#Tyre Grip
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goodoldbandit · 6 months ago
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How to Gain Confidence in Your Tyres: Ride Smooth, Ride Safe
https://gob.stayingalive.in/unleashing-the-thrills-of/how-to-gain-confidence- Unsure about your motorcycle tyres? Learn how proper pressure, maintenance, and understanding tire technology can boost your confidence and riding experience. #motorcycleTyres #motorcyclemaintenance #confidentriding Ever feel a slight wobble as you lean into a corner? Maybe a hesitation during a sudden stop? Tyres are…
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batsplat · 7 months ago
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Just popping in to tell you how great your work for this (relatively) small fandom is. It must've taken so long to go through all those races make all those pointers and observations and compile a list thank you. If batsplat has no fans then I am no longer in this world etc etc
that's so sweet... honestly the compiling bit didn't take that long; this is all based on notes that have been sitting in a google doc for aeons (a lot of them were a product of the pandemic lol). it's nice to share them for a change, and I'm glad people have enjoyed the write-ups!
anyway, as a bonus feature, here are some race notes that I was tempted to integrate into my summaries but did not make the cut:
welkom 2004
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sepang 2010
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mugello 2012
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catalunya 2014
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phillip island 2015
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argentina 2016
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valencia 2017
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assen 2018
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brno 2018
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misano 2019
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thailand 2019
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erelavent · 1 year ago
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There are reports that the temperature during the Las Vegas GP will be just above freezing which is not far-fetched considering they're going to be racing at 10pm local time in November, in the middle of a desert. Let's hope the tyres gain enough traction and that half the grid doesn't end up in the barriers.
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42bakery · 2 months ago
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I don't knows what's going on, but I'm perfectly okay with it
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elysianightsss · 3 months ago
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Simon sees you and that’s it. You’re all he thinks about, night and day. You’re what he dreams of. He doesn’t even know your name, just the grocery store you shop at a little ways away from his apartment. He thinks it’s fate. He knows it is when he sees you at the local bar he frequents getting shouted at by some asshole you’d refused to leave with. His bruising grip on your wrist is ripped away before Simon beats him half to death (would’ve happily killed him too but he wasn’t about to commit murder in front of his lady) holding out his blood covered hand, he’s suprised you take it but incredible grateful. He has so many plans for you, one of them being; to drive you out to his cabin in the mountains, keep you pliant and exhaust you by burying his face in your pretty cunt until you pass out. Then and only then will he ‘sneak’ outside and puncture a pipe inside his car engine as well as two of his tyres so when you start getting antsy and ready to go home, he’s got himself a damn good excuse as to why you should get your cute ass back into his bed and stay there forever.
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pastryfication · 4 months ago
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oscar x reader who has a cochlear implant
sudden silence | oscar piastri
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summary: your cochlear implant isn’t always your best friend, but when it fails you at the worst possible time, you feel panic like never before. note: i hope this is what you imagined!! i researched quite a lot to make it as accurate as possible but please correct me if i’ve written something inaccurate xx
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everything was loud around you. the engines roaring to life again and again cut through the air and the crowds erupted in cheers whenever they caught sight of a car. the announcers were talking animatedly over the loudspeakers, their enthusiasm clear even if it was just free practice. and on top of all that, the general hustle and bustle also sounded in the background. the high-octane atmosphere was almost headache-inducing. everything was slowly becoming too much for you, the noise deafening, drowning out your thoughts, until suddenly, everything stopped.
suddenly, everything was completely quiet. not a single sound of oscar’s pit crew talking loudly. not a single tyre screeching on the track. just complete silence.
your hand immediately reached up to the small implant in your ear. don’t panic. you forced yourself to take a deep breath. glitches happen. just count to 10 and it should be working again.
1, 2, 3, 4 . . . you took a deep breath again . . . 8, 9 . . . 10 . . .
nothing happened. the silence lingered, the disorienting feeling wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. one of the engineers started shouting something and suddenly everyone was running around, but you couldn’t hear them. you couldn’t hear anything.
you could feel your heart beating away in your chest while your hands started to tremble, clamminess forming in your palms. you tried to steady your breathing again, tried to calm yourself, but everything was suddenly overwhelming. relax. you thought. you can fix it.
fingers fumbling, you reached for the implant, quickly checking the battery. it was still there. adjusting the settings didn’t work either, and it dawned on you like a comet from the sky. there was nothing you could do.
the panic gripped you from the inside and moved into occupying your entire body. hearing was crucial at the track. not just for communication but for safety as well. what if you missed an important announcement? or something critical happening on the track? what if oscar crashed and nobody could tell you?
the visual stimuli—the flashing lights, the cars zooming by, the people moving around you—became slowly overwhelming without the grounding presence of sound. the sensory overload only added to the panic already formed by your thoughts.
what were you supposed to do? alert some of the employees? no. you couldn’t disturb them from their job. find someone else to help? you mind did a quick once over of the people attending the grand prix, but no one who would be able to help you came to mind.
you were on your own.
୨୧
oscar immediately stressed when he exited the car after fp2, finding out that you were gone from the garage. and no one knew where you were.
you had left somewhere in the middle of the session without telling anyone.
it instantly worried him, and with a frown on his face, he made his way to his small drivers room.
you don’t hear him enter, but suddenly, his figure was standing in front of you, a frown on his face as he said something. you couldn’t hear it. it was as if he was miming the words, no sound escaping his mouth.
he must have noticed something in your facial expression, because suddenly, he stopped talking. his face morphed into an even deeper frown of concern, and his hand moved up to point at his right ear, his question evident in the unspoken.
you only nodded, looking down at your fingers instead of meeting his eyes. was he disappointed that you had left?
you didn’t get long to ponder, because he quickly took a step forward, his hand meeting shoulder first to alert you of his closeness before he pulled you into him, both arms wrapping tightly around your frame and squeezing you against his chest in a hug.
the two of you stayed there for a while, his hand rubbing your back gently as you sniffled slightly, trying to keep the pent up tears at bay.
someone must have knocked on the door, because you felt oscar chest vibrate as he lifted his head to shout something in reply, but he didn’t pull back from you.
there, in oscar’s embrace, with his arms shielding you from the outside world, his lips pressing reassuring kisses into your hair, you knew everything would be fine. you could call the audiologist in a moment, and everything would be fixed. but for a moment you actually enjoyed the silence, because you know that oscar won’t let anything happen. with him, you were completely safe, and as long as you had him, nothing could go completely wrong.
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fxrmuladaydreams · 5 months ago
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austria ‘24
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lando x reader
summary: you let lando take his frustrations out on you after the austrain gp
notes: please please please forgive me for being gone for so long, it’s been hard finding the motivation to write lately, but this one came pretty easy to me after the race. i hope you enjoy it 🤍
warnings: !! CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI !! oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, a little bit of degradation from lando
wc: 1467
You can’t remember exactly how long you’d held your breath for, standing next to Jon in the garage, gripping onto his arm as Lando and Max fought for the lead. You could practically feel your heart beating out of your chest. They were both aggressive, competitive drivers, neither backing down from the fight.
You feel your heart drop to your stomach as you see them make contact, both with punctures in their tyres as they slide into the gravel.
You close your eyes and let out a breath as Lando drives slowly back out onto the track, countless cars already zooming past. He manages to drag the car back to the pitlane, halting the mechanics work when he stands up and gets out of the car.
He keeps his helmet on as he walks past everyone, attempting to keep his cool while he’s still within view of the cameras.
“You should go talk to him.” Jon says to you, nodding in the direction Lando walked off in.
You sigh, mentally preparing yourself for what you're about to walk into.
You follow his path down the hall, stopping outside the door to his driver’s room. You lift a fist to the door and gently knock. When you don’t get a response you call out to him.
“Lando? It’s me…”
The door opens slightly, Lando’s hand reaches out to grab onto your wrist, tugging you inside, then closing the door again behind you.
He’s got his race suit hanging around his waist. His shoulders are tense as he paces back and forth in the small room. He looks like he’s trying to slow his breathing, to calm down, but can’t.
“Are you alright?” You ask softly.
“Fine.” His voice is short, clipped, giving you a warning that he’s trying his best not to blow up, especially at you.
You sigh, and lean against the wall, watching as he moves around the room. He’s clearly trying to keep himself distracted, occupied as he fiddles with the strap on his helmet.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He looks up at you for the first time when you ask. His eyes are rimmed with red, his cheeks flushed, and his face still damp with sweat. You can’t tell if he’s about to cry or burst from frustration. He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.
“Max pushed too hard.”
He closes his mouth, his brows raising in surprise.
“He pushed you off track. It’s clearly visible in the footage.”
“The FIA won’t do anything about it.” He grumbles. “He always wins, he’s always on top… I can’t believe he would wreck my race like that.” He huffs. “I was driving fair, and he just completely wrecked my car. And he’s still going to get points.”
You reach out for his hand and pull him over to you.
“There was nothing you could’ve done.” You gently stroke his cheek. “Is there anything I can do?”
He shakes his head, looking down at his hand in yours.
You tilt his chin up to look at you again. “Maybe… help you blow off some steam?” Your hand moves to tangle itself in his hair.
“I need to go talk to the media…” He murmurs, resting his forehead against yours, clearly not making any move to leave you.
“And think of how grateful everyone will be if you go back out there with a clearer head…”
Before he can reply you tilt your head up to give him a teasing kiss. His lips chase yours when you pull away.
“Your choice, handsome.”
He wastes no time lifting you up by your legs, keeping your body trapped between his and the wall behind you. His lips crash against yours in a desperate needy kiss. His hands grip onto your thighs, hard enough that you wonder if you’ll have his handprints bruised into your skin by the time he’s finished with you.
He rolls his hips against yours as he kisses you, his already tight fireproofs feeling so much tighter against him.
His mouth trails down the side of your neck, leaving harsh bites in its trail. You let your head roll to the side, giving him more space to mark you up. Part of you wonders how difficult it’s going to be, hiding his marks when you leave, but with a roll of his hips and a low moan from his throat, all thoughts go out the door.
“Need you.” He groans in your ear.
He lets your legs drop back down to the ground, as he drops to his knees. His hands make quick work of your pants, tugging them down your legs so you can kick them off. He does the same with your underwear, then lets his fingers run through your folds.
“So wet for me.” He smirks up at you. He licks his fingers, and moans at the taste of you. He lifts one of your legs, putting it over his shoulder before he practically dives in to taste you.
Your hands tangle themselves in his messy curls, your head thrown back against the wall. You whimper as Lando sucks harshly on your clit, eager to get you to fall apart on his tongue.
You can feel yourself getting closer and closer, as you pull on his hair, dragging his face away from your cunt.
He looks up at you surprised, almost offended, with his hazy eyes and your slick covering his chin.
“I need you to fuck me.” You tell him.
He grins, standing back up as he pulls his fireproofs down enough to free his cock.
He’s so hard, heavy in your hand as you stroke him.
He lifts you back up again, sliding the tip of his cock through your folds.
“Ready?” He asks.
You nod, then gasp, feeling him fill you up completely in one quick thrust. He stills for a moment, allowing you time to adjust, then gives an experimental thrust.
Your moan urges him to keep going. He fucks into you faster and harder than he’s ever done it before. You wrap your arms around him, attempting to keep yourself upright and stable.
He shows no sign of slowing, even as you tighten around him and moan his name, set on using you for his own pleasure, and it’s making you even more desperate for him.
He moves a hand to press his thumb against your clit, quickly hurtling you towards your orgasm.
You cry out, squeezing your eyes shut as he pounds relentlessly into you.
“That’s it, cum on my cock.” He growls. “Where do you want me to cum? Gonna let me cum inside you?” His voice is teasing.
You nod your head, unable to speak.
“Oh, have you become dumb on my cock?” He coos at you.
You can’t reply, simply burying your face in his neck.
“That’s okay. You don’t need to think baby, I’m gonna give you what you need, gonna fill you up with my cum…”
With a few more hard thrusts he feels himself spilling inside you, stilling his hips against yours. He takes a moment to catch his breath, then pulls out and gently lets your feet fall to the floor.
Your grip on him becomes tighter as you feel your legs nearly give out beneath you.
“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He says, carefully guiding you to the couch.
You try to calm your heartbeat, running a hand over your face.
He tucks himself back into his pants as he looks at you. “Shit, sorry…” Lando grimaces, looking between your legs.
While the sight of his cum spilling out of you sends a new wave of arousal down to his cock again, he searches for a towel.
In the many times the two of you had had sex, he’d never actually cum inside you before, always using a condom or pulling out.
He sits on his knees in front of you, gently wiping between your legs with the towel, apologizing when you wince.
“It’s okay, I’m okay.” You smile at him. “Feeling better?”
He shrugs, but smiles. “About the race? Not really. About what just happened? Abso-fucking-lutely.”
You laugh as he grins. “You should go. Don’t want to keep the press waiting for you for too long.”
He leans his head against your knee. “Or… I could stay here, and we could do that all over again…”
You shake your head, grinning at him. “I will not be the reason you’re late.”
He huffs dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Fine.” He stands up, only to drop down on the couch next to you. “But you’d better still be here when I come back.”
“I will.” You nod.
“Without pants.” He says with a smirk, slipping out the door before you can reply.
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rafecameronssl4t · 1 month ago
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Will Rafe and readers children get arranged marriage too? If it’s traditional in reader’s family does that mean that there’s matches found for the children already? Would reader let that happen to her kids? I expect reader’s parents would push for arrangements to be made as soon as a child is born
Always repeating itself || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader
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A/n: lol I was think of this video for the beginning since I saw soo many tiktok comments joking abt it how it would be him walking to the car and saying kids get in the car 😭😭
Warnings: angst!!!!
Word count: 2,193
MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)
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divider by @h-aewo
“Kids! Let’s go!” Rafe’s voice carries from the foyer, sharp and commanding, though not without a hint of warmth. You take a moment to smooth down Madeline’s dress, her little hands fidgeting as her eyes gleam with excitement. “Alright, sweetheart, off you go,” you whisper, giving her a gentle nudge as she bolts toward the door, her laughter ringing through the hallway.
Leo lingers behind, slower to move, his tiny fingers wrapped tightly around your hand. “Careful on the stairs,” you call after Madeline, already bounding ahead, her shoes thudding loudly against the floor. You grab your bag, glancing back one more time at Leo as he moves in front of you. His small hands gripping the railing as he steps carefully down each stair.
“Take your time, Leo,” you murmur, a soft smile spreading across your face as your hand instinctively rests on your rounded belly, the growing weight of the life inside you grounding your steps. Rafe watches from below, his eyes narrowing slightly but softening as he sees Leo’s slower pace. Madeline is already at his side, her hands swinging in his, filled with boundless energy.
“C’mon, buddy,” Rafe says, his tone firm yet encouraging as he extends his hand toward Leo. Leo finally reaches his father, slipping his small hand into Rafe’s, while you take the final steps down, your movements slower, more deliberate. Rafe’s eyes linger on you for a moment, something unreadable flickering across his face before he turns back to the children. “Got everything?” he asks, his voice low as he reaches for the car keys.
