comes from the man beside you, his bare torso beginning to bruise like a forbidden fruit courtesy of the sloppy, brutal kisses you had blessed him with. lando has only just fallen asleep, an arm thrown lazily over your exposed midsection.

a death sentence would be easier to swallow, you imagine. at least that’s definite, concretely defined. nothing like your relationship with lando, which blurs far too many boundaries and yet is crystal clear.

he’s not yours, no. never has been and likely never will be. he’s a good time, a night of bliss that will have your cheeks burning every time you reminisce on it.

you’re not thinking straight, mind clouded by something resembling lust, or maybe lunacy. both are long intertwined in your mind by this point.

absentmindedly, you dig your fingers into lando's arm, not through a desire to hurt him, but to find something lurking beneath the surface of his skin. something more than just the physical, deeper than his teasing grazes and searing kisses. something that resembles brunch dates and matching jewellery over quick fucks and frantic make out sessions.

because the thrill is there.

you’re aware of the excitement, the flips in your stomach whenever you’re around lando, and you know he feels it too, the words having left his own lips between downright sinful spews of praise. potential flickers between you both like the first embers of a fire, needing only the smallest of ignitions to burn bright and dangerous.

but then, morning comes, and lando leaves for a new country, mind set on race tracks and his mclaren whilst you pine for the warmth of his body in your bed. 

and then, of course, comes the rumours. lando leaving a club with this girl, caught dancing with another, apparently on a romantic breakfast date with a third. 

you can’t even be pissed.

as far as you’re both concerned, lando is a free agent. there’s no ties to you, no bright red ribbon of romance entangling you together in a neat little package, impossible to separate. 

both of you know that lando doesn’t belong to you, nor you to him. hell, if you wanted, you could go out and do the same. it wouldn’t be hard to pick up a guy, fool around for the night and exchange brief pleasantries as he leaves your apartment the next day. yet, you can never bring yourself to do it.

but it’s fine, as long as lando always makes his way back to you.

when his hands grip your waist hard enough to bruise, chain dangling in your face as his hips snap against your own, cock brushing up against the spongy spot that makes you see stars, you can’t find it in yourself to care that his touch still lingers on another woman like a ghost.

you’ll still accept his kisses, swallowing his moans into your mouth in some desperate attempt to retain even the smallest piece of him as a keepsake; you’ll still fuck him like absolutely nothing matters.

what would be your other option? if you broke off whatever this thing was, lando would still be going out and messing around with girls. his behaviour wouldn’t change in the slightest, and you’d be at a loss. in sticking around, at least you’re fortunate enough to get a good fucking every now and again. 

your friends can't understand it, how willing you are to put your heart into the palm of his hand and pray he doesn't crush it. countless efforts to talk some sense into you have gone straight over your head, the words not even registering in your mind as the image of lando plants roots in your brain.

his strangled moans, his gasps of 'so fuckin' good, all for me', and the way he spreads your legs as he draws orgasm after orgasm from your spent body, none of it matters, at the end of the day. 

these aren’t sights reserved only for your eyes; you're unsure just how many others have bore witness to what you wish was your own private show. it’s nihilistic, but you no longer care.

for now, lando can hold you just as he’s held every other woman he’s fooled around with, and in return, you’ll fuck him like nothing else matters.

[lovings4turn]

𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 — send in someone i write for + a prompt(s) and i'll write a lil blurb

oscar piastri + going in for a kiss and either bumping noses or foreheads!!!!

steph this is so fucking oscar coded it's actually mind-blowing to me omg ,,, thanks so much for sending this in sweetheart , loved writing it <333

is it possible to face medical complications from enduring an excessive amount of excitement? you’re sure you’re about to find out.

because oscar, your oscar, has just won his first formula one grand prix, and your heart is fit to burst with pride. so many years of hard work, long nights and early mornings, and determination have finally paid off. on top of that, you’re lucky enough to be there to finally witness the fruits of his labour.

when he clambers out of the car, face still obscured by his racing helmet, you can picture the beaming smile hidden beneath, brighter than the sun currently beaming down onto the racetrack.

along with the rest of his team, you’ve rushed over to the pitlane, secured a spot front and centre to bear witness to his adrenaline fuelled celebration, his fist pumping the air with a vigour you’ve never seen him possess.

despite the chaos going on around him, oscar’s eyes instantly dart to you, somehow able to pinpoint you in the crowd of people shouting his name and whooping.

he wastes no time.

within seconds, oscar is right in front of you, tugging his helmet and balaclava from his head before pulling you into a tight hug. you’re babbling, spewing a jumbled speech littered with praise and congratulations, yet oscar looks at you like you’re reciting poetry.

