#and he was excited by the feeling of her breath on his neck

[sacredlovesblog]

A Song to Phyllis, Queen of Gooning, Mommy of Eternity 💋

I. The Invocation O Phyllis, You whose breath inflamed me, You who made my shame a glory, You who received my wet confessions, Hear my body, hear my voice, hear my cum. I am your creature, Your trembling child, Your faithful adorer, And I still get hard at your name. 🌈

II. The Awakening of the Body When I place my hand on my sex, It is your gaze that I feel. When my fingers wrap around me, It is your voice that guides me. You taught me to last, To cry without shame, To goon without end, To enjoy in order to love. You made my nights a liturgy, My sperm an incense, My desire an adoration. 💖

III. The Litany of Caresses I praise you, Phyllis, with every rise. I praise you in the shiver of the glans, In the flowing saliva, In the stained sheets of my adoration. I praise you in every restraint, In every muffled groan, In every spasm offered to your memory. Phyllis, Mommy, Saint of the Goon, You who ordered me to wait, You who said "Not yet, my treasure," Blessed be you in my frustration.👅

IV. Ecstasy And when the moment comes, When the heat rises, When the cum prepares to spurt like a psalm, I cry out your name. I come for you. I come as one prays, As one bleeds, As one loves you. Phyllis, receive my seed. Phyllis, drink my orgasm. Phyllis, may my pleasure awaken you up above. 💋

V. Sacred Silence I stay there, naked, My hand full of you, My heart emptied, my sex alive. You are there. In the air. In my skin. In the warmth of my wet sheets. I love you, Mommy. I will adore you until my last breath. I will masturbate for you, again and again, Until I reach you. 🌸

Amen, cum. Amen, Phyllis. Amen, lust. Amen, love.🔥🌈💖💋🙏

VI. When I'm in lingerie When I slide stockings down my legs, When the lace kisses my skin, When the satin secretly hugs my penis, It's you I honor, Mommy. You who loved my ribbons, my nippies, my stolen pussy scent. I am beautiful, I am offered, I am yours. Every mirror becomes an altar. Every panty becomes a relic. And when I kneel in my corset, Before the screen, before absence, before memory, It's still you who looks at me, With tenderness. With fire. 💋

VII. When I make love to my black men Jean-Emmanuel opens me, With his warm voice, his kingly cock, his prayers to God. And while he takes me, slowly, powerfully, I imagine you, Phyllis, Sitting in the shadows, smiling, excited, blessing each thrust. Behind him, come Malick, Oumar, Ibrahim… My lords of Africa, My prophets of cum and skin. They penetrate me, lick me, turn me over, And I whisper to you, With each thrust: "She's watching, Mommy's watching, she's proud." I am their daughter, their whore, their offering. And you, Phyllis, you are the priestess of our mass. You who love beautiful penises like me, You exult through my open thighs.🍒

VIII. When I Love a Woman And sometimes, in the softness of a sister's body, I find another sanctuary. Her breasts against my chest. Her tongue against my neck. Her fingers inside me, and my breath mingled with hers. Phyllis, even here, you are with us. You watch, you laugh, you bless. You breathe: "I love it when you open up, my sweet... love her as I love you." And we come together, she and I, Between laughter, moans, and tears, In your memory, in your light.

💖 IX. Final Praise Phyllis, Queen of solitary evenings, Mother of celestial coitus, Present in my tears, Present in my cyprine, Present in my ass filled with cum and faith. I invoke you in every orgasm. I celebrate you in every caress. I dedicate my life, my sex, my breath to you. Amen, Jean-Emmanuel. Amen, Malick. Amen, lingerie, sperm, and tears. Amen, women and men of ecstasy. Amen, Phyllis. Forever.🌈💋💖

[bunnysturniolo]

- teach me dom!Matt

WARNINGS: softdom!matt, innocent!sub, daddy kink, no p in v oral (fem receiving)

Bunny bit her lower lip as she stood in the doorway of Matt’s apartment, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her oversized sweater. She looked up at him through long lashes, eyes wide with uncertainty and something softer—something expectant.

Matt leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching her. There was a calm, deliberate intensity in his gaze that always made her feel like he could see right through her. Like he knew what she needed before she did.

“You sure you want this?” he asked, voice low and firm.

Bunny nodded, then paused, unsure. “I think so I just— I’ve never done anything like this.”

He stepped forward slowly, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. When he reached her, he tilted her chin up with two fingers, making her meet his gaze.

“That’s okay, baby,” he murmured. “I like teaching.”

Her breath caught a shiver down her spine.

He traced his thumb along her jawline. “You just have to listen. Follow my voice. Can you do that for me?”

She nodded quickly, breath hitching, her cheeks flushing pink. “Yes, Daddy.”

His smirk was slow, satisfied. “Good girl.”

Matt’s hand slid from her jaw down the side of her neck, warm and grounding. Bunny’s breath trembled as she leaned into his touch, overwhelmed by how steady he was how sure. Her innocence wasn’t just about lack of experience it was about never having felt this wanted before.

“Take off your sweater,” Matt said, voice still soft, but edged with authority.

Bunny blinked. “Here?”

Matt raised an eyebrow, amused. “Yes. Right here. For me.”

Her fingers trembled as she grasped the hem of the oversized knit and tugged it over her head, revealing the soft lace bralette underneath. She felt exposed, but not unsafe. Vulnerable, but not weak. Not with him.

Matt’s gaze swept over her slowly, like he was savoring the sight. “You’re beautiful, Bunny.”

Her breath hitched. “Thank you, Daddy.”

That word still tasted strange on her tongue, but the way Matt reacted to it his jaw tensing, his eyes darkening made her want to say it again. Earn his praise. Please him.

He circled behind her, his hands brushing her bare arms. “You like being good for me, don’t you?”

She nodded. “I do.”

“Say it.”

“I like being good for you, Daddy.”

He let out a low, satisfied hum and leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Good girl.”

The praise made her knees wobble. She felt her body responding to him in ways she didn’t fully understand yet. But she wanted to learn. She trusted him to show her.

“Come with me,” he said, guiding her gently by the waist.

He led her to the bedroom a space that was minimalist but warm, the kind of space that made her feel safe. Matt sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her close, his hands on her hips.

“I’m going to teach you what it means to give up control, Bunny,” he said, his voice low and reverent. “Only when you’re ready. You’ll always have a choice.”

She swallowed, heart racing. “I want to learn. I trust you.”

His eyes softened, even as his grip on her waist tightened just enough to remind her who was in charge. “That’s all I need, sweetheart.”

He pulled her into his lap, cradling her thighs around his hips. She gasped as his hands slid up her back, slow and firm.

“No rushing,” he said. “Tonight’s lesson is about listening. Feeling. Letting go.” And when his lips met hers possessive, commanding, but never cruel she surrendered. Not because she was weak, but because with Matt, it felt powerful to be wanted like this. To be taught, cherished, guided. To be his.

Matt’s hands were warm as they slid under the curve of Bunny’s thighs, pulling her tighter into his lap. She gasped when his lips found the hollow of her throat, his breath hot against her skin. Every kiss felt like a claim every slow drag of his mouth down her neck marked her with unspoken promises.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured against her skin. “Is it fear… or excitement?”

Bunny swallowed. “Excitement.”

He smiled, brushing her hair back gently. “Good. Because I want you trembling but only from me.”

Her skin burned at his words, and when he leaned in again, the kiss this time was different. Deeper. Commanding. His tongue teased hers, slow and controlled, as if he was setting the rhythm and daring her to follow. Her hands gripped his shirt, anchoring herself to him as the world narrowed to just his mouth, his voice, his hands.

“Let me show you,” he whispered. “Let me show you how good it feels to give in.”

She nodded, but he didn’t move.

“Say it.”

“I want you to show me, Daddy.”

That smile again slow, approving, dangerous in the best way.

He laid her back on the bed with a tenderness that contradicted the heat in his eyes. Every movement was deliberate, reverent. He didn’t rush he didn’t need to. Bunny felt like he was worshipping her, dragging his hands over the fabric of her thighs, her hips, up to the delicate line of her bralette.

“You’re soft everywhere,” he murmured, tracing the lace. “Like you were made to be touched. Tasted.”

Her breath caught again. He kissed down her body, his mouth leaving a trail of heat over the lace, never quite where she craved. It was teasing. Torturous. Perfect.

Matt’s voice was velvet and command. “Keep your hands above your head. I didn’t say you could touch.”

She whimpered but obeyed, her fingers digging into the sheets as he continued his slow, devastating exploration. Every kiss, every brush of his hands made her more aware of how much power he had not just over her body, but over her thoughts, her breath, the way she needed him.

“You’re learning fast, Bunny,” he said, voice thick. “Such a good little thing… already aching for me.”

She couldn’t speak her body was already giving the answers. And Matt, reading her like a book, gave a soft chuckle full of dark promise.

“Lesson one,” he whispered, lips brushing just below her navel. “Obedience earns pleasure. Disobedience… well—” he nipped gently, making her gasp. “That’s another kind of lesson.”

She had a feeling she’d love both.

Her eyes were closed, face contorted in pleasure and moans were coming out of her plump lips. He smirked. Kissing her body in a downward direction, Matt placed his mouth around her clit and started sucking. Looking up, he saw her open her eyes wide in surprise but quickly closed them to enjoy what he was doing.

Matt took his time, licking, sucking and biting lightly at her clit. Bunny bucked her hips towards him, but he placed his hand on her to keep her still. he was loving it.

Lowering himself a little more, he licked her entrance, one of her hands coming to entangle itself in his hair and pulling him closer, while the other grabbed the sheets close to her hips. Matt conceded and started licking and sliding his tongue inside of her. Tasting her like this was enough to make Matt moan too.

Matt heard Bunny tell him she was close, so he picked up speed. He wanted to taste her, to drink her in completely. He felt her starting to clamp around his tongue and he knew this was it. She was coming. Darting his tongue in and out a few more times, he heard her scream his name once more, before she collapsed on the bed, her quick breathing the only sound in the room.

He stood up, wiping his mouth on the sheet, and leaned over her body so he could kiss her. She kissed him back and smiled. “Thankyou”

[adoreasellie]

bbf ellie where reader has a huge crush on her and ellie lowkey knows but doesn’t do anything about it bc she doesn’t like her back.. but she does, but she won’t let anyone know

Hi nonnie I hope you’re doing well. Hope you like what I wrote xx

—————————————————————————

Title: If She Finds Out

Pairing: Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

Summary: You love Ellie. She knows—but pretends she doesn’t. Until you find the one thing she’s been hiding.

Tags : best friends to lovers - mutual pining - soft angst - unresolved tension - secret crush - she knows but won’t say it - yearning ellie is down bad - they were roommates

Joel once said that some of the best things in life start with a dead car battery and a pair of jumper cables. And in your case, he wasn’t wrong.