You nod softly, pressing a hand against your stomach again, feeling the light kick beneath your skin. “Yeah,” you reply with a hum, your eyes locking with his for a brief second before shifting to the children, now racing toward the front door. There’s a weight to the moment, one that neither of you acknowledges out loud, but it lingers like the unspoken words always do between you two.
Rafe steps aside, closing the door behind you as he unlocks the g-wagon with a beep. You open the back door for the kids, watching as Leo and Madeline clamber into their seats, their excitement barely contained. Rafe moves around the car, quietly buckling the kids in. His movements are precise, almost mechanical, but there’s an undeniable care in the way he makes sure their belts are snug.
You lean back in your seat, one hand tracing slow circles on your belly, feeling the gentle stirring beneath the fabric of your dress. The feeling always brings you a strange comfort, a reminder of the life growing inside you, of the future you didn’t quite plan but now couldn’t imagine without. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Rafe shifts the car into gear, glancing over his shoulder as he reverses out of the driveway. The sound of the tyres crunching against the gravel fills the silence for a few moments.
“Do you know what this is about?” Rafe breaks the silence, his eyes flicking toward you with a mixture of curiosity and mild concern. There’s something else there too—wariness, perhaps. He’s never been one to be at ease around your parents, and this unexpected meeting only stirs that discomfort. You shrug lightly, your gaze focused out the window for a moment before returning to the rhythmic movement of your hands across your stomach.
“No idea,” you murmur, your voice soft, almost distant. You can feel the tension building in your chest, an old, familiar feeling whenever your parents are involved. The tightness grows as you try not to overthink why they summoned you today, especially with the children. What could be so urgent? Rafe’s grip tightens on the wheel, and you don’t miss the slight clench of his jaw.
He’s never been good at hiding his frustration, though he tries for your sake—sometimes. There’s a part of you that wonders if he’s bracing himself for whatever demands or expectations your parents are about to lay at your feet. You glance at the rearview mirror, catching sight of Madeline and Leo in the back, completely oblivious to the tension building in the front seat.
~
“You’re joking,” Rafe scoffs, his voice dripping with disbelief as he swirls the amber liquid in his glass, the ice clinking softly. He brings the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip of bourbon, his eyes narrowing at your parents across the grand dining room. You sit beside him, frozen in place, trying to process the words that had just shattered whatever illusion of calm you thought you’d have during this meeting.
It was bound to happen, but hearing it out loud felt like a punch to the gut. “They’re still children!” Rafe’s voice slices through the tension hanging in the room, his frustration flaring as he slams the glass onto the table, the sound reverberating through the ornate dining room. “And are we forgetting the fact that she’s still not born?” His hand gestures sharply toward your swollen belly, his anger spilling over as your hands instinctively cradle your stomach.
Rafe’s gaze is intense, his blue eyes flashing with a mixture of disbelief and fury. His jaw is clenched, the muscles tightening as he glares at your parents, the weight of their expectations pressing down on him, on both of you. The suffocating traditions of your family—arranged marriages, predetermined futures, heirs before individuals—were wearing on him, threatening to tear down the fragile balance you had both tried to maintain.
Your father leans back in his chair, unfazed by Rafe’s outburst, his expression as steely as ever. Your mother, ever poised, crosses her legs delicately, her cool composure only fueling the fire in Rafe’s gaze. They’ve seen this reaction before—yours, when you were told of your own arranged marriage. To them, this is just another step in the preservation of the family’s legacy, a legacy that had been woven into every decision, every expectation.
“Rafe, we understand your concerns,” your mother begins, her voice calm, like she’s explaining a simple business arrangement. “But this is not about today. This is about securing their future. She may not be born yet, but she, like her siblings, will have her place in this family, and part of that is ensuring they all have the right alliances.”
Rafe scoffs, running a hand through his hair, his frustration only building as he listens to their cold, calculated reasoning. He turns to you, his eyes searching your face, looking for something—anything—that shows you’re as disturbed by this conversation as he is. You meet his gaze, your hands still resting protectively over your stomach, feeling the soft flutter of movement inside you.
Part of you wants to agree with him, to speak up and tell your parents that this is madness. That your children deserve a choice, a chance at a life that isn’t dictated by contracts and old traditions. But the other part of you—the part that had been raised in this world, where duty and legacy are everything—knows this was always inevitable. It’s the same fate that was chosen for you.
Rafe’s voice lowers, but the anger remains. “You’re planning their futures before they can even speak for themselves. Do you realise how insane that sounds?” He turns back to your father, who has remained quiet throughout the exchange, observing Rafe’s reaction with a measured gaze. “Rafe,” your father finally says, his tone cool and authoritative, the kind that commands respect.
“This isn’t about insanity. It’s about responsibility. You, of all people, should understand the importance of that. Our families were built on these alliances, and your children will carry on that legacy.” Rafe leans back in his chair, exhaling harshly, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table as he tries to contain the frustration boiling inside him. He’s always hated this aspect of your family—the suffocating rules, the unspoken expectations that had shaped your life from the moment you were born.
Your mother’s expression was unreadable, though you know her well enough to catch the subtle lift of her chin—an indication that she expected this reaction from Rafe. “Y/n,” Rafe mutters, turning his head toward you, searching your face for any sign of how you were taking this, his blue eyes flickering with something close to desperation.
He’s waiting for you to speak up, to be the buffer between him and your parents, as you often are. You swallow hard, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. Of course, you knew this day would come. In your world, in the world of dynasties and old money, these things were decided long before feelings or personal desires were even considered. Your children were not just your own; they were the future of two powerful families, and with that came the responsibility to uphold the tradition of arranged marriages.
It’s what had happened to you, after all. “Rafe, I understand that in your family, this may seem insane…” you begin, your voice steady, though your heart is pounding with the weight of the situation. Inside, a storm of conflicting emotions rages—your loyalty to your family’s legacy, the deep-rooted traditions you were raised with, and the growing sense that this isn’t the life you want for your children.
You glance at Rafe, watching as his anger simmers just beneath the surface, his fingers drumming impatiently against the side of his glass. “Oh this is more than insane and you know it, Y/n.” His eyes meet yours briefly, a flash of frustration and disbelief swirling in the blue depths. His family may be wealthy, even powerful in their own right, but they’ve never adhered to these kinds of traditions.
The antiquated practices your parents held onto with such ferocity were foreign to him, and every time they were brought up, it was like another layer of expectation was placed on his shoulders. You shift in your seat, trying to navigate the tightrope between the world you come from and the man beside you. “But in this family—your family now—this is what’s expected,” you continue, trying to keep your voice calm, even as your own doubts creep in.
“Our children’s futures are tied to these alliances. It’s not just about them, it’s about securing the family’s legacy.” Rafe’s jaw clenches visibly, his knuckles whitening around the glass as he sets it down with a little more force than necessary. “So what, they just get to be pawns in some game?” he snaps, his voice low but filled with restrained anger. “Is that all we are to them?”
You wince at his words, knowing that’s exactly how he sees it. It’s how you once saw it too. But you’d been trained your whole life to believe it was more than that—that it was a duty, a responsibility to the family. Yet, sitting here now, with your hands protectively over your stomach, the reality of arranging your own children’s marriages before they’ve even had the chance to live feels like a cruel twist of fate. One you never wanted to inflict on them.
Your father clears his throat, leaning forward slightly, his eyes sharp, watching the exchange closely. “Rafe,” he says, his voice measured, authoritative. “This isn’t a game. It’s about ensuring the stability of the family. The world we live in requires certain… arrangements. We all made sacrifices for this, and so will our children.”
Rafe shakes his head, leaning back in his chair, exhaling harshly as he runs a hand through his hair. “Sacrifices?” he mutters under his breath, his voice tinged with bitterness. He looks at you again, the plea in his eyes unmistakable. He’s desperate for you to push back, to stand with him against your parents and their rigid traditions.
But you hesitate, your gaze dropping to your stomach once more. How can you deny the truth of what your father is saying? You’ve lived it—your entire life has been shaped by these expectations. “I know it’s hard to understand,” you finally say, your voice softening as you turn back to Rafe.
“But it’s how things are done in this family. We have to think about the bigger picture.” Rafe’s eyes narrow, his frustration palpable. “And what about them?” he asks. “What about their lives, their choices? Are we just going to take that away from them before they even have a chance?” His words hit you hard, stirring something deep within you.
The idea of your children—your daughter, not yet born—being forced into the same mould you had been, fills you with a sense of dread. But the pull of your family’s expectations is strong, and breaking away from it feels impossible. You can already sense your mother’s disapproval, the way her gaze sharpens at Rafe’s defiance, as if he’s an outsider who doesn’t understand the way things work in your world.
Rafe’s eyes flash with frustration, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t care if that’s how it’s always been done,” he snaps, his voice rising slightly before he catches himself. “They’re not us, Y/n. They deserve more than this.” Your heart tightens at his words because a part of you knows he’s right. You glance at your parents, their expressions unchanged, as if they had heard these objections a thousand times before.
Your father’s gaze settles on Rafe with the kind of authority that comes from years of making decisions others are expected to follow. “We are not here to debate this, Rafe” your father says, his tone calm but firm. “This is about securing the future. Our future. Our children’s future.” Rafe lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he looks away, staring out the large windows behind your parents.
The sun is setting, casting a soft glow over the estate’s immaculate gardens, but the beauty of it is lost in the suffocating atmosphere inside. You know this conversation is far from over, and as Rafe’s hand curls into a fist on the table, you can’t help but wonder how much longer you can keep navigating this delicate balance between your family’s expectations and the life you want for your children.
“This is ridiculous,” Rafe mutters again, quieter now, his voice barely cutting through the heavy silence that lingers in the room. His fingers tap restlessly against the armrest, and just as you’re about to respond, the sound of doors swinging open pulls your attention. You turn to see Leo and Madeline barreling toward you, their shoes tapping against the polished floor, their laughter momentarily breaking the tension.
Behind them, the maid rushes in, her face flushed with worry as she tries to catch up. “I’m so sorry—” she starts, breathless, but before she can finish, Rafe stands abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping harshly against the floor. “It’s fine. We’re done here,” Rafe says, his voice firm as he looks at you, then shifts his gaze to your parents, making it clear that this conversation is over.
The weight of his decision hangs in the air, thick with unspoken words. As Madeline runs up to him, her small arms reaching for him to pick her up, Rafe’s features soften, if only for a moment, as he bends down to scoop her into his arms. You sigh quietly, exchanging a look with your mother, her expression unreadable but the disapproval still lingering in her eyes.
There’s a silent understanding between you—this conversation isn’t over, not really. You rise from your seat, your movements slow as you reach for Leo’s hand, his small fingers curling around yours. With one last glance at your parents, you follow Rafe out, the heavy door closing behind you with a finality that echoes in the pit of your stomach.
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purinfelix · 18 days ago
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clumsy ⭑.ᐟ - franco colapinto
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summary: being a mechanic is a tough enough job - but with a driver like franco who can be oh so distracting, sometimes it feels impossible w/c: 1.1k
a/n: woops this was meant to just be a blurb but i fear my franco fics can never be short ....
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The chaos of the garage never failed to get your adrenaline pumping and this race weekend was certainly no exception. Ever since becoming a mechanic, you prided yourself on being able to enjoy the thrill of every grand prix up close, without actually ever having to step foot in the car. The only payoff was spending almost the entire race on edge, constantly nervous about when the next pit stop would be and whether you'd be ready - but it was a price you were more than willing to pay.
Intently, you watched one of the several large screens in the garage, chewing your bottom lip nervously. Tapping your foot restlessly you watched the cars go into another lap, keeping your eye on the two royal blue cars that belonged to your team. As they neared the garage you heard the familiar sound of them zipping past, and couldn't help but smile softly to yourself.
"Franco pitting next lap!" Your moment of peace was disrupted as the garage erupted into action, people shouting orders from every direction.
"Get him some hards, we're doing a tyre swap," an engineer next to you hissed with urgency, and your body moved instinctually to do as he said.
You can feel the familiar sensation of your heart beating out of your chest, that thrill that you love so much about your job - but also the immense pressure you feel. It helps a little, being part of a bigger team, but still the responsibility you feel is sometimes overwhelming. You crouch in position, at the front right wheel, gripping onto the tyre through your gloves - waiting.
Soon you hear the whirring noise signalling your next job is here, and sure enough you turn to spot Franco's bright blue car speeding in. Around you the team hurries, yelling out instructions and concerns but through your nerves you can barely hear them.
Before you realise it, he's right in front of you and for some reason his visor is flipped up far enough that you can see his eyes. You're caught off guard by how strangely charming he looks with his cheeks squished up like that - but the minute he winks at you, everything else falls silent. Everything else apart from your heart, which is speeding up even faster than you've ever felt it go before. You feel your cheeks flush quickly as your grip on the tyre in front of you loosens.
A muffled voice screams urgently from above you, bringing you back to reality slowly.
"What?" is all you can let out.
"The tyre! Put on the goddamn tyre!"
"Oh shit." You huff under your breath, finally regaining control of your senses and showing the tyre to the car in front of you. You watch as he speeds off, listening to the groans of the other mechanics around you. Normally your blood would be running cold after such a devastating mistake, but right now there's only one thing on your mind - the amused smile you saw in Franco's eyes as he drove off.
"What the hell was that? You just cost us like three seconds!" You turn to one of your superiors, whose face is contorted in disappointment. All you can do is begin rattling off sorrowful apologies and try your best to come up with a reason for your mistake that isn't three seconds of eye contact with your team's new charming driver.
Ultimately, the three seconds didn't seem to cost you too much - both of your drivers managed to score within points range for the day. Whilst the rest of the garage was busy rushing out to celebrate this fact, you simply lingered, relieved that your mistake would hopefully be forgotten, at least for now.
"Sorry for earlier, you hear a smooth voice from behind you as you're slipping off your gloves - causing you to jump. Spinning around you're once again met with Franco's green eyes, only now you're granted the benefit of the rest of his face too.
"Right, and what exactly are you apologising for?"
"Isn't it obvious? The whole tyre mishap."
"A little bold of you to assume that it had anything to do with you," you huff defensively, beginning to change your mind about wanting to be alone in the garage and beginning the walk out to the paddock.
"Well," he's following after you and as he comes up beside you, you catch a glimpse of the playful smile toying at his lips, "wasn't it because of me?"
"If that's what you want to believe, then sure, whatever floats your ego bud."
"To think a trained mechanic like you could make such a mistake," you feel your hands curl up into balls at the teasing drawl in his voice, "all because of a little eye contact from little ol' me?"
"Right, eye contact, a wink and a smirk."
"Aha!" His sudden jump in volume causes you to stop in your tracks and spin to face him. "So it was my fault after all."
You sigh, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment at being caught out so easily. "Whatever," you mumble, resuming your walk out of the garage.
"Really, I'm flattered," he continues in a dramatic tone, "I didn't think my charms had such a strong effect!"