perhaps it’s the excitement, or the camera inches away from his face, but when oscar leans in to press a celebratory kiss to your lips, he misses. instead of lips meeting, his nose bumps your own, the movement clumsy yet endearing.

the both of you groan, and all oscar can do is laugh. of course his first race win would be eclipsed by his inability to land a kiss to his girlfriend’s lips.

lando will never let him live this down, especially not when the whole ordeal has been caught on camera; oscar just thanks god that his overtaking today was far smoother than his attempt to initiate a kiss.

he’s rushed off quickly after for his post race interview and podium ceremony, and through his hazy cloud of excitement, you’re still at the forefront of his mind.

so yeah, he may have fumbled this celebration, but god, will he make it up to you later.

[lovings4turn]

☆ smut, thigh riding

thinking about riding felix's thigh . . . you've headed back to his dorm after some party, neither of you really knowing the host yet making the most out of it. you've been dancing with felix all night, and his large hands have moved from your waist, to your chest, to your hips, everywhere but where you really need him. it could be considered torture, honestly. but when you get back to his dorm, felix wastes no time in pressing his lips to yours. he's gentle at first, playing at being the gentleman, but it doesn't take long for his tongue to be prodding the entrance of your mouth, licking into you and tracing every last inch of you. somehow, you find yourself on top of him, straddling his thigh as he sits on his bed. and when he lifts his leg, tensing his thigh, it sends shockwaves to your needy cunt. the gasp you let out gives you away instantly, and felix is smirking, knowing exactly what he's doing to you. gonna get y'self off on my thigh? he asks, pressing kisses to your neck. such a needy little thing, he teases, tensing the muscle once more, grinding against m'thigh like a pretty little slut. he doesn't stop until you've made a mess on his thigh, your hips rutting against his toned legs until you're screaming with pleasure. felix's hands are firm on your hips, guiding you through your orgasm and moving you to overstimulation, kissing you throughout.

[lovings4turn]

୭ 🗝️ ✧ ˚. 🪩 you’re my painkiller . . . (j.s.)

— your boyfriend apparently has zero regard for his own wellbeing. you, on the other hand, seem to have enough concern for you both (1.6k words)

+ aka the classic ‘patching up your injured s/o’ trope. brief mentions of injury and blood but nothing serious

+ also my first time writing any sort of nhl work so pls don’t be too too harsh ! a special shoutout to my lovely @wintfleur for all of the support and for listening to my various ramblings n complaints about this fic😭

juraj regrets nothing.

even now, sitting in the penalty box with a bust lip, he couldn’t care less. not about the player that he was swinging at two seconds ago, nor about how well the small cut on his face is going to heal. shit happens, after all.

though, no.

maybe there’s one small thought gnawing away at him, sitting persistent at the front of his brain and demanding his attention. it’s the knowledge that you’re sitting at home and have definitely just watched the whole ordeal unfold.

fuck, he thinks, taking a drink and pushing his hair back. cold water brushes against his split lip and he winces slightly, breathing still laboured from the exertion of both his play and his onslaught of hits onto the opposing team. you’re a worrier by nature, and juraj’s sure that whatever close up of his face that they’ve displayed on the broadcast has done nothing to quell your concern.

scraps happen all the time in hockey. it’s a fact that you were well aware of long before you’d even started dating juraj, and it would be ridiculous to expect him to never get caught up in a bit of a scuffle. if anything, it should be assumed. but this doesn’t mean you have to like the thought of it, either. 

no one likes to see their partner roughed up and bleeding, no matter how good they may or may not have looked whilst getting into said fight. especially not when you have to wait another two hours or so to see them again.

two minds intertwined, both you and juraj desperately wish you could have attended the game tonight so the distance between you could be a little smaller. he would find a way, some method of conveying to you that he was completely okay, and worrying was the last thing you needed to do. the dickhead deserved it, after all.

sadly, things can’t always work out the way that juraj wishes, and now he has to deal with the consequences. it’s a painful rest of the game, and his drive home is even more laborious. how he will find a way to quell your worry, to assure you he was fine, and that if anything, this method of getting out a little extra aggression was pretty healthy depending on who you asked, is beyond him. luck and charm is all he has on his side. 

turns out, all of his planning and preparation isn’t needed.

he doesn’t even have the chance to get a word out before you’re rushing over to him, a surprise yet fond oof escaping his bitten lips as you bury your face into his sturdy chest. large calloused hands find their way to sit at your waist, the fabric of your hoodie hiking up slightly to grant juraj’s fingertips access to your skin.