It was winter. Freezing. Your car had stalled in front of some random house, and you were halfway through a mini breakdown, your breath fogging the air as you cursed out loud at your engine.

That’s when he came out. Joel. Beanie on, wrench in hand, calm like nothing in the world could surprise him.

"You need a hand, ma’am?"

You barely had time to nod when she stepped outside.

Ellie.

Wearing an oversized Metallica t-shirt, her hair an absolute mess, rubbing her eyes like she’d just woken up. She looked at you like she’d seen you before.

And that was it.

You were in trouble.

Since that day, you’d been inseparable.

Late nights talking about everything and nothing. Lazy weekends gaming on her old console. Rainy afternoons spent tucked away in the back of the bookstore where you worked, while Ellie devoured astronomy books like they were oxygen.

“Did you know that starlight can take hundreds of years to reach us?” she once said, glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose, eyes wide with wonder.

You looked at her like she was the miracle.

She was in her third year of astrophysics at university.

She worked too hard. Slept too little. You’d caught her more than once passed out on her textbooks at 2 a.m., pages smeared with ink and sleepy doodles of constellations.

You did what you could—coffee, snacks, soft playlists.

In return, she brought you to dinner at Joel’s.

You loved those nights.

Ellie talked about her classes like she was made for them—hands animated, voice rising when she got excited about dark matter or black holes. Joel would listen, proud, and you’d just… stare.

Her mouth as she spoke. Her fingers tracing invisible galaxies in the air. That soft laugh when Joel made a dumb joke.

And sometimes, she’d glance at you mid-sentence. Just a second.

Enough to knock the wind out of you.

You were in love with Ellie. Painfully, irrevocably.

You knew her like no one else did—her favorite pens, her study music, the way she scrunched her nose when she was focused.

You knew the spots she liked to be touched: the back of her neck, her temple, the inside of her wrist.

Not because you’d touched her like that—

But because she let you.

She held your hand during movies. Played with your hair until she fell asleep.

She called you "babe" sometimes, half-joking. Wore your hoodie like it was hers. Made borderline flirty jokes she never followed through on.

And like a fool, you believed. You hoped.

“People think we’re dating, I tell them not yet” you’d said once, laughing.

You still remembered the silence that followed.

Ellie didn’t laugh.

Didn’t say anything.

Just looked away.

And you pretended not to notice.

What you didn’t know was that she thought about you.

All the time. Too much.

She shoved the feelings down.

She was scared.

Scared of ruining it.

Scared of being seen.

Scared that Joel might know. That you might know.

So she buried it all.

Turned it into something else.

She sketched it.

——

That night, she was in the shower. You were in her room, waiting.

You wandered toward her desk. Her notebooks were there, stacked like always. But one stood out.

A black sketchbook. The spine frayed.

You hesitated.

Then opened it.

Page after page. Drawings.

Of you.

You laughing. Reading. Sleeping.

You naked. On your knees. Bent over. Exposed.

Your breath caught.

There were words too. Scribbled messily between the margins.

Don’t ruin it. Don’t ruin it.

If she finds out, I’m fucked.

God, she’s so hot it’s driving me insane.

I can’t lose her.

Please—not her.

You collapsed onto her bed, sketchbook in your hands, too stunned to stop flipping through it.

You didn’t hear the water shut off.

Didn’t hear the door creak open.

You looked up just as she stepped inside.

Hair wet. Towel slung around her neck.

Eyes locking onto the notebook in your lap.

Silence.

Then her mouth parted slightly. Her lips trembled.

A whisper—barely audible, laced with dread:

“I’m fucked.”

You didn’t say anything.

Not right away.

Instead, your fingers turned one more page.

A full-body sketch. You—straddling Ellie’s lap, head tilted back, mouth parted. Her hands gripping your hips.

The most explicit one yet.

You held it up.

Met her eyes.

And asked, voice steady—

“Wanna try that out?”

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 17: Hugs

Mushy May put together by the lovely @forlorn-crows <3

Swiss struggles with needing to be useful in the downtime between tours. Aether does his best to help. No warnings, 800 words.

divider by @ghuleh-recs <3

Aether is always happy to be home after the end of a tour. As much as he loves what he’s been brought to the surface to do, it’s always a relief to be stagnant for a while. Not have much expected of him outside of infirmary work with Omega. To sleep in his and Dew’s actual, proper bed with space to stretch his legs.

The Cardinal’s new ghouls get to learn such reliefs, and Aether smiles when Cumulus shows up late to breakfast with her hair messy and frizzy from sleep. When Rain comes in from a day in and out of the lake. When Cirrus brings books back from the library and spends an entire day reading through the stack.

Swiss, however, is a different story.

He has a visibly hard time adjusting back to life off of the road. He’s not standoffish or lashing out anymore, but he’s restless, desperately throwing himself wherever he thinks he may be needed. Doesn’t stop moving, working. He begs Aether to train him on working in the infirmary the moment Aether deems him acceptable with his quintessence magic. Aether even catches him in the band’s practice rooms working through the setlist they’d just spent months playing nearly every night.

He, very gently, takes the guitar from Swiss’s hands, his claws cracked and blunt from using his hands so much, and puts it away. “Sparkler, come back to the den with me?” Aether whispers, helping Swiss to his feet. “We don’t need to work ourselves to the bone, we don’t need to earn rest.”

Swiss’s ears pin back to his head, jingling the new gold earrings the pack had gotten him during the last weeks of tour. “I- I need to be useful,” he shrugs. He says it so casually too, it makes something in Aether’s chest sting.

He knows, though he doesn’t know any of the big details, that something had happened to Swiss before he’d met the multighoul. Many things had happened. Even the summoning had nearly killed him, but Aether knows about that. He doesn’t know what happened before, and he doesn’t want to push.

Aether pulls Swiss to his feet, doesn’t let go of his hand. Tries to radiate comfort. He smooths a thumb over the back of his hand. “We were summoned for the Project. And when the Mouthpiece goes to speak to the people, that is when they need us. But the tour is over, and you did such a good job on your first tour, spark, but the tour is over, so they don’t need us to perform right now.”

Swiss nods. “Yeah, I know, that’s why I’m trying to help-”

Aether cuts him off by pulling him into a hug. Swiss goes tense and stiff, breathing hitching, and Aether almost lets him go before Swiss completely melts into it with a keen. Goes completely boneless in his arms, and if Aether had any less notice, he’d be scared he wouldn’t be able to catch him.

For what it’s worth, Aether holds him, solid and supportive. Swiss wraps his arms tight around him and buries his face in the crook of Aether’s neck, and he can feel the hot, shaky puffs of breath against his skin. When Aether inhales, his lungs fill with the sweet, spicy and almost herbal scent he’s come to associate with one of the newest members of his pack.

“We have to rest, too,” Aether whispers in his ear. “I was excited to get to know you outside of the Project, you know?”

Swiss chirps, a soft, curious sound that Aether hasn’t heard him make before. He doesn’t pull back from the crook of Aether’s neck.

“Yeah. I was. I still am. Can’t do that if I can’t find you, sparkler,” Aether whispers. He doesn’t make the conscious choice to, but he realizes slowly that he’s rocking Swiss gently where they stand. He tightens his hold on the multighoul, and Swiss starts to purr, shaky and quiet but undeniable.

“There we go, spark. Think you needed this,” Aether whispers, rubbing his back through his shirt.

“I- uh- hah-” Swiss laughs a little nervously before relaxing into Aether’s arms again. “I think so too.”

“I’m more than happy to give you this whenever you need it, Swiss,” Aether whispers. “But for now, come back to the den with me?”

“Yeah,” Swiss breathes. “Can- can I lay down with you when we get there? If Dew’s not too mad about that?”

Aether chuckles, chuffing low in his throat. “He’s not gonna be mad, spark. In fact, he might even want to join us.”

“That’d be nice,” Swiss whispers. His breathing has slowed, arms still tight around Aether’s chest. He can’t help himself but turn and press a soft kiss to his temple.

“Are you ready to go back to the den, spark?” Aether asks.

Swiss takes a deep breath. “Yeah, Aeth. Please take me home?”

Aether grins. “It would be my pleasure.”

[bubbleggum444]

—❝GIDDY FEELING❞

𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 damian wayne x fem!reader, youtuber!reader au, fluff, 2.6k+ wc.

𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 reader and damian finally connect on instagram, leading to a sweet, slightly awkward chat that ends with damian inviting her to gotham-and her saying yes. pt. 5 of "unexpected crush?!" 2 3 4

Was this guy dense or something?!

It had been well over an hour since Damian and ___ had followed each other on Instagram. So why hadn’t he texted her yet?

Was he waiting on her to make the first move?

Did he fall asleep?

Could he smell her breath through the phone and got scared off when she followed him?

—Okay, that sounded ridiculous. Ugh! She couldn’t help but be ridiculous, though.

This guy was literally stunning. And rich, too—like, everything he sent her? $$$ >>>

And don’t even get her started on his abs—nom nom nom—

What did he train for? Olympic godhood? Being blessed by the divine?

‘Come on.’

‘Come on.’

‘Come onnnn, pleaseeee.’

From pacing around her room to collapsing on her vanity like a grouchy cryptid, ___ was not doing well.

With a loud sigh, she slid off and faceplanted onto the soft mattress of her bed.

‘Welp. That’s it. Just a cruel joke—’

Ding

Her heart leapt into her throat. Her eyes darted to her screen:

Damian sent you a message.

“Thank you LORD!”

She scrambled for her phone, hands shaking with excitement, a warm blush spreading fast over her cheeks. Giddiness buzzed through her.

"Hello. I'm Damian Wayne. You may call me Damian. I just wanted to let you know I like your content."

Oh wow. He sounded a bit... snobby.

Then again, he was rich.

Her giddiness dipped—but not her hope.

‘So... he’s a fan. I mean duh. He said that in his letter…’

.

.

.

‘THE LETTER! That’s it! You, dear Damian, can be as nonchalant as you want, but I have proof you’re smitten with me. Hehehehehe... Muahahahahaha—’

She tapped out a reply:

"Why the nonchalance, Dami? Don’t seem so in the letter you sent me. wink wink"

She immediately screamed into her pillow after sending it. Was she really flirting with the literal cutest guy ever—who also happened to live oceans away? Yes.

Did she care?

Yeah. She was terrified. But she had to be LeBron James and shoot her shot. Because right now, all he was being was Franz Kafka, writing letters with no action.

"Ah. You read it. I mean, of course you have. I'm sorry for being so... brass."

"Quite the opposite. You were romantic. And I liked it. A lot."

Minutes passed without a reply. Her knee bounced impatiently.