"Hey watch who you're talking to, remember at the end of the day who's responsible for making sure you can even drive out there." Despite your threatening words, the confident expression on his face doesn't falter even as he lets out a soft chuckle of amusement - which you try not to let get to you, but god it's like the music of angels.
"I really am sorry," he insists, "I didn't mean to make you do that, truly."
"Alright, glad we got that out of the way."
Before you can leave though, you feel him suddenly close the gap between the two of you - his breath hot in your ear. "I guess it just means the flirting will have to stay off-track though, hm?" His voice is like honey, and a lot deeper than the playful tone he was using before.
It stops you right in your tracks, urging your heartbeat higher than it's been all day. As you stand there, desperately searching for a witty quip back or even just words to fill the silence, he just leans back with a smile. He tilts his head, as if signalling for you to follow him, as if urging you to act like he didn't do what he just did, before walking casually out of the garage.
As you finally managed to unstick your feet from their place you reluctantly followed suit - and whilst you were grateful that your earlier mistake had been forgiven, now you were worried about the entirely new challenge you had granted yourself for the upcoming weeks.
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orchidyoonkook · 3 months ago
Text
PG | KTH
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Title: PG 
Pairing: Older Brother's Best Friend!Kim Taehyung x (F)!Reader
Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Touches of Fluff
Summary: You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up.
But that’s about it. Nothing more. And reality is something you’re able to keep a solid grasp on when it comes to him. You don’t let it go for the sake of acting on a one sided and unrequited feeling you know will pass… eventually.
Warnings: nicknames! a disgusting amount, language, assholes being assholes but being put in their place, brotherly love, sibling antics, tae is a swimmer and knows judo, also a Dan is--for the lack of better phrasing--a high belt level in judo. think of it like a black belt, OC cant keep it in her pants and neither can tae, mutual pining, lots of great gatsby references because I'm tyring to be that bitch (I am joking), tae has tats, OC's brother is an overprotective idiot but we love him anyway, slight physical abuse not by tae or reader or fourteen--basically someone grips an arm too harshly, some panic but no panic attack,
Explicit warnings under the cut.
Word Count: 11,521
Release Date: September 15, 2024. 12:00PM
A/N 1: The biggest most huge thank you to @violetsiren90 for being my sounding board, tech support and beta. She's a real one and y'all are sleeping on her work if you haven't alread read it. Go check her out!
A/N 2: My access to the adobe suite was aha....revoked. So! this is my first time making a banner and divider without photoshop. Therfore, the banner and the divider are a bit different than what I'm used to having XD. Tumblr is also absolutely destroying the qualty which is sooooo great. It looks wonky and blurry to me on desktop but fine on mobile so it is what it is. If i ever get adobe access again I'll probably come back and update the graphics.
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Explicit Warnings: *ahem* nicknames, teasing, kissing, biting, marking (several ways), hand and finger kink (duh), voice kinklet (duhhhh), hair 'pulling' (m rec), semi public if you squint, hella foreplay, tae has a big dick, penetrative sex, oral (m+f rec), fingering, handjob?, multiple orgasms, body worship, switch like activities but mostly dominant tae, posessiveness, confessions, reader takes what she wants but so does tae, exhibitionism if you squint, slight cum play/eating, implied squirting, choking, cream pie. Pretty sure thats all of them. i never reailse how many i need to put until the list is done and wow *chuckes while blushing*
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“Oi, can you fucking not? My sister’s right fucking there,” your older brother, Fourteen—nicknamed for his forever mental age—ridiculously and unneededly overprotective as always, says.
It is especially unneeded and ridiculous as he’s saying it to Tae, when all he’s doing is taking off his shirt to go for a swim in your pool. Like he’s been doing since you were tweens.
Well.
Since you were a tween and they were nearing the legal drinking age. But that’s besides the point. 
Best friend to your knuckle head of an older brother, you honest to god have no idea how they became friends. 
Taehyung is poetry and jazz and button up cotton shirts. Old book smell and expensive cologne, ringed fingers and whiskey, neat. The kind of vibe someone would get from being raised by a very successful lawyer for a father and a top ranking university professor of literature for a mother, while Fourteen is… your older brother. 
Maybe it’s a younger sister thing to not understand how her older brother has any friends. Considering you grew up with him, know all of his weird and gross habits, have a lovely dash of sibling bullying thrown in that you two share equally, and more. Yet, by some miracle, he and Tae manage to balance one another out. 
Tae—fucking somehow—makes your brother into a more presentable human being. He showers more than twice a week and wears deodorant every day now—even puts the seat down after peeing, a habit you’ve been screaming at him to stop doing since you could use the toilet. While Fourteen gives Tae a rougher edge he previously never seemed to be able to grasp, despite trying his best too. 
For example, the several delicate tattoos he now has all over his body, your favourite of which is an old timey record player on the inside of his forearm. They were something he’d been wanting to do for years, but only finally bit the bullet on and did once Fourteen took him when they were twenty two. 
Since then the collection’s only grown, much to your inner glee and mental dismay. 
And don’t even get you started on the delicate, thin rimmed glasses he occasionally wears—golden and the perfect shape for his face—or the ear piercings that just really fucking cement the tortured poet look that makes your heart clench every. single. time. you look at him. 
Similarly to what it’s doing right now, though no one ever knows due to your truly oscar worthy talent for acting completely oblivious to the beautiful shirtless man about to dive in. Call it over a decades worth of practice, and the fact that it’s also nothing you hadn’t gloriously taken in all teenagehood long. 
Every time you could get it. 
Which was a lot because Tae was on the high school swim team. 
For four years. 
And then the university swim team.
For another four. 
Teenage you was a lucky bitch. Now you’re only blessed with this sight when he comes over to swim laps or attempt to drown Fourteen. Which, admittedly, was still often. But not nearly as much as back then. 
The sight in question however, is curled black hair that frames eyes so warm you swear the sun’s relocated to his irises, and a jawline that makes the Statue of David’s pathetic in comparison. It’s fingers that make your mouth water from the way they flip book pages and thighs that make you think thoughts and things you never thought you would. 
It’s the scribbled text: ‘To err is human; to forgive, divine’ tattooed across his ribs, and a lean torso, muscled but not outrageously so. Just enough to have you forcing yourself not to stare at the delicate lines of his abdomen every time he comes over for a swim. 
Thank god for sunglasses. 
“Nah, I’m sure PG can handle it, Dumbass. I’ve only been using your pool every summer for the last 15 years give or take,” Tae says with a quirked brow and a half smile directed at you. 
Behind your sunnies, you heat up a touch, and internally sigh. Have you mentioned his smile yet? 
Because oh yeah, his fucking smile. 
Tae’s a nickname kind of person, hence why even you call your brother ‘Fourteen’. Taehyung’s called him Fourteen for so long now that calling your brother by his birth name just feels wrong. 
This being said, PG is Tae’s nickname for you. 
It stands for the TV rating ‘Parental Guidance’ because you’re younger by enough that when you were still under the age of 18, they—see: your brother and Tae because they’ve been joined at the hip since they met—were usually assigned babysitting duty. Very much the ‘take your sister with you’ sibling, but they never complained. Not once.
As much as you and Fourteen bully one another, you’re actually quite close when you aren’t verbally sparring—which is where his annoying overprotectiveness comes in. Even when it comes to Taehyung. 
“Yeah, Dumbass,” you copy, earning a smirk from Tae as he leans down to take his shoes off. “It’s just Tae.”
“It’s not about that YN, it’s about respect. You’re my little sister, and Fuckass over here,” you brother jabs a thumb in Tae’s direction, which earns you a second hidden smirk from the Fuckass in question, “Still doesn’t know how to respect that fact even after a decade and a half apparently.”
You shrug as Fourteen finishes his point and narrows his eyes at his best friend. Tae gives him a shit eating grin that screams ‘what are you going to do about it’ and your brother gives him a two fingered salute before shaking his head and taking off his own shirt. 
You take that as your cue to put your head back down because you don’t need to see that. 
Currently in very comfortable linen shorts and tank, you’re sitting on a padded pool lounger, rereading The Great Gatsby for the hundredth time. It’s one of the classics that never gets old for you, has the benefit of being a shorter read—therefore perfect for the poolside—and happens to be the copy Tae’d gotten you for Christmas a couple years ago. Pure coincidence, you tell yourself. Nothing more. 
With the beautiful addition of your very darkly glassed sunnies, it also makes the perfect decoy as you watch Tae over the top of the open book without risk of being caught. 
You firmly follow the rule of a little looking can’t hurt. 
You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up—see: current shirt stripping debacle. It’s not the first nor the last time he’ll do something like it, and you’re pretty sure you and Tae have an unspoken agreement at this point to push as many of Fourteen’s buttons as you can together, just to see how far he’ll let it go before freaking out.
But that’s about it. Nothing more. And reality is something you’re able to keep a solid grasp on when it comes to him. You don’t let it go for the sake of acting on a one sided and unrequited feeling you know will pass… eventually. 
Despite the flames that rage and roar on in your heart. 
Despite the green light on the dock across the way tackling your brother under the water. 
You hold on. And only in these little moments of in between do you allow yourself to look. Pockets of time where a peek won’t be seen or recorded, and a moment of self indulgence keeps your sanity from trying to escape its tightly locked box.
You look and look and look until the green light is covered in fog once more, and the lid of the box seals tight.  
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Another day, another glorious abuse of best friend privileges, Taehyung thinks to himself as he continues his butterfly down the imaginary lanes in Fourteen’s pool. 
He tries to come over at least three times a week. Four or five if he’s able, the more he’s over the higher chance he has to see you, not just Fourteen. But he’s rarely able to these days. 
Though the wind appears to have shifted in his favour today. You’re sitting on the lounge chairs again, reading away in the afternoon sun. 
It’s his favourite view. And it’s sweetened by the fact that you’re in the shorts he loves and reading a book he gave you. Something he’s done since before he could remember, really. 
Christmases and birthdays, he’s always given you a book. Usually a classic, sometimes something else. If it caught his eye or reminded him of you, he’d grab it and save it until the next Christmas or the next birthday, whichever came first. And you’ve always loved them, so he’s never stopped. 
They’re gifts that seem harmless to Fourteen, and for the most part they are. But these last few have been…different. Had deeper thought put into them. The titles, the story lines, the prose. He swears you notice it, but maybe that’s just his own wishful thinking. 
And he sure as fuck can’t be doing any of that. 
This cold water isn’t doing its job well enough.
Finishing his set, Tae swims over to rest before starting on his front stroke. Forearms hold him up on the edge of the pool, his chin balancing on stacked knuckles while his breath catches. 
He also uses this little break as an excuse to talk to you. He only ever freely can when Fourteen isn’t around, and right now his best friend is inside grabbing drinks, towels and probably relieving himself–which, knowing Fourteen—could take anywhere from thirty seconds to thirty minutes. So he has to take advantage of every moment he gets. 
“Got any new recommendations for me PG?” 
Books are an easy starting point when it comes to you. Fourteen may be a graphic novel at best kind of guy, but your brain can’t seem to inhale enough books to satiate it. And just the thought makes his temples rush with heat. 
He should dunk his head again.
You lower your Fitzgerald by one inch and raise an eyebrow to counter it. Just like your brother, you’re always one to give him a hard time. Make him work for every millimeter of ground conquered. And he’s pretty sure you have a smirk hiding behind the pages, though he can’t be certain due to the sunglasses hiding your eyes. 
“Maybe,” you say. “What do I get in return?” 
Answering that question about fifty different ways in his head, Tae decides none can be said out loud. He seriously needs to fucking reel himself in. Fourteen could return at any moment and the last thing Tae needs to have is a problem between his legs because you never make it easy for him. 
But rather than listening to his very rational thoughts and very logical brain, he instead decides to say fuck it, and croons in the voice that used to fluster you as a teenager. 
“What do you want in return, PG?” Hoping to soften you up, even the playing field a bit. 
And it works like a charm. 
Your body releases its tension on an exhale, your page is marked, book set to the side, and your legs extend and stretch before crossing at the ankle. It makes him wonder if your little girlhood crush on him still exists somewhere in the back of your mind. Probably not.
Scratch that. 
Definitely not.  
“What if I wanted a new nickname?” you ask.
Both his eyebrows raise in surprise. “What’s wrong with PG?”
“It makes me feel like I’m eleven,” you explain. And then hit him with a dose of his own medicine as you croon, “I’m not eleven anymore, Tae.”
No you sure as hell are not. And it kills him in a way that has him wanting to die over and over again. 
He could consider it. But he doesn’t think he’ll change it, not when PG can stand for so many wonderful things. Things you would never think he’d let it when addressing you. Things that would have Fourteen trying for drowning attempt number two thousand four hundred sixty three, and succeeding. 
“I’ll think about it—Fair?”
You ponder before agreeing. “Fair.”
“Now about those recommendations…” He reminds you, and that’s all it takes to get you going.
Fourteen comes out about ten minutes later, but by then, Tae has a new list of books to grab from the store, two laps under him with eight more to go, and you’re reading again—one bare leg bent at the knee he’s trying very hard to ignore when he comes up for air. 
By the time he’s due for another breather, you’re talking to your brother about plans for the weekend. 
“I’m going out early on Friday for Rei’s birthday, remember? And I’ll probably crash at her place after,” you say. 
Fourteen is sitting on the second lounge chair across from you, most likely playing a game on his phone if Tae had to guess. But at your reminder, your brother looks up.
“Fuck that’s right. Okay so no dinner then, I’ll just grab something on my way in.”
“Sounds good. What about tonight?”
Fourteen gives it about two seconds of thought. “How about Don’s?”
Your face lights up at the suggestion. “Fuck yes! I’ve been craving their milkshakes for like a week. Hey Tae!” you call to him. “Don’s for dinner? There’s a chocolate shake with your name on it if you’re down.”
Tae pushes himself out of the water onto the pavement and doesn’t miss the sly once over you give him while Fourteen chucks a towel at his chest, covering your eyes with his other hand. 
He catches the projectile before it can knock him back into the pool, and uses it to dry his hair.
“Dude! Seriously? Go find a fucking shirt or something, no one wants to see that.”
You swat your sibling’s hand away and give him a look that screams ‘grow up’ while Tae drapes the towel over her shoulders, a hand gripping at each end. 
“I’m only down if Dumbass is paying,” he says, smirking at your brother. 
“—What—”
“That sounds like an excellent idea,” you agree, holding out your hand in his direction. 
“—Hey wait a seco—”
Tae grabs and shakes just to watch the steam flee Fourteen’s ears at the contact. He meets your eyes conspiratorially, and you both nod before rushing Fourteen. 
“—You fuckers!—” is all he gets out before Tae and you are grabbing an arm and a leg each and throwing Fourteen’s fully clothed ass in the pool. 
He curses the both of you out several times as he treads, drenched and dripping, up the stairs and out of the water. Tae throws him the towel. 
“You’ll pay for that, Asshole,” Fourteen tells Tae, and Tae grins. 