he’s granted a tight hug before you’re pulling back far too soon for his liking, your warmth lingering against his chest and tunnelling through his skin to reach his heart. juraj’s thumbs stroke at the exposed strip of your waist as he awaits your next move.

in an effort to reach his face, you push up onto your toes and juraj automatically stabilises you by tightening his grip on your waist. cautious to not hurt him, you cup his jaw with a gentle hand, the dusting of faint hair familiar against your skin. your thumb barely ghosts over the dried crack of blood sitting on his bottom lip, a place you’d pressed countless kisses in the past now marred by a mark of frustration.

with your furrowed brows and pouty lips, you look downright adorable to juraj as you survey his scrapes, which are arguably nothing in his eyes. he’d be lying if he were to say he wasn’t enjoying the way you were fussing over him, and he was a little amused at just how concerned you were over a few little cuts.

finally, your observation comes to an end.

“you’re an idiot,” you surmise, clicking your tongue softly as you fail to hold back a smile.

the blunt nature of your words takes him aback, and he barks out a laugh.

“it’s not bad.”

his voice is thick, accent heavy, and it takes a lot of effort for you not to swoon.

“there’s blood.”

he holds his hand up, pinching his pointer finger and thumb close together. “little bit.”

“still blood.”

his eyes are locked onto yours, and though you want to do nothing more than kiss him silly, the thought of causing him any more pain or discomfort is out of the question. all you can do is stare at one another, hoping your expression can convey far more than touch or words.

eventually, your hand leaves his jaw, and juraj finds himself having to stop his face tilting, wanting to follow the caress of your palm, to chase the warmth it gives him. the longing doesn’t last long as your hand finds his own, squeezing it in a show of love.

he doesn’t think twice as you lead him into the bathroom. your hands are on your hips as you huff out a breath, squinting slightly in a laboured effort to remember where exactly you stored the haphazard medical kit that was invented for moments exactly like this.

luck is on your side, as your guess of rooting through the cabinet underneath the sink proves to be successful. your fingers swipe through various medical products, and you pluck out some plasters and antiseptic, hoping that they would do the job.

juraj stands behind you like a lost puppy, half amused and half concerned at the speed at which you’re moving. he truly doesn’t think his injuries are anything to dwell on, but the way that you’re acting prompts him to think twice.

oblivious to his hovering, you plant your palms firmly onto the cold marble of the bathroom counter before you push yourself up, your new height bonus granting you easier access to the scrapes on juraj’s face. you pat your thighs and give him a smile.

“come here then, let’s get you patched up.”

juraj doesn’t need to be told twice. in two long strides he’s standing between your split legs, hands finding purchase on your thighs as you take a minute to properly assess the damage done to your boy’s face. truly, it could be far worse - you’ve seen players lose teeth in the past, after all - but you think you’ve earned the right to be a little dramatic.

“this might sting,” you warn, beginning to pour some of the antiseptic liquid onto a cotton ball. the strong scent causes your nose to scrunch and juraj can’t help but to press a kiss to the wrinkled skin, a silent communication of consent.

it hurts like a bitch. you murmur apologies throughout, cursing and wincing with him as you dab at the area around the wounds in an attempt to clean up as much of the blood as possible. it’s impressive, how efficiently you work, considering you’re not exactly well versed in cleaning up wounds. 

“what even happened?” you ask. “whole thing happened out of nowhere, from what i saw.”

juraj drums his fingers against your thighs, jaw clenched slightly as he distracts himself from the harsh sting of the antiseptic liquid. your question gives him something to think about, to focus on.

“eh, nothing really. was frustrated, he chirped me. next thing i know, we are fighting.”

you can’t help but laugh at his nonchalance, and your smile reflects onto his own face, the sun lending light to the moon. the motion stretches the gash on his bottom lip and he hisses a little, letting out an indignant sound as you swat at his curious hand.

the plasters you purchased are far too big for the small cuts along his lip and cheek, so you’re forced to slim them down slightly with a pair of rapidly acquired nail scissors, tongue poking from the corner of your lips. you delicately press the bandages to his injuries, smoothing over the fabric with a level of caution reserved for fine china or glass. 

evaluating your half-assed medical job, you move to cup juraj’s face once more and relish in the way that he steps closer to you. a hand swipes at his cheekbone, and you tsk slightly as your knuckles graze the mottled skin in an act of sympathy. “that’s definitely gonna bruise love.”

“eh, it will make me look tough,” he jokes, puffing out his already large frame even further. it’s impressive, you have to admit.