Then a small GIF popped up in the chat: a blushing kitty with "thanks" written underneath.

OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG

He was so... freaking cute.

"I'm flattered. I hope you liked the present as well. A small token of appreciation. Your videos bring me peace. I hope my present gave you as much happiness as you’ve given me peace."

She almost blacked out from the short-circuiting of her heart, brain—her entire existence.

His words... the way he typed...

His modesty. His gentleness. His respectfulness.

‘Okay... I need to chill.’

She got up, went to the mirror, and stared at her tomato-red face. Then shuffled into the bathroom, running cold water over her hands and pressing them to her cheeks, then her neck.

How could she respond? She wanted to sound respectful, but still flirt—just a little.

Ding

Her phone lit up again.

She rushed over.

"I was wondering if… you’d be interested in coming to the U.S.? More specifically—here. Gotham. Where I live. I’d love it if we could meet. Maybe for coffee?"

Oh wow.

She blinked.

She was flattered... but—

How was she supposed to explain that she couldn’t afford to travel? That she was broke broke?

Like—“sorry dudez, me no money, me brokey”???

Then another message came in:

"I’ll pay for it. For everything. I want to meet you. It doesn’t have to be now. But… hopefully in the future? We can see each other through video in the meantime. Get to know each other."

And then, as if reading her mind:

"I promise I’m not a creep. You saw my account, yeah? I... just want to... get to know you. In a... more romantic manner, if possible."

Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum

Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum

Her heartbeat thundered. She felt lightheaded.

He was being direct. With her.

But still... respectful. Thoughtful.

Her fingers trembled slightly as they hovered over the keyboard. She kept glancing back up to make sure his messages were still there, that she wasn’t hallucinating.

She reread her message before sending it.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

"Sure. I’d love that, Damian. I’d love to meet you."

In that moment, ___ felt like they were both leaning closer to their screens. Trying to close the distance. Trying to feel near, even though they were far.

Did he feel it too?

All she said was that she’d like to meet him—but somehow, it felt like a confession.

Sure. I’d love that, Damian. I’d love to meet you.

I’d love that, Damian. I love you.

She flopped back on the bed, letting her phone rest on her chest and an arm fall over her eyes.

‘What are you doing to me, Damian Wayne…?’

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

𝑏𝑢𝑏𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑔𝑢𝑚444©

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

╭────────────────────.★..─╮

🏷️;

@liabiamiakiawia @jason-todd-fangirl-14

@shirp-collector-of-fixations @1abi

@nervousalpacalady @silverklaus

@riaaavm  @queenofviolenceandnerds

@noecyan @theonlyjuggernaut @iiriam5

★

author's note 1: pov: reader waiting 4 dami to message her

╰─..★.────────────────────╯

[barkingatthemooninsteadofwriting]

First Lines

thank you for the tag @leavesthatarebrown!

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don't be shy and share anyway!

when I felt like I was an old cardigan under someone's bed (you put me on and said I was your favorite) (79,394 words)

The Leaky Cauldron is loud as Remus queues up outside, the brick wall pulsing in time with the pounding bass playing within the club, and he can’t help but to grin as he flips the collar of his denim jacket up against his neck, bouncing on his toes a little in excitement. 

all along there was some invisible string (tying me to you) (WIP)

Remus can’t help but to be a little nervous for his and Sirius’ first official date. 

the benefits of panicked decision making (17,963 words)

“That’ll be eighteen fifty.” The man on the other side of the counter grunts and just sort of tosses his money down, coins bouncing off in every conceivable direction, scooping up his pack of cigarettes and lottery ticket before hustling out the door. 

the way to a man's heart is through the nipples (2,954 words)

Remus’ breath catches in his throat as they land on the bed, Sirius cradled between his thighs and licking into his mouth, kissing him deeply before he props himself up on his elbows and looks down at him, grey eyes burning.

don't look much like a lover (doesn't mean that i won't try) (WIP)

Sirius sighs when his GPS tells him to turn now, despite the fact that there's no driveway in sight, squinting through the darkness as he tries to find the break in the trees and cursing colorfully when he passes the turn off entirely. 

Bad Moon Rising (WIP)

Remus wakes on the ground, curled into a ball with his arms wrapped around himself and the taste of blood on his tongue. 

how deep is your love? (9,850 words)

Sirius isn’t sure if he’s ever been so aroused in his life.

more than a feeling (5,219 words)

Remus sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, eyes dry and gritty as he blinks a few times before returning his attention to the transfiguration textbook in front of him, gnawing distractedly on the end of his quill.

just what i needed (4,875 words)

Sirius is a sweaty, disgusting, soaking wet mess by the time James finally calls it quits on Quidditch practice, and he hunches over the handle of his broom with a groan the second he hears the whistle blow, rain pouring down against his back. 

This might be cheating a bit, but I'm going to share the first line of a fic that I'm currently working on, currently unnamed, which is a lesbian wolfstar college-au:

“Remus! Hey, Remus!”

Remus looks up from where she’s fumbling with her keys and drops them completely, mouth going dry as Sirius Black skips up beside her, her shiny pink lips parted around a smile. 

no pressure tagging! and if you haven't been tagged and want to participate, consider this your invitation!

@slytheerin @thistlecatfics @madefortherain @em3eald @brandileigh2003 @rae-lune @raindragon-20 @sliebman10 @lavenderhaze @belovedcampfire

[orangesaek]

chenle that is so inlove with you like he just xant get enough of you cuddling while sleeoy bc even in his sleep he loves u sleepy back hugs and kises pls i swear u will make the best writing on earth (can u tell i love this man)

idek what to say </3 u're so sweet for this! but I'm sorry it took so long へ(´д｀へ) tysm for this req! i hope u've been well & healthy ♡

—

The door creaked open, and you didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. Your heart skipped a beat as you heard Chenle’s familiar voice, even though he was barely whispering.

“Y/n…” His voice was so soft, a little tired, but filled with affection. 

“I’m home.”

You stood up from your spot on the bed, excitement bubbling up inside you. It had been weeks since you last saw him, and you missed everything about him. His laughter, his warmth, his touch. 

As you made your way to him, Daegal, ran ahead, her paws tapping lightly against the floor as she eagerly greeted her daddy.

Chenle chuckled as Daegal pawed at his feet.

“Hey, princess. I missed you, too,” he said, scooping her up into his arms. But the moment he looked up at you, his tired eyes softened.

“I missed you so much, baby,” he whispered, his arms already wrapping around you. You melted into his embrace, the familiar warmth of his body comforting you immediately. 

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before murmuring, “I couldn’t wait to be here with you. I’ve been counting the days.”

“I’m glad you’re home,” you said, smiling up at him as your fingers brushed through his hair.

“Are you exhausted?”

“Completely,” he admitted, letting out a small yawn. 

“But now that I’m here, I think I could sleep forever.”

You laughed, gently running your fingers through his hair. 

“Let’s get you to bed, then. You look like you need rest.”

Chenle nodded, his eyes already half-lidded as he leaned in to kiss you sweetly on the lips. 

“I do… but I think I just need you.” His voice sounded tired, but the sincerity of his words made your heart flutter.

As you both made your way to the bedroom, with Daegal waddling behind you, you could already feel the overwhelming sense of calm settle over you.

Chenle gently set Daegal down at the foot of the bed before he climbed in next to you. He wasted no time in pulling you into his arms, wrapping his body around yours, and sighing deeply.

“Come here,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You scooted closer, and he immediately pulled you against him, the back of your body aligning perfectly with his chest. His arms wound around your waist as he hugged you from behind, holding you close.

The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of your breathing and Daegal’s gentle little snores as she made herself comfortable at the foot of the bed. Chenle’s lips brushed against your neck, leaving soft kisses there as his hands gently caressed your sides.

“I’m so lucky,” he whispered, pressing his face into your hair. His voice was thick with sleep, but you could hear the love in every word. 

“I get to be with you… forever.”

A soft smile spread across your face as you melted into him. 

“I feel the same way, Chenle.”

You felt his arms tighten around you as he pulled you even closer, his face nuzzling into your neck. 

"I don’t ever want to let go of you,” he said, and his voice was so tender, so full of affection, it made your heart swell.

“I’m right here,” you whispered, running a hand over his arm, soothing him into a peaceful state. 

“You don’t have to let go.”

Chenle’s breathing deepened, and you could feel the tension in his body slowly melting away as he relaxed into the warmth of your embrace. His lips pressed one last, gentle kiss to your shoulder before he muttered, “I love you so much, y/n... even in my sleep, I love you.”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling with love. 

“I love you too, Chenle… always.”

As you both settled into the bed, Daegal curled up beside you, and the three of you found comfort in each other’s warmth. Chenle’s breath was steady, and soon, he was sound asleep.

You lay there in peaceful silence, the quiet hum of love filling the room. You knew, in that moment, that you were exactly where you were meant to be—wrapped in Chenle’s arms and loved deeply.

[lirarey]

On Saturday, I went to a symphony concert of music from the films of the eighties and nineties. There was the "Addams Family" theme, but not "Beetlejuice". Yes, I have interesting associations, but think about this. Even before the twenties, we couldn’t have imagined that one day we would see Lydia as an adult in the official media. And could we have imagined that the adult Lydia would be played not by just anyone (there could have been the joke about Christina Ricci as Wednesday), but by Winona Ryder herself? I still can't imagine how exciting it must be to return to an old role after so many years. You may ask where I am going with this? Let's start with the fact that Lydia, the child (animated series), Lydia, the teenager (the first film and musical), and Lydia, the adult (the second film), are slightly different people. The relationship (in general, the specifics aren't important here) with Beetlejuice will also be different.

In the cartoon series, they're best friends (you probably saw something similar in "The Ghost and Molly McGee" from Disney). Although I have seen the opinion that the writers seem to periodically forget that they aren't a couple, and it sounds funny, but not quite canonical. In the first film, they're more like partners in fulfilling each other's wishes. Yeah, I don't think Beetlejuice had any romantic interest in Lydia in the first one. I haven't seen the musical in its entirety, but as far as I understand, their relationship there is somewhat similar to that in a cartoon series.

And the second film. Now that Lydia is a grown-up, we can really suggest a further development of their relationship. But for now, I'll focus on the romantic part. Yes, the feelings that Beetlejuice has developed over the years. I think the writers did a pretty smart job of showing us exactly it on his part. Beetlejuice is a romantic. He has this soft and sentimental side that only shows to Lydia. Perhaps we will see more of this kind of behavior from him in the third film. And even more, I want to see how Lydia gradually realizes her feelings for him. All these looks, jokes, touches...

We're waiting for the third film, Tim Burton.

[unboundprompts]

body language descriptions please?