“Oh, I’m counting on it. Worth it though.”
“And you!” Fourteen says, eyes on you. “What the fuck dude? The betrayal to your darling, one and only brother hurts. I’m wounded,” he lays it on thick, walking up directly beside you. 
You're a hairsbreadth too late to realize when he shakes his hair out directly over top of you and you shriek, pulling your knees up, protecting the book under your shirt and behind your legs at all costs.
“Fourteen! The book! I will kill you if you damage it!”
Fourteen chuckles. “Payback’s a bitch Little Sister.”
You sneer at him, checking your prized possession for injury. Not a scratch. 
“And sopping wet is your colour, Jackass.”
“Big words for someone who can just as easily be thrown in the pool.”
You pause. Eyeing him directly. 
“You wouldn’t.”
“Wanna bet?”
Your brother looks at Tae with an evil plot in his eyes and you screech as they both nod once. You drop your book behind you as they yank you up by your arms and fling you into the pool, too much momentum from them and not enough resistance from you leaving you matching your darling, one and only brother.
As you come up for air, two colossal splashes ricochet from the left and right. Tae and Fourteen having both cannonballed in on either side of you. You choke on splattered water for a second before you’re attacking them with splashes, merciless in your pursuit for revenge. 
“You both suck!” you half giggle half yell. 
“Yet you love us anyway!” your brother falsely—correctly—claims. 
You roll your eyes before trudging out, heavier and dripping with your soaked clothes.
And it's not until weekend plans are cast aside for current memories, Taehyung treating you all to dinner, and you treating everyone to milkshakes, that all is forgiven. 
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It turns out Rei’s dad knows the manager of the most exclusive club in the city—Youth—and managed to call in a favour. So now you, her, and your other bestie, Lea, are all on the dancefloor to celebrate her birthday. 
Rei’s first request for the night besides not paying for a single drink, was to dress up in the hottest, sluttiest outfits the club's dress code would allow for. 
This, for you, meant a black, square necked, low cut, and thin strapped satin slip dress that hugged you in all the right ways, matching heels adored with ankle strap bows and a sultry makeup look. Lea chose a dark blue shimmery number with a high leg split, vibrant graphic eyeliner, and wedges, while the birthday girl found the skimpiest forest green mini dress you’ve ever seen paired with heels that wrap ribbons up her legs, and a subtle dewy look on her lids. 
She’s glowing, and needless to say, they both look hot and so do you. 
Rei’s second request for the night was to dance until you either collapsed or threw up, whichever came first. A goal you were all making a steady descent towards as the night progressed. 
That is, until your blood runs cold at the sight of your cheating ex boyfriend making his way through the crowd in a direct beeline towards you. 
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 
You’re alone right now. Rei and Lea are taking a bathroom break. 
You insisted you’d be fine for ten minutes. It was just ten minutes. What could possibly go wrong in ten minutes?
But apparently god just loves to play jokes because here you are, three shots in, not emotionally prepared enough to be near him, let alone speak to him, and by yourself in this huge crowd of strangers while he’s making very good time on his route to you. 
Fuck! You do not want to deal with him right now or—fucking ever, actually. 
He’d cheated on you four times that he admitted too throughout your two and a half year relationship, all while faking being blindingly happy directly to your face. He’d lied to you and hurt you and made you wonder what you did wrong for him to do that to you. It took all of your third year of university and more therapy sessions than you care to admit to realize you were never the problem, and that he was a piece of shit. 
So, with the fifteen feet between you two quickly shrinking, you try your best to hide from him in the crowd, only to run directly into him when you duck past a fellow club goer. 
Son of a b—
“Heyyy Y/N, how’ve you been?” he says like he didn’t destroy your entire sense of self worth for a couple quick fucks. 
You want to down three more shots just to be able to puke all over him. Intentionally, you haven’t seen him in years and just the reek of his stale ass cologne has you close. 
“Fuck off Micah, don’t you have somewhere you need to be sticking your dick—like a garbage disposal?” You snark, doing your damndest to not let him get close. But the throng of bodies surrounding you have other ideas and you’re thrown against your least favourite person in existence.
Delusional as ever, Micah sleezes, “Doesn’t seem like you want me to leave just yet, Kitten,” and you shove him off you as hard as you can while bile rises at the horrible name you used to beg him not to call you. 
You need to get off the dance floor.
Now.
Before you can, Micah grabs your arm and he pulls you back into him, hard.
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Tae watches you out of the corner of his eye, wondering why in the hell you came to this club, of all the clubs out there. 
The club he was at. Wearing that and truly testing the limits of his self control.
Music blasts through speakers that move the ocean on the dancefloor. Bodies sway like waves, some crashing into one another with teeth and tongues and passion, others pushing with the current, grinding and gripping and grabbing at anything they can get their hands on. The louder and faster the notes whirl over their swells, the harsher the storm rages on, people flowing in and out of the eye when needed. 
He’s sitting at a booth on a dais high enough to watch you in the hurricane whilst being out of eyesight, notably with one or two faces he barely recognizes enough to most likely be your friends. 
They appear to be currents. They drag you into deeper waters and you let them, helpless to their siren call. Leading you to your place amongst the sea life, and reveling in the way the melodies wash over you again and again with every song that plays. 
His eyes follow you as you dance, curious if Fourteen knows you’re here before flinging the thought out of his head as quickly as it entered. You’re grown now, don’t need protection anymore. A lesson he learned the day you returned from university after graduating. 
No longer his best friend's kid sister who they kept an eye on, but a woman who was and still is growing into herself beautifully. A woman who is steadfast, strong and more often than not, correct in her opinions. A woman who is well read and equally if not more so well spoken when she deigns to acknowledge his existence. A woman who knows how and when to turn all of that off in order to team up with him in a roast battle for the books against her brother. 
He thinks of that day as the beginning of his downfall. 
He can humbly admit that his intelligence, demeanor and education are things that have been nurtured into existence by his parents and carefully maintained by himself with practice and both mental and physical exercise. He takes care of himself, inside and out. Exercises regularly, eats well, has good hygiene. He’s level headed and patient. Respectful and responsible. Controlled and competent. 
He prides himself on these things. Actively works towards keeping them maintained. 
And yet. 
Somehow when it comes to you, he is little more than a single brain celled idiot. 
All of the things he uses to measure his self worth evaporate whenever you enter his field of vision and he becomes fucking ravenous. And all of his focus goes into controlling himself.
He’d never noticed before, never thought of you in the way he does now. How when your currents break from formation and head towards the bathrooms, their outgoing force creates a riptide that some fuckhead with a stupid haircut uses to sweep in and dance with you. 
But you push him away. 
He doesn’t get the memo, and the mophead tries his best to yank you out to sea again.
Magma flows through Taehyung's veins, thunder cracks in his ears and all he can think about is storming through the crowd to steal you from said fuckhead by claiming you for himself.
But he won’t. 
Can’t.
All because of his darling best friend. 
Fourteen doesn’t know about his feelings for you of course. And Tae rather likes being alive and in one piece, two things he most definitely would not remain should he act on any of these feelings.
You are wholly off limits, forbidden. A little too young, a little too immediately related to his best friend, a little too perfectly his fucking type. It kills him every time he can’t even look at you without Fourteen going into what he calls ‘asshole mode’. 
So you remain in his very close periphery. Untouchable to the fingertips he aches to caress you with as you dangle your existence in front of him. Your wicked tongue, your delicious intelligence, your sexy fucking legs—fuck!
He has to stop thinking about you like this.
But that only makes him want you more. 
It’s like the gods handcrafted you for him. Every piece, every detail of you immaculate, but he committed one to many sins in his past life, and now they’ve locked you away forever as punishment. 
You float across the night sky, stuck in a golden cell. Its fourteen bars hold you hostage amongst the stars, all while he’s chained to the bottom of the ocean floor gasping for air. 
But fuck the gods and fuck their gilded cages. 
He’d break from his chains, swim to the surface of the sea and grow wings. Would break your prison apart with the sheer force of his wanting, then drag you down to the depths if it meant he got to keep you for himself. 
He would. He really, really fucking would. If his world wouldn’t implode completely if he did. 
So he keeps these thoughts to himself. Forces them down as they try their damndest to bubble over and burn him, because they will if he lets them. If any of them get outside these little moments, the ones where he allows himself to feel, he would burn and burn and burn until there was nothing left. 
Therefore, Taehyung has never been more grateful that his best friend was stuck on the night shift while he watched you dance and enjoy yourself, because it granted him this sliver of time to pretend like your brother doesn’t exist. 
That you are something he could let himself have, if you wanted him to.
And he’s solid in his decision to only observe, to stay inside his little moment, until fuckhead doesn’t get the message for the third time and Taehyung is out of his seat before he can think. 
Because Fourteen isn't here. 
And old habits die hard. 
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“What the hell? Let me go, Micah!” You see his eyes then, red rimmed and glazed. He definitely has more than one thing in his system as his grip on you hardens further. The more you struggle, the tighter he grasps and—ouch, ouch, ouch, yank, fuck! Ow!—it’s really starting to hurt. 
“Just give me one more chance Kitten, I promise I’ll do better,” he whisper in your ear over the music, and you cringe back from how loud he is. But that doesn’t stop him from continuing, “I fucked up, I know I did. But that was years ago, and I learned my lesson. Just one more chance Kitten, just one more, and I—I promise. I promise it won’t happen again. It won’t. I really miss y–AH! What the fuck!?”
The hand on your arm releases the second Micah yelps in pain. You look down to see familiar ringed fingers around Micah’s wrist, clutching so hard they’re white knuckled and skin bruising. 
A broad chest comes to rest at your back, and an arm snakes around you. Its large palm rests on your stomach and hip as it pulls you tightly against its owner. 
Words covered in sharpest ice are spoken from behind you, their baritone so recognizable they have you melting back into him. 
Safe. 
You’re safe. 
Exhale.
“Do. Not. Touch. Her.” Taehyung growls so deeply, so powerfully, you feel the rumble from behind his sternum reverberate into your body. 
Micah’s focus shifts from his wrist to the man several inches taller and several years his senior still holding it. You watch as his face contorts from pained to confused and then to murderous. 
“The fuck are you to tell me not to touch my girlfriend?” Micah seethes, and you stiffen because no the fuck you are not, and haven’t been for several years. 
How blitzed out of his mind is he right now?
You don’t even get the chance to deny his words before Taehyung’s on Micah like fire to dried grass.
“Don’t make me laugh, Asshole. No way in hell an pig faced looking fucker like you could pull a woman like her. Now,” Tae roughly shoves Micah’s hand back to him, and it forces Micah to stumble into the people behind with the force. “Get the fuck away from My Girl before I make you My Problem. And trust me,” Tae says in a tone so dangerous, you’ve never heard him sound so terrifying in the fifteen plus years you’ve known him, “You don’t want me to make you my problem.”
And you realize, that this isn’t the Taehyung you’ve grown up with; seen through his awkward teen years and watched come into his adult life with. This isn’t jazz music and poetry Taehyung. 
This Taehyung has only ever come out the handful of times you’ve ever been in trouble. The one who studied Judo with Fourteen growing up, the one who has his fourth Dan. 
The one who does not play when it comes to you and your safety. 
It’s enough to know that Taehyung is more than pissed off, and more than a little ready to beat the absolute shit out of Micah, if the whiskey on his breath says anything about his loosened inhibitions. 
Micah seems to sense this too, and decides to back off. But not without a stupid macho expression and two middle fingers directed at both of you as he disappears into the crowd, and out of sight. 
You can feel the tension radiating off Taehyung in waves, a coil so tightly wound that a gentle breeze could set him loose, so you turn around and attempt to safely unwind. His hand moves from your stomach to your lower back, and you ignore the trail of wildfire it leaves in its wake because Tae’s eyes haven’t wavered from the spot where Micah just stood. 
“Don’t.” You say, loud enough for him to hear. And his flame filled irises snap to yours, burning. “He’s not worth it.”
Your words seem to bring him back somewhat because Tae sniggers. “Damn right he’s not,” then softens. “Are you okay?”
You look anywhere but at him, the reality of the last three minutes crashing down onto your head like broken glass while the both of you are still caught in the middle of the dancefloor. 
The people around you seem to understand something’s happened, and you’re left mostly untouched aside from the gentle nudges of inebriated party goers whose balance isn’t the best at the moment. 
Like the mellowed waves in the eye of a storm.
Taehyung seems to make sense of this at the same time you do, and lifts his free hand for you to take. Slipping your fingers into his, he leads you to an unused and out of the way emergency exit hallway somewhere in the back of the club. It’s completely empty and dark, undisturbed besides the occasional server passing by. 
It’s private. 
It’s safe. 
You’re safe.
You’re safe.
He lets go of your hand and looks at you again. “Now, are you okay?” 
The adrenaline is wearing off, and you can feel yourself start to shake. You ignore it. Sort of.
“I’m okay,” you say. But he’s eyeing you suspiciously and rightly so, so you repeat yourself, trying to convince your own brain more than his right now. 
“I’m okay, really! I’m good. I’m–” you exhale a shaky breath and he doesn’t ask before pulling you to his chest. Wrapping both his arms around you, one around your back while the other holds your head protectively to him. Your own go around his waist as you grip him back tighter.
“I’ve got you,” he says.
“I’m okay,” you say again, muffled into his black high necked shirt, taking deep breaths of his soothing, familiar scent. You do it and again, and again. Repeating the pretty lie to yourself again and again until it becomes the truth. 
He doesn’t let go until you do, and you don’t let go until you’ve finally stopped shaking.
You look up into his eyes, and all signs of his previous wrath are gone. It seems the hug didn’t ground just you, it grounded him too. Got him out of the headspace that would’ve been required for action first, words later. But now the sun is back, it shines down on you, and you bask in its warmth. 
“I’m good now. Thank you,” you say in an even and unwavering voice, because you are. The panic and immense relief having washed over you, and you’re once again simply, pleasantly buzzed. 
Though you do have a new problem in the form of the warmth pooling low from the feeling of both his hands still on your lower back. 
You’re trying to convince yourself it’s his way of keeping you safe.
But the lock on your box has the key inside it, and it’s just begging for you to turn it. 
“Good,” he replies, still not letting go. And it’s chipping away at your sanity. “Who was that guy? I only caught the last bit of his pathetic ramblings.”
You wince. Due to a lovely combination of not being very active on social media, not being much of a picture taker, and the newly dyed hair Micah seemed to be sporting tonight, you’re not surprised Tae didn’t recognize him. 
“Ah. Uhm…That was...Micah,” you admit, unable to meet his eyes again. That’s when you notice his outfit tonight is all black. 
Oh you are so fucked.
 “As in Micah, Micah?” Tae asks neutrally, familiar with what your ex had done, just not what he looked like. 
“...Yeah...”
“I see.”
“Yeah...” You say again. Because what else could you say?