“don’t want you looking tough,” you huff. “want you looking okay. no matter how good you look when y’roughing someone up.”

though you’re joking, juraj senses the underlying worry in your tone, your mind wandering to the threat of him stumbling through your doorway in a far worse condition. 

“i’ll be more careful.” a promise.

“what am i gonna do with you, hm?” you tease.

your hands come to rest around his broad shoulders, and juraj slides you off of the counter, hands coming to support your thighs as you wrap your legs around his waist. he carries you towards your bed like it’s nothing, laying you down gently before crawling next to you. he wastes no time in pulling you into his chest, your ear against his chest as the steady thrum of his heartbeat lulls you into a calmer state.

“for now? cuddle me. all i need.”

“i’d love nothing more.”

[lovings4turn]

ᯓ★  𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 (𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒)

— a few days have passed since you last saw lando, yet your feelings are as strong as ever. there’s nothing like another party to finally set the record straight. (3.2k words)

+ aka. part two of don’t delete the kisses (and my longest fic to date on this blog !!)

+ again mentions of drinking and clubbing, largely fluff . lando n reader are only slightly tipsy ! this took far too long to get out but she's finally here - hope you all enjoy !!!

it had been three days since you’d gone to the club, and three days since you’d consequently fled from the club due to your inability to act normally around lando norris.

you hadn’t seen him since then, but you’d texted back and forth from the morning afterwards. you’d felt bad about the whole thing, just leaving without even finding him to say goodbye, and so made up some excuse about getting too overwhelmed and not wanting to ruin his night with your desire to go home.

and because he was an angel, lando didn’t even question you. instead, he instantly accepted your explanation, assuring you it was more than fine as long as you were okay. he could go without a goodbye, if it meant the best for you.

eighty percent of your subsequent conversations were complete nonsense. ever since you had became close all those years ago, lando had taken it upon himself to text you every single thought he ever had, no matter how menial or silly.

embarrassingly, as a result of being down so, completely, horrifically bad for him, you found each and every one endearing. yes, even the god-awful memes he would send you religiously between the hours of two and five am when he couldn’t sleep.

perhaps it was even worse that you’d go on to forward said memes to other friends, pretending that you had found them. you were unable to prevent the laughs that would escape your lips every time your phone buzzed with a notification from lando.

one on hand, you were on top of the world. on the other, you were going insane.

lando had positively taken over your mind, every corner of your head filled with deep brown curls and impish laughter. even the most menial things proved to link back to lando in some way, a tangled red string of association that to anyone else would make zero sense but was obvious to you.

you were icarus, and lando the sun; something to dream of but never to have. you were certain that if you chased him, your wax wings would melt rapidly as you succumbed to your impulses before you crashed onto the harsh ground of reality.

learning to cope with the heavy feeling of yearning was something you could do. suffering with a little heartache to keep lando in your life far outweighed not having lando at all.

being definitive in your decision to bury your feelings didn’t mean it wasn’t a struggle, though.

now more than ever, it seemed impossible to not think about lando, or talk about him, shout his name from the rooftops so the whole world could hear the praises you would sing for him. it appeared to be a pretty clear sign that you were losing any remaining shreds of self control, but what could you do? no matter how many times your head said no, your heart would tell you that it would always be lando, one thousand times over.

a notification lit up your phone screen, and you were convinced it was a sort of cruel taunt from the universe. 

landonorris just posted a photo!

it was borderline masochistic, the way in which you tapped the notification instantly and allowed yourself to be led to lando’s latest instagram photo dump. alongside a few selfies, pictures of him from that night in the club were littered throughout, and though he was posing with friends in each photo, your eyes were focused solely on him.

without really thinking, you pinched the screen, zooming in a little further to admire every detail of lando’s face that had been captured by someone’s iphone. the moles that were dotted across his face like they’d been individually placed there, the unruly curls that begged your fingers to find a home in them, and that fucking smile.

realisation hit soon after, and you caught yourself with a groan. here you were, sitting looking at his pictures with a dopey, love-sick grin on your face, acting like a teenage girl with an innocent classroom crush.