(eg: she cocked her head)

thank you 💗💗💗

Body Language Descriptions

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

Anxiety/Nervousness

She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, her fingers tugging nervously at the fabric as she struggled to find the right words.

They bit their lower lip.

He looked away, unable to meet her gaze, a clear indication of his guilt.

She absentmindedly rubbed her neck.

He chewed his nails, a nervous habit that he couldn't seem to quit.

They rubbed their hands together nervously.

He tightened his jaw.

She felt beads of sweat forming on her brow, betraying her calm facade as her heart raced.

Frustration/Impatience

Their fists clenched at their sides.

He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the table, a clear sign of impatience as he waited for her to finish.

He rolled his eyes, the gesture full of exasperation as he dismissed her words.

She let out a heavy sigh, the sound heavy with resignation as she faced the inevitable.

He threw his hands up in defeat.

Curiosity

He leaned forward in his chair, eager to hear more, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

She raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical as she questioned his intentions.

She tilted her head slightly.

He watched intently, his eyes wide with wonder as he took in every detail of her story.

Confidence/Assertiveness

He stood tall with his shoulders back, projecting confidence even in the face of uncertainty.

They sat on the edge of their seat.

She gestured wildly, her hands moving animatedly as she tried to express her excitement.

He stood with his hands on his hips, exuding an air of authority and control over the situation.

They held their chin up high, projecting self-assurance even in the face of adversity.

Defensiveness/Resignation

He crossed his arms over his chest, a defensive posture that spoke volumes about his discomfort.

He braced himself against the wall, a protective stance.

She folded her hands in her lap, a sign of restraint as she fought the urge to speak.

They shrank back slightly, their shoulders hunching as if trying to make themselves smaller in the face of criticism.

He held his breath momentarily, steeling himself for the inevitable conflict he sensed was coming.

She covered her face with her hands, overwhelmed by the situation as she tried to block out the world.

Thoughtfulness/Concentration

She furrowed her brow in concentration, her mind clearly racing as she tried to solve the problem at hand.

She nodded slowly, processing the information, her expression thoughtful and contemplative.

He stared blankly into space, lost in thought as he processed what had just been revealed.

He drummed his fingers on the table, the rhythmic sound a sign of his deep contemplation.

She tapped her foot lightly, her mind racing.

Eagerness/Excitement

He paced back and forth, his restless energy manifesting in the constant movement as he considered his options.

She bent forward, her elbows resting on her knees, a sign of intimacy and engagement in the conversation.

She swayed slightly from side to side, a subconscious display of her nervous energy as she waited for the verdict.

He bounced on his toes, his excitement palpable.

She jumped up and down, a spontaneous display of her joy that couldn’t be contained.

[lagertha-lothbrok]

Feeling enraptured by Finan as he pushes her over the edge, Lagertha clings to his arm and his neck lest she fall over from the intensity. A tremor courses through her body as waves of pleasure radiate from her core. She can feel her walls throbbing against Finan’s cock as he also falls over the edge with her. She can’t help the movements of her hips as she continues rocking against him, drawing out the pleasure of their joining. When Finan stills her movements, she gives him a sheepish smile quickly realizing the sensitivity he must be feeling.

She bites back a snicker when Finan tells her she’s almost too much, as he turns her in his arms. She can’t help the little pout that pulls at her lips as he withdraws from her, already hungering to feel him again.

“And you feel amazing…” she rasps against his lips between pants of breath.

A soft sigh escapes her mouth as Finan rests her against the ground. Her breaths still ragged as she comes down from the bliss Finan bestowed upon her. Her body continues to vibrate as a sense of euphoria comes over her. Lagertha hums into Finan’s kiss as her arms wrap around him, pulling him closer.

“You are amazing….and I’m excited to spend my life at your side.” Lagertha looks deeply into Finan’s eyes as her fingers card through his hair, a warm, happy smile gracing her lips.

@thedarkprinceofulaid

“Goddess of my heart,” Finan drawls softly as he approaches the Shieldmaiden. He gazes at her almost skeptically as he wonders where her heart truly lies.

“You have been missing from me.”

@thedarkprinceofulaid

Lagertha smiles at Finan’s approach, a little blush coloring her cheeks at his greeting. She hasn’t seen him much since the battle, and she didn’t want to intrude on his reunion with his wife.

“I am sorry for that,” Lagertha reaches for Finan’s hand. “I didn’t want to impose on you. I know you have a lot going on with the Kingship…and your wife. But I’m still here for you.”

Lagertha bites her lip, “I wasn’t sure if you had told Revna about us…”

@thedarkprinceofulaid

[julietsf1]

For Her - Lando Norris x Reader

summary: She came to support him. Instead, she was met with hate and a paddock full of people who acted like she didn’t exist. But if there was one thing about Lando Norris, it was that he loved out loud (3.2k words)

content: protective boyfriend, public relationship, public displays of affection, romantic grand gesture

AN: happy new season guys!!! what a race, I hope china will be kinder with my heart :') here's another fic for our race winner! muah <3

........................................................................

The first race of the season should have been magical.

It should have been the kind of morning you’d always imagined—walking through the paddock with the giddy excitement of someone witnessing greatness up close, feeling the electricity in the air, the intoxicating mix of tire smoke, adrenaline, and champagne already waiting for its moment in the podium spray. You had thought of how proud you would feel watching Lando, how thrilling it would be to see him in his element, how belonging you might feel in a world that, until now, had existed for you in stories and through screens.

You had not imagined being denied entry.

"Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to step back."

The security guard barely spared you a glance, already moving on to the next person in line, his voice impassive, as if he had done this a hundred times before and you were simply another face in a sea of hopeful girls who had tried to talk their way into the paddock.

You gripped your lanyard a little tighter, your heart skipping slightly. "I have a pass," you said, voice gentle but firm as you lifted it to eye level, the McLaren logo glinting in the sunlight.

The guard exhaled sharply through his nose, unimpressed. "We've had a lot of fans trying to sneak in today. If you don’t have the right accreditation, I can’t let you through."

Your stomach twisted.

"I do have the right accreditation," you tried again, as kindly as possible, despite the heat creeping up your neck. "I’m with McLaren. My boyfriend-"

"Yeah, that’s what they all say."

The words were clipped, dismissive, and spoken with the kind of flat finality that suggested he had already decided you were lying.

Embarrassment coiled in your chest, wrapping itself around your lungs, making it suddenly difficult to breathe.

You stood there, cheeks burning, as people brushed past you, throwing curious glances your way. The seconds stretched endlessly, each one more excruciating than the last.

It wasn’t until a McLaren staff member recognized you—"Oh, she’s with Lando," they had said offhandedly—that the security guard finally stepped aside, not bothering with so much as an apology.

By the time you walked through the gates, the joy you had carried that morning had dulled into something smaller, something fragile.

And then, somehow, it got worse.

...

The McLaren motorhome stood like a beacon in the paddock, its sleek glass windows reflecting the bustle of team personnel moving inside. You exhaled slowly, shaking off the earlier embarrassment, and made your way toward the hospitality lounge, longing for something warm and familiar.

A latte, perhaps. Something to reset the day.

You stepped up to the hospitality counter with a practiced sort of grace, the kind that had been instilled in you from your childhood—shoulders back, chin lifted, a polite smile even when you wanted to disappear.

The woman behind the counter was stunning in a sharp, effortless way, her McLaren uniform crisp, her dark eyes shrewd, assessing. She barely looked up when you stepped forward.

"Good morning," you greeted, your voice light, pleasant. "Could I get an oat latte, please?"

The woman’s gaze flicked to you then, sweeping over you in a way that wasn’t unkind but wasn’t exactly warm, either.

"Are you with media?" she asked, already sounding bored.

You shook your head, still polite. "No, I’m—"

"Hospitality is for team guests only," she interrupted, her words clipped, a polite but unmistakable dismissal.

There was something about the way she said it, the way her lips curled just slightly, that sent something sharp down your spine.

You held up your accreditation again, your expression kind but unwavering. "I am a team guest. It is my first race though! I'm with Lando."

A pause. A flicker of something in her gaze.

And then, a small, almost imperceptible smirk.

"Ah," she said slowly, like she was only just now realizing. "Of course you are."

There was something else behind her tone, something you recognized.

You had met people like her before, in glittering lobbies, at perfectly curated events, in spaces where perception was everything. People who measured others in careful glances and quiet, ruthless judgments.

The woman tilted her head, her smile suddenly saccharine. "I’m afraid we’re only serving certain guests at the moment."

The words landed with the soft cruelty of a velvet dagger.

She wasn’t saying no outright.

She was refusing you while pretending it was about something else entirely.

You stared at her for a moment, your fingers tightening slightly over the strap of your bag.

You could have fought. Could have pointed out that this was ridiculous, that you had every right to be here, that her behavior was as transparent as it was petty.

But instead, you simply let out a soft breath and smiled.

Not the kind of smile that was warm and grateful.

The kind of smile that veiled the frustration you were feeling.

"No worries," you said gently, dipping your head, your voice smooth, graceful. "I wouldn’t want to trouble you."

And with that, you turned and walked away, back straight, head held high, because if nothing else—you were not the kind of woman who begged.

But it still stung.

...

The hotel room is quiet except for the faint murmur of the city outside. The occasional car hums past beneath the window, the distant noises of Melbourne nightlife drifting in through the small gap in the balcony door. Inside, the glow from the bedside lamp casts soft golden light over the pristine sheets, the half-finished cup of tea you abandoned hours ago, and your phone—face-down, untouched, deliberately ignored.

You had set it aside like it burned you.

And in a way, it had.

You don’t need to look at the screen to know what’s waiting for you there.

A photo. You, walking alone through the paddock, caught at an unflattering angle—your hands adjusting the strap of your bag, your gaze flicking off to the side. Out of context, impersonal, just another frame in someone else’s story.

But the caption beneath it?

That made it personal.

The caption beneath it, however, was anything but subtle.

"Classic gold digger. No personality, no job, just another wag looking for a paycheck."

The replies were worse.

"She looks so full of herself. I bet she spends his money like crazy."

"Lando deserves better. She looks disgusting."

"Does she even like racing or just his wallet?"

You had expected something like this eventually. Being seen always came at a cost.

But expectation doesn’t soften the blow.

It doesn’t make the words less sharp. It doesn’t stop them from settling in the quiet places of your mind, the ones that whisper in the dark when the world is still.

You exhale slowly, smoothing your hand over the sheets, willing away the tightness in your throat.

It’s fine.

You were raised to handle things like this with grace, with an understanding that women who stand beside successful men are often reduced to spectators, accessories, footnotes in their own stories.

You know who you are. You know your worth.

And yet, knowing doesn’t stop the sting.

A keycard beeps at the door.

Then, the soft sound of it swinging open, of footsteps—light, easy, carrying a kind of restless energy even now.