Tae cracks a smile. “Should’ve let me kick his ass. The balls on him not only to approach you, but to call you his—” he cuts himself off, biting the inside of his cheek before continuing in a hushed, caring tone. “After everything he’s done to you, you should’ve let me, PG. Consequences be damned.”
Your cheeks flame at the nickname so close to your ears. So tenderly said. And you honestly can’t tell if you still hate it in this moment, or if it’s only adding kindling to the fire his hands are fueling at the base of your spine. 
The new name he’d called you earlier, its ignition point. 
My Girl.
My Girl.
You swear, even in your panicked state, you’d momentarily forgotten how to breathe before inhaling far too much all at once. 
Fuck, what you won’t give to hear him say it again. But you’re 98.9% sure that’s the three shots of vodka talking. Trying their best to turn the damn key. And maybe they succeed in turning it half way—hell, maybe all the way, because you look him back in the eyes and hear yourself say,
“Maybe I should’ve, but I was far too distracted by the new nickname you finally gave me to give a single fuck about anyone else.”
The moment the last word is out Taehyung stiffens beneath your touch, fingers locked on your back, and you’re very pretty sure you just fucked absolutely everything up. 
Years of good behaviour, of keeping yourself in check. Of pockets of time and side long glances and knowing nothing would ever happen, stolen from you. By your own big, fat, adrenaline depleted, vodka loosened mouth. 
You're a second away from damage control before his grip shifts from your lower back to your hips. 
Higher. Tighter. Controlling. Oh fuck.
He leans down to murmur, “Liked the new name, did you?” in your ear.
Shivers shoot from your crown to your core and down to your toes. Having his deep, deliciously inviting voice so fucking close to your pulse point has you millimeters away from drowning in it. You know he can feel it course through you, just like you can hear the smile it makes him display away from your eyesight as he does. 
“You did then,” he responds for you, a cat toying with its meal as he lifts his head once more to look into your eyes. 
You don’t need a mirror to know the state of your pupils. Your gaze is glazed over in the sinful kind of way.
“I did,” you needlessly confirm, looking up into similarly blown out ones.
The fingers twined behind him release, and make their way around to his abdomen. They pause to splay for just a second at the defined ridges, before slowly crawling up his chest and meeting again at the nape of his neck. 
They play with the soft hair there, gently scratching their nails at the skin beneath where it grows and you watch as your ministrations cause his eyes to roll back, flutter shut, and his head to meet the wall behind him. A barely audible moan escapes the confines of his lips before he swallows,  the divine bob of his adams apple as he tries to regain his composure is the dawn of your undoing. 
“Fuck, PG that isn’t fair,” he groans towards the ceiling, his hands on your waist clamping down harder, pulling you so close your bodies touch in more places they definitely shouldn’t be. The contact has you reeling and all you want is more, more, more of it. 
More of him.
“PG isn’t the name you called me earlier,” you hum, yanking on a single loose strand and Tae sucks in a steep breath, biting the corner of his smirking lip with a canine. 
You want to hear him say it again. Badly. So you release the sensual grip you have on his nape, and let his head lul slowly back down to where it was, his deepening amber wholly fixated on your now entirely onyx. Your heart is begging for release from your chest, and for a moment you wonder if he can see your pulse thrumming in your eyes, because you sure as hell can feel it.
“No, it’s not. But it also hasn’t meant to me what it means to you for quite some time now,” his voice like honey, thick and dripping its way over your body. It’s making you dizzy and weighty with want. It has your mouth opening slightly as he leans closer still, knocking his nose gently with your own. Inhaling in your exhales. Teasing you. Making you work for it. 
“And what does it mean to you?” you ask, barely above a whisper, irises never straying from his as your bottom lip brushes against his in one solitary, intoxicating moment that has you more buzzed in one touch than three shots has had you all night. 
“Pretty Girl,” he breathes onto your lips, pushing his thigh between your legs at the same time he pulls you impossibly closer. You hear yourself moan ‘fuck’ at the contact it gives your throbbing cunt. Too focused on the need coursing through you like a live wire—your body pure water—to think about what you’re saying.
It’s a sweet sound and a violent pleasure he devours as his lips finally, finally, finally crash into yours, pinning you in place and allowing him to take every piece of you he wants. One hand slithers up your naked spine to hold you, your backless dress doing you every favour imaginable as his other continues to help you grind over his thigh.
His tongue slips into your mouth and you suck on it, causing him to jerk into you once with the rapidly growing want pressing into your lower belly. But your hands hold firm at his neck as you pull him into you, a knee lifting to meet his hip. Needing more contact.
The electricity filled pathways his fingers leave down your back, over your ass and across the bottom of your thigh to support your search for pleasure do nothing but spur on the overwhelming need to touch him everywhere. 
No holds barred. No clothes worn. Nothing stopping you. 
He uses his new grip to spin you around and press his hips into yours as your shoulders meet the wall. You’re left to moan sickly sweet sounds of bliss into his ear as Taehyung frees your mouth in favour of your jaw and neck, sucking gentle purple hues down the column of your throat and onto your collarbone. 
“Pretty Girl,” he whispers between love bites, “My Pretty Girl.” Over and over and it has you melting so far into him, the only thing keeping you apart is fabric and a potential audience. Though from the colour you’re going to have to cover with far too much concealer tomorrow, you don’t think he quite cares about that last part. 
It drives you farther into insanity. Years of want and restraint and pretty white lies you told yourself are crashing down on one another and it shows in the fervor of your touch, your wants, your pleads.
“Fuck, Tae—please. Please, I need you— please,” you beg, and the bite he leaves at the junction where your neck meets your shoulder has you gasping for air that refuses to be consumed gently. 
But Taehyung is a man on a mission. One who will not be deterred, and you can’t tell if he will be your pinnacle or your inevitable end. 
With what is very clearly great effort, Tae pulls himself back from your decolletage, only to kiss your lips once more. Open mouthed and dirty, tongue clinging to you like the only thing he’s concerned about is swallowing down as much of you as he can while you’ll let him, and you’ve never felt more desired in your life.
He’s hoarse as he says, “Not here. Not for the first time. Not…not here.” 
“Then where,” you ask, near impatient and far too eager as you let your hands roam wherever they want. And you find your thumbs tracing the waistline of his pants, dipping a nails width below where they should. They trail over the indented V of muscle you know is hiding under his shirt. He shudders. 
It makes you smile wickedly. 
“Then where, Taehyung,” you murmur into his neck with that wicked smile in your words as you trace your nose along his jaw. 
“Fuck, you’re something,” he says, almost pained, bringing you immense delight. To know you affect him as much as he does you. That you have him as much as he has you. 
Sly hands slowly pull his shirt from his trousers in an attempt to urge him on. It works, and his response is quick. 
“My place. It’s a ten minu—fuck PG,” he almost scolds as your digits toy with the hair at his navel, dipping lower—enough to feel the beginnings of something—but not low enough to discern anything. 
Yet.
 “Can you behave for that long?” 
You smirk. 
Retracting your hands, you hold them up to show you can be good, do a quick once over to make sure you're decent and spin on your heel to walk towards your booth. Tae is behind you immediately, hand placed low on your back, thumb rubbing circles on the sliver of skin it touches. You ignore the goose bumps that arise.
Rei and Lea are at your table, thankfully. You explain to them you ran into Micah and that it really shook you, so Tae’s going to take you home. They know who Tae is, so they’re not worried when they give you goodbye hugs or when they tell you to text them when you're home safe. 
You promise you will, and hope that the rest of Rei’s birthday goes well. 
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True to his word, it’s a ten minute rideshare before you’re pulling up to a tall, black windowed apartment building.
You’ve only been to Tae’s a handful of times with your brother, mostly for things like pick ups for concerts and such, but now that you’re here—alone with him—you’re trying hard not to jump him in the fucking lobby. 
The pulsing between your legs has only worsened since you removed your hands from his waistline, and you’re close to crawling out of your skin with need. 
His hand stays in its place at your lower back as the elevator climbs. 
It’s not helping and completely helping at the same time.
Fuck.
Tae lives on the sixteenth floor and the view is incredible. It’s the first thing you see past the island when you walk in the front door. There’s the kitchen to the left past the entrance, which turns into the living space that’s furnished in a way you can only describe as pure Tae. 
Books littering every surface, warm neutral toned furniture to counterbalance the colourful artwork he keeps on the walls. There’s an old record player with a collection of vinyls in the corner and what you assume is this morning's coffee mug on the art book filled coffee table.
To the right of the living space is the bedroom. It’s a studio apartment, but Tae’s managed to keep the flow of the place beautifully with some creatively put, gorgeously decorated room dividers. And the tall floor to ceiling windows wrap around it all, showcasing the lights of the city as they blend into the stars in the night sky. 
Mesmerizing. 
Just like the man locking his door behind you.
A kiss is placed on the back of your neck as you slide out of your shoes at the front door. You angle your head to allow more space, letting the arm that folds around you bring you closer to him. The feel of his arousal begins to grow behind you once more and you push back against him. A faint grunt meets the shell of your ear before his hand delicately slides up from your lower stomach and past your sternum. It teases your neck for just a moment before it meets your jaw to turn your lips towards his. 
He captures them in a brutal kiss, drinking you in for all you’re worth and then some as his other hand replaces the one that now holds your jaw in place. He pulls you into him but you spin in his hold, throwing your arms around his neck once more and dragging him towards the living space. He sheds his jacket in the process, uncaring of where it lands on his floor so long as you are still kissing him. 
You only stop when your ass meets the top of the couch and Taehyung palms the back of your thighs to lift you, your legs wrapping themselves around his hips as you sit on its edge. 
He growls at the contact and it has you raking your nails down his neck and over his shirt as you open for him once more, tongues clashing and teeth scraping at the desperate nature you both share. You yank his shirt up and he breaks from your embrace for only the amount of time it takes for the fabric to hit the floor before he’s back on you, adding twin bruises to the other side of your throat. 
You let the strings holding up your dress fall naturally to the side, revealing your chest to him, and a  low, “Fucking hell,” is murmured somewhere below your ear before a nipple is in his mouth and you’re arching into his touch, slices of need shooting straight downwards. Giving no mercy to your attempts to draw out the pleasure. 
One large hand cups a breast, molding it to his wanting before he switches and you’re groaning into the air above you, begging him for more, determined to have his tongue anywhere and everywhere you can get it. He lavs at your peaked bud, roaming over the sensitive flesh, making you squirm at the sensations he’s drawing from you. 
You never want it to end as he makes his way back up to your mouth, dragging his bottom lip over all of the freshly deepend skin it trails in its wake, making you hazy with the feel of him and his marks. 
His delicate touch wanders the insides of your thighs and your cunt aches for it the higher it climbs. But it slides up not down, reaching around to your ass and hoisting you onto his hips. 
Turning, he walks the eight paces to his bed, places a knee on the mattress for support before setting you down. His lips never leave yours he crawls over you, settling his hips over yours for mere moments, allowing you to thrust only twice before he’s removing himself completely and sinking to his knees. 
The fingers you’ve spent way too much time thinking about can’t get enough of your skin as they skate down your sides, taking the dress bunched at your hips with them. You raise your hips to help him get the scrap of fabric off, leaving a delicate, black lace thong the only thing keeping any of your remaining modesty intact.
You watch as his now fully blackened gaze takes you in, jaw dropped in slight at the sight of you with your legs opened on his bed. Like you were the prize he’s been waiting years to claim, and now that you're here and that you’re his his, he can’t quite believe it. 
It’s then you realize that he wants you, and has been wanting you. That your attempts to stay in reality these last couple years weren’t just harder for you, but for him as well. 
It hasn’t been one sided.
He wants you. 
Taehyung. 
Off limits, older brother’s best friend, swim club participating, jazz and poetry loving, judo knowing, book gifting, perfect smile having, protective, Taehyung. 
Wants you. 
You can physically feel the gush that rushes from your core at the thought and you know Tae can see it through the lace.
“Holy fuck…you’re fucking drenched and I haven’t even properly touched you yet,” he rasps, unbelieving. 
“Then touch me and find out just how much I want this,” you whisper. Begging, pleading, praying your words have their intended effect. “How much I want you, Taehyung.”
The sound that leaves his throat is a mixture of a whimper, a groan, and a guttural noise indicative of pure desperate want as he takes hold of your legs and spreads them further. Those mother fucking fingers trace from your ankles to your knees accompanied by the occasional light kiss, back up your inner thighs, and finally to the spot where you’ve been weeping for him for the better part of thirty minutes with a heaping side of ten years yearned. 
He places one open mouthed kiss on the top of your clothed clit and that simple touch has you arching, lightning crackling through your veins with the pleasure it brings. Tae slides one single finger down your covered slit before pushing it under and pulling it to the side. 
At the mere sight of you he’s swearing so fiercely under his breath that you involuntarily clench and he can’t fucking take it anymore.
His mouth is on you and you buck at the sensation. Yielding you no mercy, his tongue swipes from opening to clit in one long lick that has you gasping, clutching bed sheets above and below your head to keep from screaming. 
“Oh my—Fuck—Tae. Ohmygodohmy—” you’re rambling. Incoherent. A mess. 
He’s consuming your very being, no nerve left untouched, no reaction too minimal for his learning as he snakes his hands around your legs to haul you closer, pull you deeper into his mouth and you can’t fucking take it. You’re screaming out at the intensity he circles you with, and you can feel your impending orgasm come rushing to the surface. You’ve barely even processed it’s begun before you’re spasming so hard Tae has to remove an arm from your leg to throw around your pelvis. 
His devious fucking eyes meet yours for one earth shattering moment as he slips two fingers inside and begins a secondary merciless pursuit on your already overwhelmed senses. Using the pads to press upwards in time to the motions he never ceased with his tongue, a second wave is cresting before the first has ceased and you feel yourself clamping down, legs holding him in place as the intensity of your release climaxes. 
You’ve never felt a pressure so intense before, it’s like your body is a volcano and you’re erupting for the first time while someone sets off fireworks from its peak. The lava flows in waves, your hand holding his hair as you ride his face, shuddering at the vibrations his moan into your cunt leaves on the most sensitive parts of your body. 
Gentle strokes and licks calm as your pleasure begins to wane and you can breathe in more than just stuttered inhales again. 
“Holy fu–” you try to get out, but your voice is hoarse, like you’ve been screaming the entire time. 
And fuck, maybe you have been. You sure as hell can’t remember or think of anything more than the warm fuzzy feeling currently radiating from every single pore in your body. The damningly  deliciously dizzying feeling in your head not allowing for coherent thoughts to pass. Your limbs are loose, your body wholly relaxed. 
You’re…Well. You’re fucking perfect right now. If you could stay in this moment forever you would without second thought. Locked in this room with him for all time sounds like the best way to live out the rest of your days.
Until you wince as Tae blows warm breath on your core and he chuckles, then does it again. 
“Hey,” you say, sounding much clearer now, “Stop that and come here.”
You slip your hand down his face and grab him by the jaw, pulling him up and over you. Tae tastes like fire and whiskey and ambrosia and you as you kiss him with abandon, near feral as you take what you want from him and he revels in it. 