“god! might as well write all over a notebook that he rocks my world or something,” you scoffed, mock disgust lacing your words.

oh great, now you were fucking talking to yourself. christ, what had he done to you?

in an act of frustration, you quickly liked lando’s photo before throwing your phone onto your bed, partially hoping it would get lost amongst the pillows so you couldn’t find it again and fawn over more pictures of your supposed best friend.

a distraction was what you needed. and so you stood up and made your way into the kitchen, praying that maybe cooking a nice meal for yourself would sort you out. either that, or you could hit yourself over the head with a frying pan and hope that the concussion would remove any feelings that breached the label of ‘platonic’.

and for two whole hours, your plan had worked. 

not only were you able to enjoy the delicious meal you’d made, but also got through a good few episodes of the new tv series you had started watching a week or so ago. the lando shaped hole in your mind had been replaced by witty dialogue and pointless character drama, and you were beginning to think that you had everything under control.

that was until you returned to your bedroom and reached for your phone once more, your lockscreen lighting up to display yet another text thread from lando.

lando: going out tomorrow at 10!!!

lando: be there or be square😈

lando: i need my best dance partner w me

fingers dancing across the keyboard, the text was sent before your brain could even think about the invitation.

y/n: i'll b there🥳

it was official: you were absolutely fucked. 

. . .

it was 10:28pm and you were already questioning your decision to come out.

you would say that you had no idea why you’d even agreed to the invitation, but that would be a lie. you knew exactly what had convinced you to get dressed up and leave your house tonight, and that reason was currently grinning at you from his place at the bar, clothed in another stupid button down shirt and sunglasses, of all accessories. 

how he had managed to make sunglasses indoors not only acceptable, but attractive to you was just another sign of the power that the man held over you. you’re sure that if you told your friends, they’d never let you live it down. and hell, you wouldn’t even blame them for it.

from the moment you had arrived, lando had commanded your attention. there wasn’t an inch of your body that wasn’t intently tuned in to every word he spoke, each movement of his limbs and the expressions on his face. he had you completely hooked, and you were letting it happen, swept along in the riptide of your stupid crush,

whether it was from the pulsating house music, the shot lando had shoved into your hand the moment you’d shown your face, or even just lando himself, you felt electric. sparks of lightning rippled beneath your skin, every last nerve in your body buzzing with anticipation for something that you couldn’t even put your finger on.

butterflies swarmed your stomach, and if someone were to tell you you were looking at lando with stars in your eyes, you would have no doubt that it was true. because as he grinned at you once more, the lively groups of club-goers began to fade away leaving only a vignette of his figure.

you were experiencing every romantic cliche in the fucking book, all thanks to him.

you were unsure as to whether it was a minute or a hour before he was standing in front of you again, the scent of his aftershave almost taunting you as it enveloped you. lando was expertly clasping two vodka cokes in one hand and two shots of tequila in the other, sporting a lopsided smile.

“lando!” you groaned, actions betraying your scolding tone as you reached out to pluck the shot from his hand before grabbing your drink, careful not to cause lando to spill anything. 

the last thing you needed right now was to spill a drink on lando’s white shirt. the sight of the material slowly becoming see-through until it offered you a glimpse of his tan, toned skin was more than you would be able to handle. 

lando held up the plastic shot glass with a cheeky expression, a silent toast to god knows what, before he tipped the liquid down his throat. his face quickly soured, and he wasted no time in seeing off a large portion of his drink in an attempt to rid himself of the tequila flavour.

“woah, woah, slow down there,” you laughed, gently pushing the cup away from lando’s mouth. “got the whole night ahead of you.”

watercolour eyes dropped to glance at your hand, lando’s stare lingering even after you had pulled your hand back towards your body hastily, as though merely being in the proximity of his body was enough to burn. 

you would have thought it odd, if lando hadn’t immediately taken your hand into his larger one and stalked off towards the dance floor, gently tugging you along without a word. your mind told you that lando had simply felt the effects of his drink quicker than expected, and it took him a minute to realise that leading you to the dance floor was the mission he would give himself for the night.

flashbacks of the last time you were out clubbing with lando played in the back of your mind like an old movie, something you would put on in the background for comfort yet wouldn’t pay much attention to. 

one dance turned into two, and then three, and before you knew it you had been dancing with lando for the better part of an hour, both of you expertly adapting your moves to match the vibe of whatever song the dj decided to play next.

one of the many perks of attending clubs with formula one drivers was that there was an ever-flowing supply of alcohol. it was something you’d discovered after the first few times you had gone out with lando and his friends: you would finish your drink and before you could blink, someone had shoved a new one into your hand, the cup still marbled with cold condensation.

your current drink had been supplied by max, or maybe even carlos, a far too strong liquor mixed with nowhere near enough soda for your liking. your nose scrunched up at the taste, and lando laughed before gently plucking the cup from you, his fingers brushing against your own for a fleeting moment. 

a fire burned in the pit of your stomach, noticing that lando’s lips landed perfectly over the lipgloss mark you’d left moments ago. an indirect kiss. 

much like your own moments prior, lando’s face twisted up into a grimace at the taste, and he shook his head furiously.