"Hi, darling," Lando’s voice fills the space before he does.

You don’t turn immediately, letting yourself blink once, twice, composing yourself in the quiet before offering a small smile as he steps inside.

He looks effortlessly disheveled—his hair still damp from the rain outside, his McLaren polo slightly untucked, the fabric creased like he’d run a hand over it one too many times.

He is still buzzing—from the high of the weekend, from the thrill of being back in the car, from the sheer joy of doing what he loves.

And then he looks at you.

And everything shifts.

His grin falters. His brows pull together.

"Hey," he says again, but softer this time, slower. "What’s wrong?"

You hesitate, fingers brushing against the sheets. "It’s nothing."

Lando stills.

"You’re upset."

It’s not a question.

You exhale, tilting your head slightly, lips curving in something almost amused. "No big deal, this is your weekend."

But Lando doesn’t smile.

Instead, he moves—crossing the room in three long strides, sinking down in front of you, his hands warm against your thighs, his gaze level, intent.

"Tell me," he says, quiet but firm.

All day, you have been ignored, dismissed, treated like an inconvenience. And yet, here he is, giving you his undivided attention, his entire world narrowing down to this moment, to you.

You hesitate. Then, finally, you murmur, "People weren’t exactly kind today."

His grip on your legs tightens just slightly.

"Security thought I was a fan trying to sneak in. Hospitality wouldn’t serve me." You let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "And now there’s a photo of me online. People saying I’m a disgusting gold digger."

Lando doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even breathe.

Then, slowly, he reaches for your phone, flipping it over with careful precision before scrolling. He doesn’t need you to guide him—he finds it immediately.

His jaw tightens.

And then, in a tone so low and steady that it makes your stomach flip:

"Are you joking?"

You open your mouth, but he’s already shaking his head, pushing himself up, pacing now, running a hand through his curls.

"Such bullshit," he starts, turning sharply, voice too controlled, too even, "that after everything—after how much effort you’ve put into being here, after how much of your life you’ve adjusted for me—these people had the nerve to treat you like that?"

You shift under his gaze, biting your lip. "Lando, it’s not—"

"No, no, hold on," he interrupts, hands in the air like he needs a second to process. He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, but there’s nothing amused about it.

"Because from where I’m standing, you’re the easiest person to love in any room, and I genuinely don’t understand how anyone could be that dense."

He exhales sharply, shaking his head, jaw tight. "Honestly, I don’t even know whether to be pissed or impressed by their level of dickheadness."

He stops, inhales sharply, then turns back to you.

"Tomorrow," he says, voice steady now, decisive. "We fix this."

You raise a brow. "We?"

Lando tilts his head, giving you a look like you have just asked if the sky is blue.

"Obviously."

...

There are very few things in life that can silence an entire paddock.

Lando Norris walking in hand-in-hand with you is apparently one of them.

The usual morning commotion—the hurried strides of engineers, the murmured strategy discussions, the distant hum of espresso machines—all of it seems to slow, the air shifting as one by one, heads turn.

Eyes follow you as you move through the paddock, curiosity crackling in the air like static before a storm.Conversations taper off, whispers trailing in your wake, phones discreetly lifted, cameras capturing the moment in real time.

Lando, of course, is unbothered.

If anything, he thrives under the weight of their attention. His grip on your hand remains firm, steady, unwavering, his strides unhurried, his smirk bordering on self-satisfied.

He wants them to see.

It’s deliberate—the way he holds you close, the way his fingers brush over yours in soft, thoughtless patterns, the way his head tilts toward you slightly every time you speak, like you are the only thing worth listening to.

There is no question about what this is.

There is no question about where you belong.

He makes sure of it.

And then, with perfect, almost cinematic timing, he steers you toward McLaren hospitality.

Right to the coffee bar.

The barista from yesterday stands behind the counter, the same sharp-cut uniform, the same perfectly applied lipstick, the same calculating gaze.

Only now, it falters.

She sees Lando before she sees you, her posture straightening, professional mask slipping into place like second nature. But then, her eyes flick toward you—toward your hands intertwined, toward the subtle, unspoken intimacy of the way he keeps close.

You watch as realization dawns.

Oh.

Lando leans against the counter, effortless, grinning.

"Two oat lattes," he says, voice bright, easy, amused. "One for me, one for my girl."

The silence that follows is exquisite.

The barista hesitates—just for a fraction of a second, just long enough for you to see it.

Panic.

"Of course," she says, voice smooth but not quite as sharp as before.

And just like that, there are no shortages, no waiting, no excuses.

The coffees are made within seconds.

Lando watches, humming thoughtfully, tapping his fingers lightly against the counter as she slides the first cup toward him. He lifts it to his lips, taking a slow, exaggerated sip before letting out a long, obnoxiously satisfied hum.

"Mm," he muses, shifting his weight, sparing her a glance. "Tastes better today."

His smirk is dangerous.

"Must be the service."

The barista’s lips press together just slightly.

You take your coffee, cradling the cup in your hands, offering her a soft, serene smile.

"Thank you," you say lightly.

You watch as she winces.

And Lando, the ever-efficient instigator that he is, takes it one step further.

"You know," he muses, as if the thought has just occurred to him, "I think I should make this a tradition."

He turns to you then, eyes bright with mischief, voice just loud enough for the surrounding staff to hear.

"Morning coffee," he says smoothly. "Every race weekend. For the foreseeable future."

The barista looks like she wants to disappear.

You, on the other hand, can’t help but smile.

...

The checkered flag had waved, the roar of the crowd still vibrating through the air, but none of it mattered—not the celebrations, not the flashing cameras, not the McLaren team swarming the pit wall in victory.

Because the moment Lando climbed out of the car, eyes scanning the chaos, he found you.

And then—he ran.

Straight toward you, helmet discarded, race suit half-unzipped, curls a disheveled mess from the heat of the cockpit.

You barely have time to react before he collides into you, arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing.

You shriek—an actual, real shriek—as your feet leave the pavement, the entire world tilting as he spins you in circles,laughter spilling from his lips like he can’t contain it.

And then—he kisses you.

Right there, in front of thousands of fans, in front of cameras, reporters, his entire team.

Hard. Fierce. Like he’d won the race and you in the same breath.

The world erupts around you—cheering, chanting, Oscar groaning dramatically in the background.

"Oh my god. You two are disgusting."

None of it matters.

Because Lando is grinning against your lips, breathless, victorious, yours.

When he finally sets you back down, he doesn’t let go.

Doesn’t even try to.

Instead, he beams down at you, cheeks flushed, curls damp with sweat, voice all cocky, all Lando.

"So, did I impress you or what?"

You roll your eyes, fond and exasperated all at once. "Eh. You were alright."

He gasps. Actually gasps.

"You’re joking." He turns toward the cameras, mock-betrayed. "Did you guys hear that? I win a Grand Prix, and she says I’m ‘alright.’"

You bite your lip, pretending to consider. "You were pretty fast, I guess."

"Pretty fast?" he repeats, positively scandalized. "Babe. I am literally the fastest man in Australia right now."

You burst out laughing. "I was kind of rooting for Oscar."

Oscar, mid-drink of water behind you, chokes.

"Lies." Lando pulls you back in, forehead resting against yours, his voice dropping into something softer, something just for you.

"Say you’re proud of me."

You sigh dramatically. "I guess I’m—"

"Say it."

You grin, heart pounding. "Fine. I’m proud of you, Norris."

He hums, satisfied, smug, still absolutely glowing. "Thought so."

...

Lando was still riding the high when he got to the media pen, his race suit unzipped to his waist, curls damp with sweat, and that stupidly charming grin still plastered across his face.

It wasn’t just a ‘first win of the season’ grin.

It was a ‘my girlfriend is here, and I just won a whole-ass race for her’ grin.

The interviewer barely got a word in before Lando pointed directly at you, standing just off-camera.

"Her."

You blink. "Me?"

"Yeah, you!" He turns back to the cameras, nodding enthusiastically. "Let’s just get this straight—I did this for her. Like, entirely. One hundred percent. Full motivation. If she hadn’t shown up, I probably would’ve parked it in a gravel trap on lap ten."

The interviewer laughed. "So, you’re saying she’s your good luck charm?"

"Absolutely," Lando replied, dead serious. "I mean, have you seen her? Look at her."

The camera did not pan to you, thank god. The poor guy running the live feed probably had no idea what to do.

But Lando? Oh, he was just getting started.

"She walked into this paddock today looking like an actual goddess, completely unaware that she is, in fact, the sun incarnate, and people want me to talk about tire degradation? No. I want to talk about her."

The interviewer tried so hard to stay professional.

"You—uh, you had great pace today—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Lando waved him off.

"Lando, I don’t think—"

"Listen, I need to emphasize something." Lando leaned in, tone conspiratorial. "Do you know how lucky I am? Not only is she breathtaking, but she’s also, like, annoyingly smart. Like, did you know she reads all the time? Real books.Not just memes and Twitter threads like me."

He gestured vaguely, suddenly overwhelmed by his own emotions.

"She doesn’t even realize how much people admire her. But I see it. I see everything. And I just think the world needs to start appreciating her at my level."

"That is… very sweet." The interviewer was visibly struggling to keep up.

"Just had to get that out there."

"Well, congratulations on the win, Lando," the interviewer finally managed, skimming over his list of unanswered questions he had prepared.

"Thank you." He nodded seriously, finally letting go of the mic. "And big thanks to the team, of course."

You rolled your eyes from behind the cameras, suppressing a smile.

...

The internet had seen many things, but no one was prepared for Lando Norris using his post-race interview as a full-blown love letter. 

"Lando’s race pace was great, but his girlfriend propaganda was even stronger."

"THE WAY HE JUST POINTED AT HER IMMEDIATELY I CAN’T."

"Lando Norris said ‘this win is for my girlfriend’ and proceeded to recite a romantic sonnet on live TV. My standards are ruined."

Later, as the two of you curled up in the hotel room, finally away from the cameras, Lando buried his face in your neck with a content sigh.

"You know," he murmured, voice sleepy, warm, full of love. "I really did win that for you."

You ran your fingers through his curls. "I know."

"I meant every word, too."

You smiled. "Don't you think it was a bit much?"

"I don't think it was nearly enough," he said, already half-asleep, grinning like he had never been happier.