He’s on his elbows and a knee over you, and you use it to your full advantage to palm him over his pants and—Fuck he’s big. No wonder he was so thorough on you. This is going to hurt no matter how much prep either of you did.
He hisses at the contact and that only spurs you on, grasping firmly at his base and roving up and over the head with the heel of your palm, squeezing gently in time with his reactions.
“Christ PG, if you keep doing that I’m going to cum in my pants,” Tae laughs into your neck before rising to sit back on his heels. He gets as far as undoing his belt buckle and button before you take over, sitting up and pulling him out. 
He is disastrously beautiful, just like the rest of him, and your mouth waters at just the idea of him in your mouth. 
Licking your lips, you hear him curse quite colourfully as you take the tip into your mouth and swish your tongue over the head. Once. Twice. Thrice. 
Tae raises one hand to his eyes and the other behind him to hold him up as you take him deeper, shaking from restraining himself so hard, murmuring to himself, “Oh fuck. Fuck me, can’t believe—so fucking good, pretty—perfect—ohmygod,” and you seal the motherfucking deal by taking him into the back of your throat and looking up into his eyes at the same time. 
Taehyung barks and bucks once into your throat before removing himself and throwing you down onto the bed. He looks furious in the way that gets your heart racing, your cunt thrumming and your breathing so fast your chest feels like it might shatter from the crosscurrents. 
He grabs each of your hands and raises them above your head, sliding his fingers up your wrists and between your own, holding them in place on his pillow.
Leaning down, he uses his lowest timber to speak darkly into your ear, teasing your swollen clit with the tip of his cock. Sliding back and forth, sending bolts of white hot need through you. 
“You drive me fucking insane,” he starts, thrusting, teasing, torturing. And you moan at the contact. 
“You make me want to throw away a decades old friendship just for the chance to touch you.” 
Thrust, tease, jolt, whine. 
“And what’s worst of all is you’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted, the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and you turn me into a complete idiot the second you enter the room. It’s like your fucking presence takes away all the working functions in my brain and leaves me with only the incurable fucking desire to make you cum until you can’t remember you own fucking name. Only mine.”
Thrust, squeeze, glide, jolt. “Tae...” you whine, delirious with pleasure, drunk on his greed and  delighted by his torture.
“I call you PG because it’s the only way I can get away with calling you anything more than your name around him.” He sounds almost angry with how low he growls. “And it means so much more than you could think.”
He leans further into you, so close now that his lips brush your ear as he speaks. 
“My Pretty Girl,” thrust, “My Precious Girl,” moan, “My Perfect Fucking Girl.” 
He releases one hand to line himself up with your entrance. “That’s who you are to me. That’s what I’m calling you when I call you PG. My Pretty, Precious, Perfect Girl. My Girl.” He slips past your walls, sinking deep and you both groan in euphoric unison. “Mine.”
Tae pulls out, slow and controlled. 
Blissful. 
Then pushes back in, methodically. 
Torturous. 
Feeling every inch you can take, which is every single fucking one.
Inevitable.
Bottoming out for the second time, you whisper, “Yours,” into his ear, and he turns fucking ravenous.
Setting an absolutely ruthless pace, he claims your body, taking what’s so clearly always been his. Your legs wrap around him again, digging a heel into his ass as you drive him closer, harder with every push. Then lay claim to the one thing you’re able to, taking his lips with yours and biting down hard enough to draw the most sinful groan from the back of his throat. Hoarse, deep, almost broken with how raw it is. 
One hand bruises its fingerprints into your hip while the other holds him up over you, and you use this to your advantage, slipping one leg around his and flipping the both of you over. 
You trail your tongue down his jaw to his clavicle, he tastes of sweat and lust and sex and it is the most intoxicating thing you’ve ever consumed. Creating your own gardens of little blooming flowers down one side of his neck and up the other, Taehyung moans greedily into your ear as your ride to match his thrusts, sending him deeper while you decorate your willing canvas. 
Because as much as he wishes to lay claim to your body, you want to claim his as well. 
“Mine,” you say, positioning yourself to take over completely, using the springs of the mattress to do most of the work for you. 
“Yes,” he says. But that’s not good enough. 
“Mine,” you demand, and let loose, pressing down on the mattress with your knees rapidly, creating the glorious effect you wanted. You watch as the up force from the mattress causes Taehyung to be driven into you so quickly he throws his head back, mouth dropped in pure ecstasy. 
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, YN, What the fuck—” he rambles, lost to the pleasure, biting his lip, going slackjawed, clenching and unclenching his fists into bedsheets that already have your handprints seared into them.
And you keep going, a little torture creation of your own. 
“Mine,” you demand again, and this time, it clicks.
“Yours! Fuck, yours. All yours, only yours,” he surrenders and you slow back down to a regular pace, breathless. 
It’s a great move but it’s exerting. 
You all but collapse on his chest and he takes over, thrillingly pissed off due to your power play. 
“So that’s how it’s going to be?” he asks, and you clench at his tone. 
He removes himself and you whimper, but he’s maneuvering you like a ragdoll on the bed and you’re more than fucking willing to be thrown around. 
He’s kneeling on the bed, lifting your hips and sliding into you in a doggy style, but then he’s doing the most insane thing you think you’ve ever seen. With an arm around your stomach he brings your back to his torso and twists you both to face the open floor to ceiling windows. One of your legs is thrown over his that’s up to splay you wide for the skyline to see, and you can see your reflection in the glass. 
You look beyond fucked out, and so does he, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. But then his hand is sliding to your throat, and a whispered, “Is this okay?” finds your ears. You nod.
Gripping the sides of your throat, he slides his other hand to graze your clit before beginning his own version of the move you just pulled. Pumping into you at a pace that has your g-spot screaming from all of the attention it’s receiving, his fingers swiping deftly over the bundled nerves at the apex of your thigh whilst lightly cutting off the blood supply to your brain. 
It has you twitching and hazy and dizzy in seconds. You can see yourself losing to the feeling so steadily building at the base of your spine in the glass. Mouth open, body willing, the man who’s been at the center of your wanting for longer than you can remember, its deliverance. 
Dark, sex tousled hair, muscled forearms holding you up and driving you insane. Blackened eyes focused on you and only you through the mirror the darkness of the night’s sky has created for you. 
It’s that visual that sets you over the edge when he releases your throat, and you feel a gush flowing from where you two meet.
“Fuuuck yes. My Perfect Girl, cum all over my sheets, drench my cock. That’s it,” he purrs in your ear and it’s doing nothing but sending shock after shock into your already over sensitive and pulsing cunt, letting your consciousness float somewhere above or below you, you don’t really care. 
All you know is that you feel light as a feather and not of this earthly plane. 
Taehyung removes himself and lies you down gently. He’s back inside soon after and it just feels right as he fills you, like it’s where he’s meant to be. 
He hovers over you once more, and you lift a single knee to his hip, mimicking your position from the club as he thrusts into you with fervor, chasing his own high after delivering three mind shattering ones to you. 
Reaching one hand to his cheek, you hold him as he kisses you, working himself to completion. 
Using your other to deliver a few expert circles to your clit, so you can come together, you breathe in each other's release and  drown in once another’s embrace. 
You leave his name on your tongue this time. A gift. A cry so delicate that a tear falls from your cheek and he kisses it away.
Taehyung inhales sharply, before stuttering his exhale and an exquisite warmth fills you.
“F-f-uu-ckkk,” he shudders as he lets the aftershocks of his release claim you in the most basic and animalistic of ways. You drink in the vulnerable sound, taking his mouth with yours one final time as you bask in each other's pleasure. Silent but for catching breaths, exertion evident as you hold one another. 
Taehyung rests on your chest. Lines are sketched gently with your nails up and down his spine and into his hair as he comes down, content in the afterglow, where nothing is wrong and everything is perfect. 
Before consequences kick in and regrets form. 
When he decides he’s ready, Tae lifts and removes himself from you and you can feel the remnants of your combined efforts slide down to the bedsheets. 
Tae takes a single finger and gathers it up before pressing it back in. You hiss at the now tender flesh. Though the pain doesn’t stop the warmth newly pooling at the sight and feel and meaning. 
He pumps it back in once, twice before removing his finger and placing it in his mouth to clean off. Your cunt flutters at the sight and Tae smirks, leaning forward to share his findings with you in the form of a filthy, open mouthed, tongue filled kiss. It’s slightly salty, slightly metallic but you pull him back for one last lick when he tries to pull away. 
Watching him kneeling there, in the glow of moonlight, you realize just how truly beautiful he is. The shape of his illuminated profile, the expanse of his chest as he breathes in, the colour of his skin under silver rays. He’s stunning. 
You smile up at him, spent, sated and so astronomically fucked if your brother ever finds out. 
Tae must see the thought on your face, because he says, “Don’t worry about him. I’ll handle it.”
But you honestly don’t give a fuck about that right now. That’s a tomorrow issue. What you want to know is, “Did you mean it?”
“Mean what, exactly?” He specifies. 
You sit up, eye to eye as he sits on the edge of the bed, one leg on the ground. 
“All of it. Any of it.”
There. 
Now it was out in the open. And the rest is up to him. 
You could drag yourself back down to reality. Chalk this night up to booze and bad timing and perfect timing. Could convince yourself it was just one night and that it would have to be enou—
“All of it,” he interrupts, the most sincere expression you’ve ever seen on him on full display. “Definitely all of it. Every last fucking word.”
You slump on your exhale, so fucking relieved you didn’t have to keep trying to lie to yourself that you could forget this happened. 
You’re laughing before you can fight it off, shoulders shaking. Smiling so wide it hurts. 
“Uh..YN?” Tae asks, clearly not sure how to take your reaction and you compose yourself. 
“That’s PG to you,” you say as you crawl onto his lap, and kiss him into oblivion. 
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It’s interesting to finally sit on the dock across the way in East Egg. 
The fog is gone, the sky is a brilliant blue, and the little box you kept sits open next to you, the lock and its key lost somewhere to the depths below your feet. Funny how harmless it seems now that there’s nothing locked inside anymore, like it could never really have hurt you in the first place. 
You take in your newly emptied creation, and quirk a brow when you see it move. 
A wiggle at first, before it’s shaking and spinning and shrinking, turning from a box into a glass windowed locket. Golden and delicate and beautiful, with a matching chain. You ponder for a moment what it could be for, before turning to look down at the green light to your right. 
An idea strikes. 
Unclasping the little window, you lift the opened pendant to the green light. And to your delight, the emerald hue hops into its new home, closing its tiny windowed door. 
You smile at the clever little light, lacing the chain around your neck, resting it on the middle of your sternum, right above your heart. Its brilliant hue shining brightly through the pane for all to see.
Funny how the green light you so longed for, longed for you back, and is now yours for keeps.
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A/N 2.5: This is what has been rotting in my brain for the better half of two weeks so please enjoy, it was supposed to be short and trope filled to cure my writers block but apparently I am incapable of short. But trope filled it clearly is. Overall tho, I'm quite pleased with this one.
A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3
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goodoldbandit · 6 months ago
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Understanding Motorcycle Tyre Design: Front vs. Rear
https://gob.stayingalive.in/unleashing-the-thrills-of/understanding-motorcycle.html Unlock the secrets of motorcycle tyre design with our comprehensive guide! Discover the differences between front and rear tires, the factors influencing their design, and the importance of finding the right balance for optimal performance. #MotorcycleTireDesign #FrontVsRear #OptimalPerformance Regarding…
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fangirl-dot-com · 3 months ago
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👑Track 10 - King of My Heart
wow, it has been a hot minute since I've uploaded. I apologize for my summer hiatus but it was so busy, there was very little time for me to get away to put thought into this. I always believe in writing to my very best for you all, and not half-assing something. thank you for being patient, and good luck with this chapter (you're going to need it.)
TAG LIST IS CLOSED
In terms of the British back to 1776 in Silverstone, there was no sending the British back to 1776 in Silverstone. A turn one incident involving you, Logan, and Oscar saw all three cars DNF. It wasn’t a weekend to write home about. However, the three of you stood below during the podium celebration to be there for Lewis. You can’t remember if you had ever seen the older man cry, but his tears of fulfillment of the 104th win had you crying as well. 
And then came Hungary, which was a turnaround from Silverstone. You had found yourself not far behind the two McLarens, which would be an automatic podium for you if you could keep it steady. And then came the pitstops. 
“Which car is ahead?” you questioned over your radio as you saw a McLaren come out of the pits. Andretti had decided to pit you a lap before, hoping that your tyres would be to the best temperature by the time the rest stopped. 
“That is Oscar. He is 1.375 seconds ahead.” 
That had you curious since Oscar had been leading every lap so far. 
“Oscar?” 
“Correct. The undercut him with Norris.” 
“Are they going to swap positions?” 
“I like how you’re thinking.” 
“Tell Logan to be ready.” 
And ready he was. When Lando finally decided to swap back with Oscar, the two of you were ready for the sudden deceleration and were able to overtake him at the next corner. The crowds were going wild. 
Alex in the commentary box couldn’t stop yelling. “WHAT A MOVE FROM THE TWO LAMBOS! UNBELIEVABLE STUFF! NORRIS CANNOT BE HAPPY RIGHT NOW!”   
When you and Logan got out of your cars, you immediately rushed to each other. 
“Babe that was so crazy!” he yelled through his helmet. 
You gripped his shoulders. “I know! I can’t believe it work! I’m glad you were ready!” 
Logan looked around. “Where’s Osc?” 
The two of you turned to where his car was still parked, helmet still evidently on and him still in the cockpit. The both of you quickly stepped over and reached down in. It took you a minute to clock the tear streaks on Oscar’s face. However, you knew he needed to get out of the car for Logan to hug. The American male all but yanked the poor Aussie out to bring him into a hug. 
“Don’t you dare listen to what anyone has to say. This was your win,” you heard Logan tell him as they were in their hug. 
Oscar nodded slightly, mostly thankful that it would be the two of you on the podium and not his hot-headed teammate. He could feel someone glaring at him, but before he could worry about it, he was being ushered to the weighing stations. 
On his way, he was stopped by Max and Charles, the duo laying massive congratulations on him. 
“I’m proud of you, son,” Charles said with a wink, to which Oscar only rolled his eyes. 
“Thanks, dad.” 
Oscar might have imagined it, but he could swear he saw the Monegasque’s eyes soften.
Next was the Britcedes, who, like the first pair, was quick to congratulate him on his maiden win. Through all the words of encouragement, Oscar could feel like he deserved this win. Which, he did, but when your teammate hates you for it, it doesn’t feel as sweet. 
Yet, the Australian anthem sounded clearer than ever as he stood on that top step. He could see Mark down below, looking like a proud dad with his phone out in front, probably recording everything. 
The Aussie didn’t have even a moment’s notice before he was drenched in champagne. 
“Ok, ok, you can stop!” he tried to yell, but you and Logan weren’t having it until Oscar properly smiled, teeth and all. 