“that's fucking awful,” he claimed, leaning down a little to shout his complaints into your ear. “whoever bought you that has shit taste.”

“says the man who bought a round of tequila earlier in the night.”

lando chuckled, mumbling a ‘fuck off’ that held more adoration than malice, in your humble opinion. like he had rehearsed it, lando smoothly palmed your drink off onto max before delicately taking hold of one of your wrists, twirling you around just like he had done a few nights ago.

possibly driven by a subconscious want to set right the events of your last night out, you repeated your own actions and spun lando under your arm in response.

lando’s grin was almost blinding, and he pulled you towards him, your hands still clasped by his as he moved your limbs around like the world’s worst puppetmaster.

you were convinced that, had he had enough room around him, he would have spun you both around until you were dizzy, a move he’d pulled many times when you were dancing together in one of your kitchen’s to pass the time it took to cook your meal. 

sadly, lando had to settle for flailing arms and uncoordinated shimmies, his priority making you smile rather than trying to look suave amongst the mass of bodies at your every turn. 

a few other drivers started to join your circle, handing you both more drinks as they tried to engage in miscellaneous conversation and playfully poked fun at yours and lando’s lack of coordination or apparent shame.

unable to control who stood where, thanks to the power of free will, you had been separated from lando, instead flanked by oscar and george whilst he was wrapped up in a conversation with max fewtrell.

thanks to his position across from you, lando was able to catch your eye, his brow quirked slightly in a silent question meant only for you to decipher. you nodded, a clear response to his wordless communication.

as though it were planned, you and lando began to leave. this was how your last french exit should have been; no longer were you alone and flustered, stumbling into the back of your uber with the desire to bash your head off of a brick wall.

no, this time you had lando’s hand in yours, the pad of his thumb brushing soft circles against the back of your hand as he expertly manoeuvred you both through the crowd, informing you that a car would already be there to take you back to your flat with him in tow. 

apologetic texts and goodbyes weren’t necessary this time around, if the loud, obnoxious whooping and whistling from pierre and charles were anything to go by. with their propensity for gossip, you were sure that every inhabitant in the club would be informed of your swift exit with lando within the hour. 

the ride home was filled with melodic laughter as lando made it his mission to unload every observation he’d made in the past few hours onto you. he’d taken particular interest in the argument two girls were having when he was waiting at the bar, and left no detail out as he recounted the whole event like some sort of one man show, his only audience you. 

the streetlights you passed caused a flickering glow to dance across lando’s features, and the momentary flashes of illumination caused lando to look otherworldly, all shadows and contours framed by deep curls.

lando was so caught up in his story that he was oblivious to your wonderstruck stare, completely unaware of the way you were drinking in every last inch of him, committing each miniscule detail to memory and storing it away for a rainy day. 

good, you thought. he’d only take the piss anyways.

the alcohol rendered you both a little unsteady on your feet, and you snorted a laugh as lando stumbled through your front door, catching his shoe on the tiny step that led into your apartment. 

whoever lived underneath you would likely be cursing your name right now, as neither you nor lando were too concerned about remaining quiet and light on your feet as you bumbled over to your bedroom. comfort was the only thing on your mind, though you made a mental note to push an apology letter underneath the poor soul’s door the next day. 

making himself at home, lando threw himself down onto your bed, the plush mattress eliciting a soft groan from him. his once closed eyes snapped open as you tossed a pair of his joggers at him, a pair he’d left at yours a few months ago (and that you may or may not have ‘forgotten’ to return to him.)

“i’ll get changed in a sec,” lando promised, sinking back into your sheets. “you can too. just, come on, lie down for a bit.”

lando delivered two quick pats to your bed, perhaps hoping it would prompt you to join him faster than you already would have. secretly, you were glad that he thought you needed convincing to lie down with him for a moment.

you pretended to consider it, eyes flitting over to where your makeup remover sat, before you gave in, mumbling an ‘okay’ as you clumsily removed your shoes and clambered onto the bed next to him.

the gap between you both was barely there. if you moved your hand just slightly, your fingers would brush against lando’s side. how easy it would be, just to grant yourself a slice of heaven for once.

lando’s voice brought you out of your trance. 

“when you left, last time…”

an unfinished question. lando was clearly attempting to seem nonchalant as he broached the topic that you had both been skirting around since it had happened, his eyes trained onto the thread of your duvet that he had busied his hands with. 

in that moment, you didn’t think you could ever lie to him, no matter how humiliating the truth was. 