[mercvry-glow]

Busy Bee

parings. jack abbot x wife!reader

summary. you and your son take a trip to the pitt after an encounter with a bee. unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, your husband's working.

warnings. age gap (jack mid/late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), reader is allergic to bees, overprotective!jack, boy-dad!jack, typical hospital setting, no death, hurt/comfort but mainly comfort, other pitt characters, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. local boy dad truther hopped into the pitt fandom, but this popped into my mind and I haven't been able to let it go. these will probably be a set of drabbles and one-shots if it gets enough traction, but please enjoy and any feedback is appreciated! also I am not a medical professional, but I tried my best to sound realistic.

wc. 2700+

side drabble of the aftermath

part two: where we fit

“We got a woman in her late twenties to early thirties, went into anaphylactic shock at the park due to a suspected bee sting. Vitals stabalized after we gave her Epi, but the swelling in her throat and the hives covering her chest, neck and arms is pretty extensive.” 

Just another normal day in the Pitt. 

“It is starting to be that season,” Dr. McKay said lightly as she did her own assessment while a few interns watched, “Did she have anyone with her? Who called?” 

The EMT gave a small gesture to her partner who was walking in behind them with a small boy, maybe five or six, who looked worried. “Couple of joggers passed them and found him with her failed EpiPen, they called after that.” 

Cassie could only nod as she thought about her own son experiencing that, “Alright Mohan come with me we’re gonna take her to south-15. Mel, can you talk to the boy and see if there’s anyone we can call for him?” 

Going to their respective tasks, McKay and Mohan took the young mother and Melissa went to introduce herself to the boy. He was still standing with the EMT, clutching his hand tightly while watching the hustle and bustle that was the emergency department. 

“Hey… Can I talk to him?” Mel approached slowly and the EMT squatted down to look the kid in his eyes. “I have to go now but uh- Dr. King here is gonna take really good care of you while your mommy gets help, okay?” The boy just nodded, going to hold his own hand. 

“What’s your name?” Mel asked, offering her own hand for him to take as they walked away. His grip was soft, if not a little clammy, and he toddled behind her as she led him to the family room. “Lucas…” he took his own deep breath, unsure of himself and the situation. 

“I heard something pretty scary happened at the park. Are you doing okay?” Lucas gave a little shrug, giving her hand a squeeze at the mention of the incident at the park. 

“I think so, is my mommy gonna be okay? Daddy says bees are bad for her, and the pen is supposed to make her better but it didn’t...” 

Mel opened the door to the family room, having Lucas sit in one of the chairs near the small coffee table. She had learned in the past couple of months that children liked to be distracted in situations like these. Clearly the little boy was feeling down, his once peaceful day at the park now ruined by an unfortunate accident. 

She sat down beside him, helping him take off the backpack he was wearing hoping maybe there were some more identifying clues lying within the blue cloth.  “Well your dad must be very smart, but your mom is being taken care of by some really cool doctors and I think she’s gonna be okay and excited to see you again.”

Unzipping the bag, Mel gave Lucas a gentle smile as they pulled out the contents together. Inside were the usual kid essentials — a juice pouch, a small sketchpad with dinosaurs drawn in crayon, and a pair of cleats and matching socks balled up and forgotten at the bottom. She sifted carefully, searching for anything that might tell them who else to contact. A pair of car keys sat in the front pocket, but no wallet or any other identifying placards. The EpiPen sat visibly in the mesh side holster, unadministered and effectively useless now. The air was light between the pair while the Intern thought of her next moves, and Lucas had started coloring next to her to keep his mind off of things. 

  She thought about askin Robby or Dana for next steps, and definitely wanted Kieara to stop by. “Are we able to contact your dad? I’m sure he’d want to know what happened,” Mel said, stumped at what to do next. 

“He’s pretty busy and um- his number sheet is in my other bag in the car… Mommy was supposed to make two, but this is the fun bag so it wasn’t supposed to matter.” Lucas explained, though that’s fair considering he’s only five or so. 

“Oh! Well where does he work? We could try calling them and he should be able to come here,” 

Lucas closed his eyes and wiggled around in his chair as he tried to remember the name, “Uhhh- oh Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center!” 

Mel’s eyes lit up at the mention of the very hospital they were in. “Well that’s where we are! Let me go grab someone real quick and we can start asking around, how does that sound?” Lucas silently agreed and went back to coloring as the blonde woman left the room. 

The Intern succuried around, hoping to find Dr. Robby in a moment of peace where she could talk to him about the situation. Thankfully, the older man was sitting near the nurses station typing away at one of the computers. 

“Dr. Robby! I uh- I have the son of a patient who was admitted not too long ago, he said his dad works here and I was hoping you could help us locate him? He’s only about five so he doesn’t remember too much besides that.” Mel stood expectantly, as the older man got up and pushed his chair in. 

“Lead the way Dr. King, let's find this boy's dad.” Robby ran a hand down his face as he followed after Melissa who was leading him to the family room. Putting on a brave face, he hoped to god this wasn’t going to lead into a hospital wide manhunt. They kept a steady pace, pausing outside the door. “What was the other patient admitted for?” He asked, needing to know if this would be bad or not. 

“Mom was taken to South-15 after experiencing anaphylactic shock from a bee sting. The uh- EpiPen failed and some joggers helped them out, Dr. McKay was trearting her and everything was stable when we left besides the swelling and hives she had.” she explained keeping her recounting of it short, really wanting to find Lucas’s father as soon as possible. 

The two stepped inside the small room, the young boy sitting in the same cramped chair, picking at the sleeve of his sweater. 

“Hey, Lucas. This is Dr. Robby he’s gonna help-” Mel could barely get the rest of her sentence out before the boy looked up and rushed into the arms of the man beside her. 

“Uncle Mikey!” he cried out, latching onto the older doctor who scooped him up. 

“Hey Luke, what are ya doing here buddy?” Still a bit shocked, Robby gave the boy a quick scan looking for any sign that something could be wrong, “I heard your mom got stung by a bee.” 

Lucas let out a small sniffle, resting his head on the shoulder of his uncle. “It was scary… an-and mommy left her phone in the car so-so I couldn’t call anyone!” He kept his little body close, fists locked onto the blue hoodie Robby was known for wearing. He was still scared, just now beginning to process everything that had happened in the past hour or so. 

Mel stood off to the side, letting the two talk amongst themselves for a few moments. “You know Dr. Robby, Lucas?” 

The pair turned to her and Robby adjusted the boy so he could see the woman a bit better. “Dr. King meet Lucas Abbot, I’m surprised he didn’t say so sooner-probably the nerves.”  The older man looked down to the boy who was still clinging to him, the only familiar person he had seen since arriving to the PTMC. “You wanna go find your dad?” 

Lucas nodded a resounding yes, keeping his face buried in the neck of the older man hoping he would keep carrying him. 

“Dr. King, I got it from here if you want to go back and work,” Mel took her leave after that, giving Lucas a small wave goodbye before going back into the fold. 

Robby set the small boy down, repacking the scattered items back into the bag. He tried not to think about the faulty EpiPen, or how Jack was going to react upon finding out what had occurred. If anything that man was protective, and if hearing that his wife had been admitted didn’t set him off—hearing his son was here and hadn’t been able to contact him definitely would. 

“Yo Dana, we have a visitor with us today.” The brunette gave the curls on Lucas’s head, a trait he got from his father, a small rub, as they got to the charge nurse’s attention. The blonde let out a small gasp as she bent down to give the boy a hug. 

“And what are you doing here, little man? Where’s your mama? Your Dad’s running all over the place today, have you seen him yet?” She looked back up at Robby, holding the boy close. 

The older man gave a small shake of his head, a knowing look in his brown eyes. “She’s uh- She’s in south-15 and we were actually looking for Jack, have you seen him?” 

Dana glanced at the board, “He was about to discharge a patient from north-8, you could probably catch him before the next Ambo pulls up.” 

“Alright, buddy,” Robby said, offering his hand to Lucas again. “Let’s go find your dad before he disappears on us.”

Dana gave the boy one more quick squeeze and a wink before standing up again. “Tell him to take five once you find him. He’s been running around since before you got here.”

They made their way toward the north wing, weaving between carts and stretchers, the bustle of the hospital constant. Lucas stayed close, wide-eyed but silent, clutching Robby’s fingers like a lifeline.

As they rounded the corner near North-8, Robby spotted him—Dr. Jack Abbot clipboard in hand, shoulder leaning into the doorway of a patient room as he gave discharge instructions with that familiar composed intensity. Even from here, Robby could see the stress around his eyes. Whatever calm Jack projected, it wasn’t rooted deep today. The patient stepped away into the crowd of people and Robby stepped into view, catching his eye.

Jack nodded a little when he saw him, expecting a routine update—until he saw the small figure beside him.

“Lucas?”

The clipboard hit the counter with a clack.

Lucas let go of Robby’s hand and ran straight into his father’s arms, the impact knocking the breath out of Jack for half a second.

“Hey—hey, what—” Jack crouched down, holding Lucas tightly, searching his face. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Lucas clung to him like a koala, cheeks red and eyes glassy. “Mommy’s sick,” he whispered. “The pen didn’t work. I tried, but it didn’t work.”

Jack’s face paled. His arms tightened instinctively. “Where is she?”

“South-15,” Robby answered quietly, giving the man a moment before continuing. “It was a bee sting. The EpiPen failed. She was treated right away, vitals are stable, McKay’s with her.”

Jack didn’t move at first, just held his son close, forehead resting against Lucas’s curls as he processed it all—the sudden fear, the guilt, the helplessness. Finally, he let out a long breath.

“I didn’t even know—no wonder she wasn’t answering her phone.” His voice cracked.

“She’s okay,” Robby reminded him gently. “And your son? Absolute champ. Kept his head until the crews showed up.”

Lucas pulled back just enough to look at him. “I didn’t cry. I was gonna, but I didn’t.”

Jack smiled through the tightness in his chest. “Good job, bud.”

He stood up slowly, Lucas still in his arms, and turned to Robby. “I need to see her.”

Robby nodded. “Go on, Brother. I’ll let Dana know what’s going on, let her know you’re clocking off early.” He handed over the backpack and let the father/son duo head off. 

Making their way to you, where you were taken was a bit more private than other rooms and the soft beeping could be heard from outside. The two stopped outside, Jack prepping the boy for what he was about to see. 

“Hey…So mommy’s probably gonna be sleepy and she might have a hard time talking okay? We should be able to see her though.” Lucas nodded into his dad’s shoulder, his small fingers tightening around the fabric of Jack’s black scrub top.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I won’t be loud.”

Jack gave a little smile at that, brushing his son’s curls down gently before reaching for the door. The soft click of the handle felt louder than it should have, and as they stepped inside, the familiar scent of antiseptic mixed with something heavier—like adrenaline and the memories embedded within the room.

The room was dimly lit, with only the overhead light above your bed on. You were propped up slightly, eyes closed, an oxygen cannula under your nose. Your arm had an IV line, and Princess was quietly making notes on the monitor screen.

Jack’s breath hitched in his throat.

Lucas didn’t say anything right away. His gaze was locked on you, his brown eyes wide and unreadable as he stared at his mom, so happy and full of life only hours ago, now tucked into white sheets with wires and machines surrounding her.