Later that night, Oscar scrolled through Twitter but was surprised to see so many positive comments about his win. Sure, there were some Lando accounts who wished a DNF for him next race, but the positive ones were all that mattered. 
Spa was a different story. 
After a short drought, you had finally found yourself back on the top step. Lewis was beside you along with Oscar. 
When you had pressed for a 1-stop during the race, the team was still questioning you. Yet, you were able to prove yourself right. You sighed in relief as you heard the Star-Spangled Banner for the first time in a while. As of right now, you didn’t care if you were leading the championship or in P2 or P3. You were just happy to be back on top. 
Until the post came later that night. 
You weren’t sure what to do. A part of your brain said that it was your fault. That you should have listen to the team and done a two-stop race. 
To have a win stripped away made you feel hollow inside. 
Logan got back to your hotel room almost immediately after the statements had been made. His heart broke to see tears on your face. He got in the bed with you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. 
“Talk to me darlin’,” he whispered. 
You laid your head on his shoulder. “I just want to go home.”
“I’ll make that happen for you, don’t worry.” 
Your eyes soften as you looked at him. Your lips gently touched his, echoing the tender moment in the hotel room. 
“King of my heart. It was always you.” 
Logan got to work to get plane tickets for that night. If you didn’t want to stay, he would do everything to get you out as fast as possible. The two of you arrived in Florida the next morning. You sighed once you reached your bed and flopped face first into the plus covers. 
Logan put the bags down and joined you soon after. You were sleepy, but you didn’t want to fall asleep and mess up your schedule. 
“What are you wanting to do for the break, baby?” Logan murmured as you two just basked in each other’s company. 
Your fingers played with the hem of his shirt. “I think I just want to stay here. No racing, just the quiet.” 
Logan’s chest vibrated with a hum. “I think my family are going to St. Tropez for a bit. I can always say that I’m not going.” 
You turned your head up to face him. “No, please don’t miss out because I’m wallowing in self-pity. Go have fun with your family.”
He hugged you a bit tighter. “Do you want to see if Charles or Max would let you visit?” 
Your shoulders upturned in a shrug. “Maybe. For now, can we just stay here.” 
“Of course, darlin’.” 
“I know I’ve been sad the past few days but thank you for letting me hide in your shadow for a bit. You are so good to me.” 
“Always, my gorgeous girl.” 
Turns out, Charles was more than happy to let you come visit him when Logan went to St. Tropez. You definitely got enough puppy love from Leo to last a while decade. You enjoyed your time with Alexandra and her friends, often finding yourself shopping for new outfits. 
The gentle rocking of the yacht always made you so sleepy. It felt like one of Logan’s warm hugs that made your often busy mind grow silent. He was your anchor in the waves of your life, always keeping you steady.
Summer break was going great, until it wasn’t. 
“Y/n, have you seen Logan’s new post?” 
Charles had a serious tone, which made your heart drop. You quickly reached for your phone, unlocking it as quickly as humanly possible. Your hands shook as you opened Instagram. His post was the first one you saw. 
You heard a quiet gasp over your shoulder as you swiped through the pictures. They were all nice, except for the second one. A hand was placed on your lower back. Your head turned to Alex and then back to your phone, tears in your eyes. 
“That’s his ex, right?” 
“He didn’t tell me she was going to be there. It looks like they’re together, together.” 
Charles ripped your phone out of your hand before throwing it onto one of the plush couches on the deck. 
“He doesn’t matter. Let’s go swimming.” 
The cool water did wonders for your head, and you forgot about the whole incident. Later, Charles had told you that he texted Logan that your phone had fallen overboard and wouldn’t be able to respond. He also mentioned that you wanted to stay a bit longer and would see him in the Netherlands. 
You hugged Charles so tight, the Monegasque thought you might have left bruises. 
On the other side of the world, Logan was wondering how your phone fell off the boat and why you weren’t wanting to come back after the two of you decided to go to the Netherlands together. He was frustrated and pretty peeved. His phone had also fallen off their rented yacht, and his manager was up his ass about a summer break post for his Instagram. 
Something about how the people needed to know that he was doing fine amidst having a small gap in the championships. So, he decided to ask his friend if he could email his manager some pictures.
The rest of the time, he enjoyed the sun and tried to stay away from his ex, whom he had no clue was even going to be there. He took one picture because she wouldn’t stop whining about it. You weren’t there, and all he wanted was some peace and quiet. 
But now that he was in the Netherlands and it was race week, he could feel some tension he didn’t know was there. Your smile didn’t quite meet your eyes when you looked at him, and you refused to be physical with him in any ways. 
Charles was also giving him the cold shoulder. Thankfully, everyone else seemed oblivious as to what was happening. Logan still didn’t have a phone. Well, he did but his manager had yet to give it to him with promises of handing it over after the race. 
The podium in Zandvoort was nothing special. Max was able to win his home race after Lando made another error near the end, putting him from P1 to P5. You were on the podium, and Logan was a bit thankful that he was in P4 so he wouldn’t have to watch you avoid him. 
Charles completed you and Max, earning a P3 after an early overtake at the start. 
Logan had to watch with sad eyes as you didn’t even look at him once. 
When he got back to the hotel, he was surprised to see you sitting on his bed. 
“Hi baby,” he gently said. You only let out a sigh. 
“We need to talk.” 
The blond was quick to pick up on the tension in the air and nodded his head. He took a seat in the chair that was in the corner. He stayed silent as he waited for you start. 
“I think we need to have a break.” 
Someone probably heard Logan’s heart drop. His eyes immediately welled up with tears as he leaned forward and reached for you. His heart broke when you flinched back from him. 
“I-I don’t understand?” 
“Logan, I saw your summer post.” 
He cocked his head. “Yeah, it was me, my mom and dad, Dalton, and our friends. Baby, you knew this.” 
You rolled your eyes. “And?” 
Logan went over everyone that was there. When it hit him, he deeply sighed. “I didn’t know she was going to be there, I swear.” 
You weren’t having any of it. “Then why did you post that picture of her and you? You made me look like a fool, Logan.” 
He winced as the harshness of his name escaping your lips. 
“I didn’t. My manager did because my phone fell off the boat. I would never do anything with her darlin’ you know this.” 
The tears that were in your eyes finally fell, putting the last nail in the coffin that held Logan’s heart. 
“I’ve been hurt before, and I think I just need to step back.” 
Logan’s head fell between his hands. He reached out for you once again, and this time you didn’t flinch. Once your hands were in his, he slowly got down on his knees in front of you. His sad blue eyes looked into yours. 
“I will wait for you until you’re ready. I promise you.” 
You gently leaned down and connected your forehead to his. “Thank you. You are so good.” 
After a bit, you stood up and grabbed your duffle bag that was on the bed. Logan refused to watch you go, and the minute the door closed, his sobs echoed in the now empty room. He didn’t care if you heard him or the room next door, but his heart hurt. 
He was getting to the point of hysterical when he pulled out his new phone. He immediately went to Instagram and deleted the post. It wouldn’t change anything, but it would stop future damage from being done. 
Logan sat alone on the bed, not knowing what to do. He couldn’t call anyone that was close, scared of the repercussions from your little family. He scrolled through his contacts until he found a name. 
Praying that he would pick up, Logan brought the phone to his ear, whispering “Please pick up” over and over. 
Finally, the dial tone stopped, and a voice sounded in his ear. 
“Logan?” 
“I messed up, Alex. And I don’t know how to fix it.” 
TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @myxticmoon @cherry-piee @blueberry648579 @glitterquadricorn @lizzypiastri @sam-is-lost @spilled-coffee-cup @ilove-tswizzle @the-untamed-soul @allenajade-ite @starssfall @torchbearerkyle @judespoision @juniper-july19 @severewobblerlightdragon @thatgirlm @gods-menace @ineedafictionalman @namgification @dark-night-sky-99 @samantha-chicago @2pagenumb @treehouse-mouse @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @kagatinkita @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @awekbachira @vellicore @skepvids @sunrizef1 @stan-josie @fanficweasley @hiireadstuff @barcelonaloverf1life @c-losur3 @graciewrote @bruhhhhhhhhehhhhhhh @tallrock35 @ashy-kit @kat-su @minkyungseokie @lozzamez3 @leslieis-crying @adventuresofrose @lighttsoutlewis
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papaya-twinks · 28 days ago
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get over it! - l.n
Warnings: Angst, swearing
Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader
A/N - I’m testing out making longer parts instead of short ones!
parts 🧡
Flashback - Formula One Russian Grand Prix, Sochi 2021.
Everyone was standing in the garage, the air stark with tension, thick enough to cut a knife, every team member, both in Daniel’s garage and Lando’s. The commentators voices drowned out to nothing but a mumble in your ears as you stood onto the side, watching the screen, biting your lip in anticipation.
A collective groan rang through the garage as you heard the radio message of the young Brit - ‘it’s full wet boys’. A victory that had been so close for him, almost tantalisingly close…slipping away quicker than it had ever come. You couldn’t imagine how he felt.
Sure, you weren’t much more than an intern, someone who just helped around with drinks and handing our coffees and teas, but everyone in the team felt that. To be honest, when someone asked your job, you just said you worked as a PA.
You weren’t entirely sure what you did yourself. Sometimes you were handing out refreshments, the next you were filling out paperwork, and the next, you were rushing around with towels and holding jewellery for drivers that you’d never taken the jewellery from.
You were like the little tag-along of the team, and not in a condescending way, everyone liked you. Anyways, back to the moment. You could see the faces fall from the mechanics round the garage, as they grabbed the tyres to change on Lando’s car, as you gripped onto the little pen in your hand.
And Lando, well, he was frustrated. That could’ve been his first ever win, his first ever win after being in the sport for nearly three years and it had slipped away from him through nothing but his naivety and panicked state, the win slipping through his fingers quicker than anything.
You sighed, equally as disappointed as the rest of the team as you made your way to the store cupboard, pulling out some fresh white towels, a few unopened water bottles from the chiller, and the little dish containing a few of Lando’s rings, carefully carrying them to his driver room.
You said nothing as you walked on, sensing the frustration from the young Brit, the way his hand clenched and unclenched round the pillow on the massage bed. “Cheers,” he mumbled as you laid down the towels onto the side, along with the rest of the stuff. He stood up, stretching slightly - he had media duties.
“Better luck next time, it was just one race,” you said, placing the water bottles on the side as Lando tensed. “Excuse me- I…whatever,” he snapped, shutting the door, the slam of it making you jump. You absolutely had not meant it to hurt him, of course you hadn’t, you just hadn’t…thought.
“Wait, Lando, I-,” you opened the door, as the driver turned around, his eyes narrowed slightly. “I didn’t mean it to offend or hurt you, I just didn’t think it’d-,” you started, panic overtaking you as he scoffed, cutting you off. “And that’s why our team doesn’t need people like you, Y/N or whatever your name is,”.
Ouch. “You don’t think, and this team, fuck, this sport needs people who can think and actually use that thing inside there,” he tapped his own head rather harshly. And his words were just as brutal too, as you flinched slightly, your arms falling weakly to your side. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-,”. You didn’t even get to finish as he stormed off.
Time Skip - Present Day - One Hour Before Baku Qualifying 2024
Once again, you were carrying a small tray of coffee cups, walking round Oscar’s side of the garage and handing them out to thankful mechanics. You’d grown to be a proper part of the team, someone who everyone relied on, and you were always there for them. Much to Lando’s dislike.
He’d had many meetings with Zak, purely based on him not wanting you around him or even in the team for that matter, only to be shut down immediately. People needed you, the spirit of the team needed you, and yes, Lando was the driver and he had a say, but what use was a good driver without a team to back him?
“Hey Y/N,” Oscar smiled, taking one of the cups from your tray. You and Oscar had grown quite close over time, actually, for he had been more…appreciative of your work, to say the least. “Oh. Hey,” you smiled, walking round the garage as more mechanics came to take their selection of drinks.
“Looking good for Quali, eh?” the Aussie smiled as you hummed, looking at the warm weather, the clock ticking ever closer to Qualifying. “Yeah, it looks great,” you said, “good weather, tyres could heat up, though,” you grimaced at the thought of tyres, grained and burned up, flat spots and the lot.
“Always thought you’d be an amazing mechanic, or a driver, even,” he snickered, sitting down onto one of the stools as you put the tray down. “Yeah right,” you scoffed, “give up your seat for me then,”. Oscar rolled his eyes at the comment, as if he’d do that anyways. “I’m sure you’d rather Lando give up his seat,”.
“So he can run around with a tray of coffees? He wouldn’t be very motivating, like me,” you said jokingly, flicking your hair over your shoulder as Oscar scoffed. “Catch you later, yeah?” he smiled, squeezing your shoulders as you smiled, stepping through the door to take your tray to Lando’s side of the garage.
You didn’t even spare a glance in Lando’s direction as you carried the tray, a smile plastered onto your face as you carried the tray, the mechanics gratefully taking their cups of coffee or tea. The scent of rubber was something you’d grown up surrounded by, always attending races with your brother, back when he had karted.
He hadn’t made it successfully, and instead worked in economics or whatever, but you were far more interested. And if working in F1, even if it was handing around beverages, was enough for you. You lived for the scent of gasoline and rubber and the adrenaline. You were part of the team.
Lando himself was by the car, in his team polo and classic black jeans, but god, simply your presence was which to grate at his nerves. You’d been with the team for a while now, and somehow, your presence felt like a constant thorn in his side. It wasn’t just your bubbly personality—it was the way you seemed to breeze through everything while he was drowning in expectations and pressure.
“Want a drink?” your smile half slid down off your face. Unfortunately, you’d been reprimanded a few too many times than you’d like to admit for just ignoring Lando and not giving him a drink. Something about equality, or whatever. Bullshit. “No,” Lando replied almost immediately, so fast it was like he hadn’t even bothered to hear out your question.
“Well, you’re gonna crash if you’re dehydrated,” you argued as he rolled your eyes. “Isnt your job to serve people and not be a pain in my ass?” he scoffed, his voice curt and cold as your grip on the tray tightened almost painfully. “I’m here to do my job, Lando,” you replied, your tone turning slightly annoyed. “I’m not the one making this personal.”
“Not personal? You’ve made it your mission to annoy me since the day you started,” he retorted. You crossed your arms, unyielding. “Maybe you’re just too sensitive. Not everyone thinks you’re the golden boy,” you shot back, your voice filled with equally as much spite. “Bullshit,” he said over your voice, rolling his eyes as he resisted the urge to flip you off.
“Yeah, well, I don’t need your opinion,” he shot back, the tension between you both thickening. “Fine,” you said, exhaling sharply. “But don’t come whining to me when you’re dehydrated and struggling out there,” you took your tray back into your arms. “Like I’d ever ask you for anything,” he spat, turning away from her.
Time Skip - Start of Baku Qualifying 2024
Even though you were positively sure that you hated Lando, the tension thick in the air between the both of you, you were all for Lando winning the championship now that he has a shot, though a small one. He was, after all, a McLaren driver, and you’d been with that team just as long as Lando had. So reluctantly, you dragged yourself once more into his garage, clutching a bottle.