“it got too much. y’hands on me and everything, i got too flustered. i just didn’t want to make a fool out of myself, i guess,” you admitted as an embarrassed smile played on your lips. 

a giggle trickled from lando’s mouth, prompting you to roll onto your side and face him with a raised brow.

“what’s so funny?”

“nothin’. just the fact you fancied me so much that you had to run away from me,” lando responded, grinning mischievously.

your response came in the form of a pillow hitting lando square in the face.

“oi!”

the pillow came flying back, but missed your body by roughly a couple of inches, the alcohol clearly impairing his usually decent aim. 

“missed me,” you taunted.

unexpectedly lando’s face lit up at your words, and he rolled closer to you, propping himself up onto an elbow so that his face was hovering over yours.

you swallowed thickly at the sudden movement, eyes darting across his face frantically as though his motives would be written into the curve of his smile.

“think there’s a saying about that,” lando mused, a hand trailing up your side so gently that you half believed you were imagining it. “missed me, missed me, now you’ve gotta kiss me, or something.”

and if that wasn’t a sign to press your lips to his, you weren’t sure what was.

you swallowed lando’s sound of surprise as your lips melded with his own, his mouth soft and warm as he more than returned your affections.

clearly not content with the level of control he possessed, lando briefly pulled back and swiped the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip before attaching his lips to your once more, gently sucking the flesh into his mouth and nipping at it with a smirk.

it was slow, and a little sloppy, a blend of tongue and teeth as you desperately tried to taste as much of each other as possible.

your grip on lando’s shirt was vice-like, as though you were scared he would disappear if let out of your hands for even a fleeting second.

“don’t worry, ‘m not going anywhere, pretty girl,” lando teased softly, punctuating his words with another kiss. “y’stuck with me.”

and suddenly, everything had become clear. it was always going to be you and lando, a love that would transcend a lifetime.

tags : @wintfleur @faerieroyal @starriesworlds @itscrzy @ssararuffoni @tbsloneely @onecojg @basicchelsea

[lovings4turn]

જ⁀➴  𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐄  . . .  (𝐋. 𝐍.)

— whilst you love the excitement that comes with dating a formula one driver, you cherish the quiet, private moments with lando far more

+ part of my 'be my valentine' mixtape series ! inspired by 'kiss me' by sixpence none the richer, which is one of my fav songs of all time <3

whenever you told someone that your boyfriend drove formula one cars for a living, their initial response was always to 'ooh' and 'ahh' over how luxurious that must be for you. you must be so well travelled, spoiled with tons of gifts, showered with champagne any time he did well on track.

and you would agree - it was true, after all - but those were never your favourite parts of dating lando norris.

what you loved most about lando was how himself he was, no matter how bright the spotlight that shone on him became. it was lando being so quintessentially, well, lando, that had led you to the dreamlike date you were currently on together.

no longer phased by late night texts requesting your company at any hour of the day, you'd wasted no time in getting yourself dressed up for a mystery date the moment lando had messaged you about it.

and now, sat beneath the stars on the hood of his car, you felt like the luckiest person to walk the earth. how lando had found such a pretty, secluded location, you'd never know. part of the beauty was not knowing.

bar the moon acting as your chaperone, it was just you and lando for as far as you were aware. for one night, you were granted your own part of the earth, a land that could be your own.

lando, cheesy as ever, had began to play some romantic old love song from his car speakers, a gesture that was only briefly delayed by the house song he'd accidentally queued up first.

once you'd controlled your giggles, lando had held out his hand, stooping down into a bow and playing the part of a gentleman.

"can i have this dance?" he asked, grin so wide his eyes began to crinkle up at the corners.

hesitant was a feeling you never experienced around lando. your hand was in his before you had time to think.

neither of you were particularly well versed in the art of dance, but you knew each other like the back of your own hands, and each step and movement was fluid, second nature after years together.

the silver moon cast a glittering glow over your intertwined frames, a spotlight for your personal duet that caught lando's face perfectly in it's light.

"you're staring," lando mused, eyes sparkling in amusement as he realised he'd caught you.

"you're making it hard not to," you admitted, eyes flitting down to the curve of his top lip briefly before you met his eyes once more.

"so i'm a distraction, am i?"

it was a joke, yet his fondness for you outweighed the humour in the tone of his voice.

"well, you said it not me."

lando laughed at this, a sound that never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

"i think i can be even more of a distraction," he hummed.

in one swift move, lando's lips were on yours as his hands gripped your waist firmly. the kiss was soft, yet passionate, the movements of his tongue somehow tracing everything he could never say to you into the cavern of your mouth.

being at the track with lando was fun, as was the winter trips to ski lodges and summer holidays in resorts. but without a doubt, your favourite place to be with lando was underneath the haze of the milky twilight, lips locked as his heart bore roots into your own chest.