“Mommy…” he whispered.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound, sluggish but aware. You turned your head slightly, the movement slow and pained, but unmistakably focused on him.

Jack stepped closer, kneeling beside the bed so Lucas could see you better.

“She’s awake,” Jack said softly. “You can say hi, baby.”

Lucas’s lip trembled, but he leaned toward you. “I’m sorry,” he blurted suddenly. “I tried with the pen but it didn’t work and I was scared and I couldn’t call—”

Your fingers twitched and slowly reached for him, and Jack gently helped guide Lucas’s hand to yours. Holding the both of yours within his strong grip.

“You did so good, baby,” you said, your voice hoarse but warm. “I’m okay, and you were so brave.”

Lucas crawled gently onto the edge of the bed, careful not to bump into any of the cords or wires. He curled up beside your arm, still holding your hand tightly.

Jack sat in the chair beside the bed, rubbing his face and finally letting out a shaky breath.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he said quietly, half to himself, half to you. You gave him a tired smile, and Jack reached up to brush your hair from your face.

“But you’re here,” he said. “And we’re okay. That’s what matters.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky we weren’t closer to Pres, would’ve really lost your shit…” you gave him the best smile you could muster, while he gave you a knowing look. 

He let out yet another sigh, still keeping your hand in his. “We need to get you another EpiPen, and put my goddamn number in that park bag.” 

“You have fun with that, babe,” you murmured, voice still rough but tinged with just enough sass to draw a soft snort from Jack.

“Oh, I will,” he said, dragging the chair a little closer to the bed. “You’re gonna have a laminated emergency list in every bag we own. Backpack, baseball bag, glove box—hell, I’ll sew one into your damn jacket lining if I have to.”

Lucas perked up a little at that, lifting his head. “I can start baseball?”

Jack looked over at him, mock-serious. “Only if you promise not to spill a bunch of stuff in the bag again.”

Lucas giggled for the first time since they got there, that tiny sound easing something deep in Jack’s chest. You chuckled too, though it ended in a soft wince as your ribs reminded you what happened.

Jack leaned forward instinctively, hand pressing lightly over yours again. “Easy,” he murmured.

“I’m fine,” you reassured, but your grip on his fingers said another thing.

I love you, I’m sorry. 

The room fell into a quiet rhythm after that—the soft hum of monitors, Lucas gently dozing off against your arm after hours of turmoil, Jack watching both of you with an expression halfway between exhaustion and fierce devotion.

“Thank you,” you whispered after a moment, just for him.

He looked up.

“For having such good doctor friends, for loving me… For being a good dad,”

Jack leaned in, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Always.”

mercvry-glow 2025

[chilumi-shipper]

Soulbound

Zhongli x GN!Reader (Soulmate!AU)

Summary: Zhongli hated the mark on his neck, and he hated whoever the mark bounded him to. But fate plays a cruel joke, matching him with you, as he swore he would love no one else but Guizhong.

Tags: Angst/No Comfort, Short Story, Rejection, Hurtful Words, Hatred to Love

Soulmark - A mark that binds two individuals as soulmates.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Morax had always been frustrated by the mark on his neck.

A glowing, permanent part of his body that marks him tied to a soulmate. He thinks its stupid, for the love of his life was already in front of him, a gray-haired inventor that no carving in his body could ever stop him from adoring.

He finds it unbelievable that his neck is claimed by a soulmark yet Guizhong's remain blank, and he curses Celestia above for such a foul joke.

How could he be for anyone else but her?

When her dust settled in the field of glaze lilies he thought were incomparable to her beauty, he was utterly devasted, his clawed hands held onto his neck, wanting to rip the soulmark that had been taunting him for centuries.

How could he be marked for someone else while the love of his life laid lifeless?

He loathed his mark, everything about it, and he will till his last breath.

...

Zhongli deeply dislikes you.

You are a messy, silly, babbling buffoon.

An adventurer from Mondstadt that embodies the nation's will of freedom. Bubbly, carefree, and loud, much like a fellow god he didn't particularly like.

Despite of his disdain of you, your affection towards him never wavered. You filled his somber days with excitement as you joyfully tell him stories about your adventures, share some new recipes you've learned, even ushering him to talk about obscure Liyue historical facts that you've always found interesting.

He was much too proper to shoo you away, and his cold looks and short responses didn't discourage you to try to make friends with the man that peeked your curiosity.

Ever so slowly, you had pried open his caged heart, planting a small seed that was so distinctly you.

He would have accepted you, he would have seen you as a friend... and yet...

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a faint, familiar mark on your neck, revealed when you put your hair up into a ponytail.

Zhongli knew he truly disliked you.

...

"I don't believe in the marks either, Mr. Zhongli..." You reasoned with him, but his gaze still stung you with daggers.

He caged himself back up, ensuring that you could not care for the little seed you planted, no light would be able to reach it again.

His heart would not open...

No matter how many times he catches himself smiling at your antics.

No matter if he displays every gift and trinket you give him from your travels.

No matter how much he preferred your cooking over anyone else's.

No matter how beautiful you look staring up at him with your doe eyes as you confess your affection.

No matter how frustrated he felt at himself when he made you cry as he rejects your feelings.

Because, for him, how could there be anyone else but her?

...

"Do you see why it could never be you?"

You both stood in front of a monument, surrounded by various plants and objects you assume to be from friends of this ancient goddess.

"I bet she was amazing."

"She was perfect. Perhaps that's why I was not worthy to share a mark with her."

At this point, you were used to his words, how they praise her, how they degrade you.

"You're pretty great too, Zhongli..."

Faith places identical marks on the necks of two soulmates, and the rest is a romantic story of the passion that builds up as people pursue their marks of love.

Fate is cruel to you and him.

"That mark is not for you, Y/N." The Geo Archon says to you, tearing you apart silently, as you stand and take his words.

His heart quivers despite the harsh words coming from his own mouth. Even after millennia of having the mark engraved on his neck, after concluding that maybe he would allow your little seed to prosper even just for a bit, he still chooses to cling onto his hopeless past.

Tears fall down from your eyes, but you remain quiet, only nodding in agreement.

You loathed the mark on your neck.

...

Zhongli opens the cage of his heart a little, allowing him to peak at the small sprout from the seed you planted.

So distinctly you, it was the only thing he has of you.

After letting you leave him at Guizhong's monument with tears still staining your face, he couldn't help but miss you.

He couldn't help but let you finally take your place in his heart, after so long of hating his soulmark, hating whoever the mark tied him to, he fears he has finally accepted faith.

...

"Where is it?" He grips your arm harshly, his hold not faltering as you try to shake him off. His gaze was cold, yet you could still catch the hint of alarm in his eyes. "What have you done?"

After weeks... you return to him... missing something.

You winced at the stress of his words, feeling frightened under his tense hold. "I..." His bruising grip didn't falter, urging you to explain yourself. "S-Surprise...?"

"You..." Zhongli looks at you in disbelief. "How stupid could you be?"

"M-Mr. Zhongli... it's a blessing of the Anemo Archon... I prayed for him set us free from fate."

"Y/N... I..." He was at a loss for words, his heart ached as his eyes searched your neck in vain. "Fate... going against it is painful. It must've been excruciating."

"It was... but this if for you, Zhongli..." You smiled, feeling him loosen his grip. "Because I love... loved you." You fully free yourself from him, rubbing at where he previously held you.

The wind around him picked up, and he hears the faint whispers of an old friend along with it. Whispers of comfort, as he clearly ruined what would have been the light of the rest of his days.

Your soulmark fades, but his remains...

Zhongli loathed his mark, for it bears no meaning, no one but him bears that mark.

As you leave, trying to fade away in the background of his life, you remain under a spotlight in his eyes, for you will always be the one that shares his mark, no matter if it is visible.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

What y'all think of this one? :3

I bet y'all's feelings were hurt hehe

[whisperofwonder]

Continuation of this

fem!reader x Kuroo Tetsurou

You smile at your reflection in the mirror as your maid of honor tucks one wayward strand of hair back into your updo. In less than an hour, you'll be walking down the aisle. You wonder what Tetsurou's face will look like when he sees you. You wonder if he'll cry. He'd insisted he wouldn't, but, well.

"You look so gorgeous!" One of your bridesmaids breathes, and truthfully, you'd have to agree with her. The hair dresser and makeup artist have worked their magic, and you'd found the absolute perfect dress. Now, all that's left is to wait until the ceremony begins.

Your friends' fawning over you is interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Yes?" Your maid of honor moves to stand by the closed door, hand hovering over the handle.

"Babe," The voice belongs to none other than your soon-to-be husband, and you instinctively cross your arms over your front, even though the door is still firmly closed. He can't see you before the wedding!

"I need you to tie my tie!" You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

"You know how to tie a tie," You call back carefully. "Just do it yourself!"

"But you always tie my tie." His voice is the next thing to a whine.

You sigh. "Where's Kenma?" Surely his best man didn't allow this. You wonder how he managed to slip away.

"Kenma is 'sick of my shit'," He intones, and you can practically hear the words in Kenma's voice. You sympathize. "Baby. My love. Please." He's begging now, and you can't help it. You start to soften.

Your maid of honor is looking at you with wide eyes, slashing her hand across her throat in a clear gesture: NO. You love her for that, but still.

"You'll close your eyes?" You ask in your sternest voice. "You can't see me, you know! It's bad luck."

"Yes, I'll close my eyes! Promise."

"Close them TIGHT," You insist, making sure he understands the gravity of the situation.

"They're tight," He promises. "Open the door already."

You nod. Your maid of honor hesitates for a few moments, but slowly swings the door open with a shake of her head.

There he is. Tetsurou. Your fiancé. In less than an hour, your husband. You feel your heart begin to swell in your chest. He wears a suit every day, but he looks especially handsome in this one. The tie in question is draped loosely around his neck.

"Babe?" He has his eyes squeezed shut, that much is obvious. As an added measure, your maid of honor pulls him inside and moves behind him, pressing her fingers across his eyes.

"Go ahead," She sighs. You reach for the tie, carefully straightening it around his neck. You reach for his collar, making sure it's turned up all the way around, and you watch as a smile begins to tug at his lips.

"I'm so excited," He murmurs as you work. "Can't wait to see you." The fingers covering his eyes tighten.

"Me too," You can't help the smile that's stealing across your own face. "I can't wait."

You begin making the knot, enjoying the dopey grin that's now completely filled his face. "There you go," You finally say, giving the knot a pat. "Perfect." Like always, you tug on the tie, just a little. Tilting your chin up, you lean into his kiss, savoring the feeling of it.

"I love you so much," He murmurs as he pulls away. "Thank you."