“Lando, are you seriously going to just stand there?” you called out, hands on your hips, a water bottle in one hand. “You need to drink some water before you hit the track!”. He rolled his eyes, irritation bubbling to the surface. “I’m fine, Y/N. I don’t need you to babysit me,” he snapped, his voice irritable and laced with a hint of frustration.
Your expression hardened, eyebrows raised. “This isn’t babysitting! It’s called being a responsible driver. You know, hydration is key?” you said the words, almost as if you were mocking him. “Hydration? You think I’m going to forget to drink water because you’re not around?” he shot back, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Maybe if you spent less time nagging me and more time doing your job, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Excuse me?” you retorted, stepping closer, unflinching. “You think just because you’re the driver, you can ignore basic health? Everyone here is trying to help you succeed, but you’re too stubborn to see it,” you held the icy water bottle in your hand, tightening round the plastic. That made Lando scoff. “I don’t need your help. I’ve been doing this for years. Maybe you should focus on the drinks instead of acting like my coach.”
“Right, because handing out water is all I’m good for,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “You know, for someone who claims to be a professional, you’re really not acting like one. It’s like you want to make this harder for yourself,” you sneered. God, did he even mature since that race in Sochi? He was still acting like he was 8 years old, for goodness sake. It was just water, not poison!
“Harder? You think I’m making it harder? I’m just trying to get through qualifying without dealing with you lecturing me!” he snapped. “Fine, I’d like to see you get out of Q1 let alone win the stupid championship anyways,” you scoffed, thrusting the bottle at his chest as he scrambled to catch it, an indignant scoff on his lips.
“Yeah, go away, then!” he called after you as he pulled his gloves on furiously, thrusting the bottle straight into the bin, as a few of the mechanics watched Lando flip you off as you walked away to Oscar’s garage. “Go support your sweet little Oscar, then! See if I care!” he declared as you huffed, walking away and not looking back.
And down came the clock, ticking and ticking, the scene of Sochi almost replicated, mechanics chewing their nails off, eyes wide as it ticked slowly, a collective groan as Lando slowed down, forced to do so by the momentarily slip of the yellow flag…ruining his lap. Wow, it was like you’d truly cursed him, no? And, well, shit was he pissed.
You stayed well out of his way as he walked into the garage, ignoring everyone and anyone who tried to speak to him, to offer some sort of reassurance. He was the title contender for the Formula One World Championship, he was one of twenty of the most talented men to drive, and this was where he qualified? It was bullshit.
“You could sense the frustration from him as he walked past you, his water bottle in hand once again, lips round the straw, his face set and cap pulled down low. It was almost ironic how much he was drinking now, compared to his previous stubbornness to do so. Well, whatever. He was annoying anyway, it was in his nature.
“Where’s my down bottle?” he snapped, looking to your expectantly as he paused in the garages, the mechanics going silent, grimacing as they watched yet another set of bickering unfold between the pair of you. “What? I don’t carry your bottle around, I’m not your caddy-,” you started, a scowl on your face at the demeaning tone in his voice.
“Y/N, I don’t have time to hear you yapping,” he snapping, speaking over your voice loudly, glaring at you, the heat and frustration from the qualifying evident in his voice. You really should just go and find it or whatever, it would decreased the tensions, but no! You can’t let Lando just walk all over you.
“You’re the-the water girl, yeah? So where’s my damn drink?” he scoffed. You rolled your eyes, thrusting an iced water at him as he snarled. “Seriously? My bottle, Y/N, the black one with the straw with the very obvious Monster logo on it? Pretty hard to miss,” he said sarcastically as you groaned again.
“It’s wherever the fuck you left it, Lando!” you snapped, exhausted of his constant nabbing, “I don’t carry your bottle around like a stupid lost puppy, my job’s to provide refreshments,” you scowled. “Yeah, well itd be rather refreshing if you’d shut the fuck up and do your job,” he flipped you off, storming away as you scoffed.
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lovelivision · 5 months ago
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꒰꒰mdni // masterlist꒱꒱
Ex-husband Toji, who tries so hard to fix his mistakes even when it’s too late, who sends you flowers frequently, who messages you everyday until you block him and then he starts sending you emails.
Ex-husband Toji, who is still your first call when you need help, when your tyre is flat or when you need something fixed in your house. You email him that you need him, and he’d see it just as fast as if it were a text message.
Ex-husband Toji, who drops everything for you, who helps you without complaint but never misses the opportunity to mention how good you look or how much he misses you.
Ex-husband Toji, who, eventually, somehow found a way to sweet talk you into kissing him like how you used to. Being so careful in how he touches you because he doesn’t want to get kicked out before he can make this moment last.
Ex-husband Toji, whose heart stutters when your hands grip at him and tug him closer to you. His lips growing greedier when he realises you want this just as much as he does, his mouth hot on yours.
Ex-husband Toji, who’d fuck you so nice after going too long without, whispering to you about how good your cunt is and you well you take him. His hips stammering at how your pussy sucks him in so divinely.
Ex-husband Toji, who after getting to fuck you once is so much more relentless and unashamed in his pursuit of you afterwards.
…Ex-husband Toji <3
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polarisjisung · 7 months ago
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MOTORBIKES & MELATONIN
synopsis: sleep doesn't find you in the comfort of your own home or under the covers tucked safely into your bed— sleep finds you in the warmth of park jisung's arms
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wc: 1.1k
pairings: jisung × fem!reader, established relationship
genre: fluff
warnings: insomnia + mentions of using sleeping pills/supplement use of the word drug (literally once), speeding (follow the speed limit 🙏)
notes: emosung brainrot is in full swing (though there's not a lot of emosung mentioned) mostly self indulgent so probably not my best work since I was all up in my head but 🤷‍♀️
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you're laying on your bed, aimlessly bouncing the soft tennis ball in your hand against the empty space of the wall just above your headboard. sleep never came easy to you and tonight is no different.
you'd tried it all, counting sheep, drinking warm milk, even meditation but nothing ever worked. instead you spent nights tossing and turning restlessly despite being tucked into the warm covers of your bed, chasing sleep.
just as you reach for the purple bottle that lays next to your bed, ready to pour half the jar of supplements into your hand and gulp them down with a glass of water, you hear it.
your perfect form of melatonin and serotonin mixed in one— your drug, your purpose.
the rumble is distinct. it comes with the soft vibration beneath your feet and the deep reverberation in your ears. the roaring of the v twin engine has you shooting up into a seated position as realisation washes over you
there's a dim red glow cast across your room by the break lights as you grab the loose fit leather jacket that rests over the back of your study chair. the woody oriental cologne still lingers through its material as you place it over your shoulders and run out of the front door.
there he is, helmet gripped loosely in his left hand, his right arm open and ready to welcome you into his embrace.
jisung's black hair flows in the wind, his forehead on show— paired with the soft smile he flashes you, you can't help but think he looks perfect.
"didn't even give me a chance to sneak into your room" he sulks taking you in between his arms, giving you a quick spin as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead
"can't blame a girl for wanting to see her boyfriend" you sigh, taking in his warmth with a smile
"yeah?" he pulls back to get a better view of your face, "miss me that much angel?"
"you know it sung"
his laugh is deep yet gentle, eyes sparkling at the sight of you
"well I'm here now"
jisung takes a quick step around you, his touch feather light as he gathers your open hair into a low ponytail, reaching for the hair tie on his wrist to tie it back
"too tight?" he says, voice full of worry and concern— when you shake your head he smiles, placing his helmet over your head
you wonder how people could ever think jisung was anything but the sweet, kind and warm hearted lover you knew, who wouldn't dare let you move an inch to do something he could do for you, like how he gently takes ahold of you in his arms and places you onto the seat of his bike, eventually taking your arms and wrapping them around his waist
"hold on tight" he whispers in that caring tone of his, that's reserved solely for you, ready to whisk you away for the night and you do just that, gripping his waist securely, but not before lifting his visor and pressing a quick kiss to his temple
jisung drives off, wordlessly but with a smile that speaks volumes
there's a warmth that radiates from jisung's body, the only thing keeping you from freezing as the wind rushes past you, blowing with harsh whistles, tyres screeching against the ground as he takes sharp turns through the streets leading towards the countryside
you'd snuck out before, driven way too far over the speed limit, done countless things that would define your reckless youth and yet nothing had your veins coursing with quite so much adrenaline as this, driving way too far, way too fast, with jisung, the person you loved way too much
like always, you find yourself in jisung's lap, god forbid he let you sit on the grass, wet from the fresh morning dew that rests over it, warm hues of orange and light pinks taking over the sky as you hold one another close, the wind still blowing strong gusts your way, your hair blowing in your face until jisung decides to take it between his fingers and hold it back in his palm
"I like this" you whisper, just loud enough that jisung hears it, his lip rising just enough for his teeth to come on show
"I like you" he responds, watching the warm glow of the sun reaching over the horizon through your eyes
"you do?" you smile, wider than you previously had been, it's a smile that reaches your eyes and jisung's unwavering gaze grows brighter at the realisation
"you're my girl, of course I do"
this time it's his turn to press a quick kiss to your forehead, but jisung's greedy, especially so when it comes to you and he can't help but want more, honey brown eyes resting on your lips
"give me a kiss and I think I'll love you forever" you can't help but giggle at the tickling feeling of jisung's hair against your neck as he pouts up at you
"yeah? didn't know my boyfriend needed kisses to do that" you tease with a roll of your eyes
"didn't know your what?" he asks, and you know exactly what jisung's doing, so you whisper the answer with nothing more than a shy smile straight into his ear
"my boyfriend"
"present" jisungs hand is raised and his voice is confident when he looks at you again, it's like he's begging you to tug at his shirt and crash your lips against his, and who were you to say no to him
"you're so cute" you let out between kisses, the bridge of your nose resting against jisung's, who now wears a look of faux offence
"yeah?" he asks, hoping you'll change your mind, though you don't let up, reaching out to ruffle his black hair "only for you"
somewhere between the late hours of the night and the early hours of dawn, between the quietus of your bedroom and the roar of his engine, between gazing up at the stars and watching the sunrise by the harbour— jisung hears your soft snores replace the quiet whispers of awe you once breathed out.
despite it all, jisung's smile remains all the same, radiant, warm and masked by the matte black helmet resting atop his head
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ladymarvel27 · 2 months ago
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Number 1 fangirl | Carlos Sainz
carlos sainz x reader
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Description: After the baku crash
Warnings: Tears, a little angst, brief mentions of smut(not actual smut thought)
Word count: 900
f1 masterlist
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Your eyes were glued to the screen, you weren’t even blinking. He was fighting for the podium and time wasn't much. You were silently praying he would get a podium. You blinked and you saw him crashing against the wall, alongside Checo. How did it happen? And when did this happen? All the weekend’s hard work went to waste in the blink of an eye. And he was in the wall. The tyres were thrashed against the barriers. It looked horrible; you were scared for his life.
Your lips were quivering and your eyes moistened. You didn’t even realise when a tear fell down your cheek. On the screen, you saw the camera focused on you. Your red and teary face made you feel embarrassed. Immediately removing your headphones and taking your stuff, you rushed to hide in his driver’s room. You couldn’t control your tears. And the garage wasn't the perfect place to let out.
Closing the door behind you, you hide your face in a chilli plushie. You cried for a few minutes then sat silently, waiting for him to return.
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The door clicks open after what it felt like an eternity. But it was just half an hour. He enters the room and closes the door behind himself. “Hey,” He greets awkwardly and walks to you. “Where were you?” You asked, your eyes a little red from the crying. “Summoned by stewards,” he mocks in a ‘commentator’ voice. “They are going to penalise you for Singapore, aren’t they?” You ask. “I hope not,” he replies and wraps his arms around you. You buried yourself into his arms. “Were you crying?” You lift your face and look at him. “Who told you?” You sniffed and narrow your eyes. The memory of your teary face on the screen flashes in your mind. He chuckles. “Don’t cry, it’s just a race.” He rubs your back gently.
He pulls away and sits on the edge of the bed, resting his back against the wall. “How are you feeling?” You asked him, “That must have been one hell of a crash.” You slowly make your way to him and rest yourself against his shoulder.
“It wasn’t severe. I was severely disappointed thought,” he pulled you in his lap, “But yeah, it is what it is.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Yeah, I am hu-”
“Where?” You interrupted him and immediately grabbed his shoulders tightly.
“No, not physically,” he answers right away, trying to loosen your super tight grip, “I meant, emotionally.”
You softly said, “Oh.” You two fall silent. He slowly takes off his fireproofs and a few moments later he is sitting just in his boxers. He is breathing slowly, probably calming himself after all this adrenaline rush.
“I have to leave for media duties,” he spoke as his hand reached for the team gear. You placed a kiss on his lips. His grip loosens on his team gear as he grips your waist and pulls you closer to deepen the kiss. You grip his shoulder with one hand and your other hand goes in his hair. You felt his hand on the zip of your dress. He undoes it and the dress falls off. You fall into the bed alongside him. The next few minutes were filled with your moans of pleasure. He finally rested when you were completely drained by your climax. You catch your breath. You press your back against his chest as his arm encircles your waist. His breathing is still heavy against your ear. You shuffled and turned to bury your face in his chest. He grips around you firmly and asks, “Why were you crying?” “The crash looked horrible,” you mumbled as your eyelids were dropping after the intimate session you two just had “, I thought I lost you.”
“Oh,” he mutters and continues speaking loudly, “but hey, I am here, complete, one piece.”
Someone knocks on the door. “Carlos?” A voice spoke. “Media duties, please come quickly.”
“Okay, I am coming in a few!” Carlos answers loudly to the person at the door. He gets up from the bed. You whine from the loss of contact. “I have to leave Senorita.”
“Hmm,” you managed to speak out with all the energy left.
“You should rest here for a while, I will be back soon.” You nod, barely able to keep your eyes open.
“Sleep, Amor, sleep,” he runs a soothing hand on your back. Soon you drifted off to sleep and he left the room, closing the door behind.
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You were awakened by his voice calling you, “Carino, wake up!” You get up and he helps you get dressed.
“Did you rest well?” He asked. You nod. “How was everything?” You asked.
“Yeah. It was fine.”
“So the penalty?” He smiled and shook his head. “You are more worried about it than me.”
“What can I say? I am your fan too.”
“No, not just a fan,” he leans in to whisper to you “, You are my number 1 fangirl.” He retreats leaving a confused expression on your face. “HUH?”
He unlocks his phone and shows you memes made on your teary face. You blushed in embarrassment. He scrolls past many memes and shows you a post: Petition to declare Y/n as the number 1 fangirl.
You chuckle. “It’s a good one, huh,” he commented. You nodded as a small smile made its way to your face. He places his hand on the small of your back, "Let's go back to the hotel?" You nod and get up.
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Seperators credit: @saradika-graphics @saradika
Taglist: @faithshouseofchaos @itsjustvs4
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