[lovings4turn]

becca, my love. i saw that your blurb requests are open, so can i request oscar with "taking off their makeup when they're too tired"? thank you!

ᯓ★  𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 — 𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢

ahhh nora lovely thank you sm for sending this in !!! adore writing for oscar so thank you for giving me the opportunity to 🤭🤭 this ended up being longer than i expected but what can i say i got carried away !!! hope you like this lovely

indistinct dialogue washes over you as your ears tune in to the sound of oscar’s heartbeat, the sound much more preferable to the drama of the characters currently on the screen in front of you. 

curled against your boyfriend’s chest, the glow of the television washing over you both and bathing you in a fuzzy, low light, you find it hard to keep your eyes open for longer than a minute at a time. 

oscar is just so warm, the fabric of his hoodie against your skin so soft, and you had woken up disgustingly early that morning for an eight am class that preceded a long study session at the library. so, it’s no surprise that your exhaustion is quickly catching up to you, a lion stalking its prey.

since his gaze has been resting on you rather than the random sit-com for the past ten minutes, oscar is quick to notice the drowsiness consuming your features. 

“let’s get you to bed, eh?” oscar asks, patting your side twice with the tips of his fingers to prompt you to stand.

“i’m not even that tired,” you protest, words coming out in a low whine thanks to your desperation to remain in the warm embrace of oscar’s arms.

“tell that to your eyes, sweetheart. they’re practically closed.”

almost on cue, you lift your hand to rub at your tired eyes before you stop abruptly, loose fist hovering just in front of your face. a frustrated noise escapes you, and your head falls back against oscar’s chest at the realisation.

“i still have to take my makeup off.”

oscar fixes you with a look of amused pity. though he’s clearly sympathetic to your plight, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find your theatrics somewhat entertaining.

strong arms wrap around your waist, and oscar gently helps you to your feet, sending you off to bed with the promise that he’ll be right behind you.

curiosity picks at your mind, but you’re far too tired to argue or ask questions. your body operates on autopilot as it leads you down the hall to your bedroom, and you flop down onto the soft mattress without hesitation.

never had you been more thankful at oscar’s insistence that you wear his clothes as much as possible: already dressed in one of his old t-shirts and some pyjama shorts, getting changed into something cosier was not a problem you would have to tackle tonight.

oscar appears a few minutes later, and it seems that he’s brought the entirety of your skincare shelf with him. countless bottles and tubs are piled up in his arms, threatening to spill over as he fumbles towards the bed. 

with furrowed brows, oscar drops the bundle of products onto your comforter and lets out a breath, beginning to survey the many different items sitting in front of him. “right then, let’s see,” he mumbles, picking up one product at a time and scanning the labels with such an intensity that, had you the energy, you would have teased him for.

“moisturiser, no. facial scrub, no. hyaluronic aci- what even is this stuff?”

you can’t help it. a laugh bubbles up in your throat, and though your eyes are heavy with sleep, oscar can see the way that the crinkle slightly at the intensity of your smile.

as fun as it is to listen to oscar grow increasingly confused with each skincare product he scrutinises, you decide it’s best to put him out of his misery sooner rather than later. “purple bottle, babe. might wanna grab some cotton pads, too. next to where you grabbed everything else from.”

oscar follows your instructions instantly, setting your makeup remover off to the side before he scoops the other products up into his arms once more, heading to return them to their rightful home in your bathroom. he soon returns triumphant, holding up the packet of cotton pads in his left hand as though it’s one of his racing trophies.

idiot, you think fondly.

soon, he’s sitting beside you, tilting your face upwards towards him with two fingers. the movement is tender, and you can’t help but lean forward to press a kiss to the bridge of his nose.

with a level of care you imagine someone would reserve for a newborn, oscar begins to swipe away at your makeup, putting a lot of effort into not tugging at your skin.

every so often, he speaks, questions of “feel alright?” and “not hurting you, am i?” filling the otherwise peaceful silence. 

each time your answer is the same: a slight shake of the head with a reassuring hum. you’re convinced that oscar could never be anything but tender with you, and this only adds to your hypothesis. 

a few seconds pass, and you can no longer feel oscar wiping at your face. your eyes flutter open, greeted by the sight of oscar admiring you with an adoring expression.

a light flush dusts the top of his cheekbones, and his lips are pulled up into a foolish, love-sick grin. he doesn’t shy away when he realises he’s been caught, only moves to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “now,” he starts, voice playful. “wanna tell me what the next step is, babe?”