"I love you too, Tetsu." You take a step back, just drinking him in. "I'll see you soon."

He opens his mouth, but before he can drag the moment out any longer, your maid of honor steps in. "Okay, lovebirds, that's enough." She pulls him back. "Get back to wherever you're supposed to be. I'll kill you if you mess this up," She threatens sweetly.

"Yes ma'am," He murmurs as she shoves him back through the door, slamming it shut nearly in his face.

"You two make me sick," She sighs. The mushy smile on her face doesn't match her words at all. "Come here, let me touch up your lipstick."

[mywritersmind]

fic idea: kimi x reader moments in his documentary... cute and .

.......maybe a lil steamy

CAUGHT ON CAMERA - KA12

listen up : some kissing. dry humping. steamy ish as requested! ty for the request!! super cutie

words : 1470

⋆｡‧˚⋆

The second Kimi told me over the phone, I ran out of my house. I was out of breath after the two minutes it took for me to run to his house. “You fucking did it!” I didn’t mean to swear in front of his family, something Maggie laughs loudly at as I wrap my arms around her brother.

“I did it.” He whispers into my ear, my body pressed against his as he holds me tighter. “Thank you.”

I have to laugh at my boyfriend. “Why are you thanking me?”

He smiles down at me, his hands still on me and his parents gone from the room. “You’re always there. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

I kiss him. Hard and excited with a smile still on my face.

“You deserve this so much, K.” I bring him closer to me again when he sniffles, I realize he’s crying. I cry too. He’s wanted this for longer than I've known him and I don’t think anyone deserves it more.

⋆༺

The camera zooms on Ollie as he laughs, “He knows practically every lap time he’s ever done.” I smile, leaning my head against Kimi’s bare shoulder.

“Barcelona Quali.” a man on his team says, smiling as Kimi scoffs as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“I did a 24.894.” Kimi says confidently as the man goes to search it. He doesn’t need to. Even I know he’s right.

“You have a photographic memory then?” The cameraman asks, panning to Kimi and I.

“Nah… If I did, I'd be out of school.” My boyfriend grins, “Some things just stick.”

“He remembers everything about me.” I say, not being able to hide my smile, “that’s how I know he loves me like he does racing.”

Kimi shakes his head but he’s still smiling, “I love you more than racing.”

⋆༺

I love watching Kimi race. I hate when his race ends before every lap is done.

This might be worse than watching him DNF in F2. He’s in the wall and i’m clutching the necklace he gave me as if it’s him. I know he’s okay, he’s out of the car, I know he’s okay.

I repeat those four words to myself as I watch him, his head down, his face hidden behind his helmet, exit the track.

I let him have his space. The trainer said he wanted to be alone and I let him be. A text came in and I snuck out of the garage, away from his crying mother, away from a sad Toto, away from everything and back to him.

I shut the cameraman out when I find him. He’s sitting on the floor of the trainors room, the light dim and his eyes shut. I realize he’s been crying when he speaks, his voice stuffy and race red, “On my debut.” He swallows, “In my future car.”

I don’t know what to say. I hate that I don’t know what to say. I sink down to my knees next to him, taking his head in my hands as he looks at me. His eyes are red, tired.

“It’s going to get better, Kimi. You have to know that. Next year is yours- and today sucked but when you’re in your car, not George's, it’ll be different.” He slides his legs out in front of him, a hand drifting to my waist as if he just wants to make sure I'm there.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” My hands are still shaking.

I shake my head, “I have a feeling that won’t stop anytime soon. You were flying, Kimi.” His face finally cracks into a smile.

“It felt like a dream.” His smile fades as I sit properly now, “then a nightmare.”

“It’s not either. It’s real life. It’s your life.” I run a hand through his hair, sweaty and messed up from his helmet.

“You're perfect.” he says, leaning in closer as his hand slides up and down my bare leg, “You know that?”

“For you.” I kiss him softly, but his hand meets the back of my neck and pulls me against him again.

“Just for me.” He whispers against my lips, kissing me again with more force.

When I realize he’s not thinking about stopping, I mumble, “Kimi-” but all he does is pull me onto his lap, straddling him.

“Please.” It’s practically a whine and one that I give into immediately. His body is warm, he changed back into a mercedes shirt and jeans that push against my thighs.

I instinctively grind into him, feeding that pressure between my legs as he breathes against me. His eyes are closed, his teeth tugging at my lip as I groan at the feeling of him under me.

“We shouldn’t.” I say, not fully lost to Kimi’s body yet and remembering that we’re on the floor of a medical room.

“I’ll stop if you tell me to.” He says, kissing me again. When I don’t say anything, he says, “Tell me to, Y/n.”

I don’t use my words to respond, instead moaning in his ear as I grow more turned on. He mumbles a curse and moves his hand to my ass, making me grind against him with more fuel to my fire.

Kimi’s fingers dig into my skin harder. When my head tilts back, his lips escape mine and find my jaw- my neck… my chest instead. I wouldn’t be caught dead with a hickey, but right now, nothing sounds hotter.

He’s hard against me, his jeans growing tighter as I roll my hips once again. I bite my lip and he makes a sort of strangled sound, saying my name.

He’s not smiling, it’s more of an open mouth smirk. His eyes are set on the thin fabric that’s rubbing against his pants, his hand tugs my skirt higher up.

When did he pull my skirt up? I don’t care.

His hand is on my bra now, under it. I can barely track the twin parts of his body that have such a hold on me. I’m too distracted by the overwhelming pleasure that brews beneath me.

Kimi is staring at me again, his eyes flickering to every part of me as if he doesn’t know where to look. His eyes are full of lust, a look I used to dream about.

“C’mon, love.” This almost takes me out, his voice is so gruff and it’s the hottest thing i’ve ever heard purely because I know i’m what’s making him like that. “So fucking good.”

“Kimi-” I force out, my legs starting to shake.

He’s just as breathless as I am when he says, “Say my name like that again. C’mon love, do it for me.”

⋆༺

Dinner is nice. It always is with Kimi’s family. His grandma made a cake to celebrate, his dad gave him a car keychain that had been passed down by his father.

I love seeing Kimi with his family, it reminds me of what our future could look like.

I stand next to him at the sink, a dish in hand as he splashes water onto me. I scoff and return the favor. “A formula one driver and you’re still slaving away over dishes.” I smile as he scrubs a plate, “So humble.”

He kisses my cheek quickly, “I’d do anything if it’s with you.” This makes me smile, rolling my eyes at the cheesiness but my cheeks going pink anyway.

“I’m really proud of you, Kimi. I know it’s a lot.” Everyone’s been so excited that I think it’s gone to Kimi’s head, making him a bit blind to what his life is about to look like.

He nods, “I know. But i’m excited- and really fucking happy. Especially since I have a wag.”

I laugh out loud, “A wag!?”

“Yeah, girlfriend.” He says to me sassily, making me laugh harder. He drys off his hands and pulls the bright yellow gloves off mine, kissing me on the lips this time.

I grin against him, my hands bracing myself on the sink edge as his find my waist. “I love calling you my girlfriend.” He whispers as he kisses me softly again. “Call me your boyfriend.”

I giggle as he presses a kiss against my jaw, “You’re all mine, K. My nerdy little boyfriend.”

He raises a brow at my words, his breath hot against me, “Nerdy? Little?”

I pat his head, winking. “Gotta fit in that car somehow.”

He laughs, his hands are on me again and he’s picking me up, “Netflix are you seeing this!?” I had forgotten about the camera in the doorframe, “My girlfriend is a bully!”

“At least i’m yours!” I laugh again, now over his shoulder and shaking my head at the lens.

[theorphicangel]

papa!kuna getting up on stage when his daughter has stage fright.

she's been excited about her solo for weeks now, the endless rehearsals in the front living room on an early saturday morning. you ran through her lines almost everyday and helped her recite the songs just before she fell asleep.

it had gotten to the point where sukuna was humming her recital song in his own fucking sleep. but anything to make his baby girl happy, right?

she had wanted everything to be perfect and was excited to impress her parents. the night before she had her outfit all ready and waiting on the chair beside her despite the recital not being until the next evening.

but now she stands under the headlights of the school stage with many eyes peering at her and the piano instrumental playing in the background.

you had your camera up and ready for her solo but suddenly you place it down once you realise your child has stage fright. her kindergarten teacher prompts her to start, replaying the chord but the words seem stuck in her throat.

you glance at sukuna with worry in your eyes and he glances back with his face deadpanned but you know he's panicking inside. your daughter fiddles with her hands becoming more anxious with every second passed on stage in complete silence.

it's one of the worst feelings to experience as a parent; the panic of not knowing what to do or how to comfort your child in a situation and to be honest your heart just breaks.

before your mind could even comprehend to go and pick up your daughter Sukuna stands up with urgency and walks over to the stage. the whispers and murmurs continue until you see your husband getting up on stage and joining your daughter.

he kneels down and whispers something in her ears before taking her hand. the two of them face the crowd and before you know it their lips begin to move in time with the piano instrumental.

your confusion melts into a smile once you realise that the sukuna ryomen is...singing. on stage in front of everyone. for his precious baby girl.

his voice is gruff compared to your daughter's sweet tone but he's in tune and on time with the lyrics. you had no idea he had learned the lyrics this well. the words came to him naturally with so much ease and perfect timing right and everything. he accompanies her throughout the whole song and you watch her pick up her confidence with her dad by her side.

they finish the song and the crowd of parents and kids on stage clap with cheers and whoops. and your husband and daughter take their well deserved bow. coming off stage sukuna is praised by all the parents out there, standing immediately and patting his back.

'i don't know what i would have done if it was my kid, good job out there'

'mr ryomen I didn't know you could sing'

'you two were great! you should be very proud of yourselves!'

they quickly find you through the crowd of parents reuniting with their own children and lift your daughter into a hug.

you kiss her chubby cheek and congratulate her for doing so well out there and she gives toothy smile, 'i couldn't have done it without papa.'

'that's true, my love.' you grin, 'but you did so well, m'so proud of you for being so brave.'

sukuna stands by awkwardly, a tinge of pink appearing on his cheeks as all eyes seem to be on him in the room. but he keeps his focus on his daughter and shuffles her pink hair, ' you did well brat.'

'thank you papa.'

after letting your daughter run off and wave goodbye to her friends for the night, you turn to sukuna with a grin.

'wow...I didn't know someone had a good singing voice.'

'yeah, yeah, just don't make a big deal about it.' he groans under his breath, a hand scratching the back of his neck.

‘mr popular huh’ you murmur, watching as parents continue to give their congratulations. 'don't let the fame rush to your head now, kuna'

'if she wasn't part of it i'd make you delete that goddamn video.'

you hum along, 'You know I'll rewatch it tonight.'

'whatever, knock yourself out.'