#and i got up and i felt so.. light?? like there was some physical weight before dragging me down and now it was gone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

haniette · 3 months ago

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grasping your love. // ln4

part one. || part two.

pairing | lando norris x fem!reader

genre | angst, fluff, friends to lovers, childhood best friends au, hurt-comfort

word count | 11.7k

warnings | no use of y/n, heartbreak, emotional distress, themes of regret and longing, abandonment themes, low-key manipulation themes??, use of alcohol, cursing, crying.

inspired by: sydney rose - we hug now, conan gray - memories, the kid laroi - bleed

summary: you told yourself you’d moved on. that you didn't care, and your heart had mended. but when he came back, all ruined and raw, you realized some hearts don’t forget who they were meant to beat for.

a/n: PART TWOOOOO!!!! as soon as i saw the requests for part two i started working on this, and actually, it turned out to be longer than i expected- OOPSIE but y'all.. writing this kinda broke me :,) i'm so happy that at least they got their happy ending </3 hope you'll enjoy !!

The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of stillness that wraps itself around you, like the silence after a storm—where everything feels too calm, too heavy with unspoken words. You could hear the soft ticking of the clock in the hallway, the distant hum of the fridge, the muffled sound of your parents’ breathing in their room down the hall.

You padded across the hallway in thick socks, dressed in your oversized sleep shirt with sleeves tugged down over your fingers. The exhaustion from the day had settled into your bones, dull and familiar. You’d brushed your teeth, put your hair up, wiped the smeared mascara from under your eyes—and still, somehow, you felt heavy.

Not even tired. Just… drained. Hollow in a quiet way. The kind of tiredness that had nothing to do with sleep, but with the ache in your chest that had been there since that night.

The night when you sat under the stars, knees drawn to your chest. When he was crouching in front of you with that lopsided smile, and made you feel like you could hope again.

The night you almost said it. The night he almost knew.

But after that night, there came the distance. Not cruel, not sharp, just drifting. Like smoke through fingers, like something slipping underwater.

And you were trying. Trying so hard to be okay with it. But god—you were exhausted.

However, it wasn’t the physical kind of exhaustion. It was something deeper, a kind of tiredness that came from the emotional weight of trying to convince yourself that everything was fine, that things were normal. But every time you opened social media and saw Lando’s name, or caught a glimpse of him in the halls at school laughing with Olivia, leaning in close, his hand in hers, her lips on his cheek—it all felt like a cruel reminder that the world had moved on, and you hadn’t been included in it. You were stuck in a loop of saddness and regret.

When you reached your bedroom door, hand resting on the knob, a strange noise came from downstairs, making you stop mid-step.

Clink.

You wanted to brush it off, taking for granted that it was just the wind, or the house creaking. But then it came again—the scrape of a drawer, the distinct sound of a cup hitting the counter, the slight clink of something being set down.

You sucked in a breath, heart suddenly pounding in your chest. Your first thought? Someone broke in.

You tiptoed out of your room, pulse quickening, each creak of the floorboards beneath you feeling like an alarm bell. The hallway was dark, save for the faint glow of the nightlight near the stairs. You could hear the rustling louder now, the sound of something being knocked over, maybe.

A breathless moment of hesitation, then you flicked the light on, your hand trembling slightly. The glow of the kitchen illuminated the open doorway.

And there, leaning against the sink, was no one other than Lando himself. A glass of water in his hand, his back hunched slightly like he’d been holding up too much weight for too long.

When his eyes set on you, he blinked a few times like he wasn’t sure if you were real or if he was dreaming you up.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Lando… what the hell are you doing here?” You blurted out, your voice far sharper than you intended. “It’s fucking one in the morning! You scared the shit out of me.”

He observed you, eyes bleary, and half-lidded. He didn’t seem surprised—just tired. His lips curled up slightly, almost forming a smile, but also an apology.

Your chest tightened at that sight. “You broke into my house?” You said with your voice trembling, not from fear anymore, but from confusion. Anger. Sadness. Everything at once.

He didn’t seem bothered by your accusation. Instead, he just shrugged, “The key,” Lando muttered. “Was still under the orange flower pot.”

That flower pot. The one your mom had left by the doors years ago. The one he used to hide candy under for you in middle school. The one that had, unknowingly, never switched places.

You stepped closer, the light casting his figure in sharper detail. His hair was a mess—curls flattened on one side, wild on the other, like he’d run his hands through it over and over. His shirt was wrinkled, untucked, stained slightly with something you didn’t care to identify. And his eyes—god, his eyes. Always so bright and beautiful, in that aquamarine color, but now bloodshot, tired and wrecked.

You blinked, still trying to process what was happening, what had led him to your kitchen at this hour. “Lando, what happened?” You took a step closer.

Your anger melted into something else—worry, and concern. You had never seen him like this. Drunk, disoriented. Not even the usual playful charm he wore like armor.

Your heart clenched at the sight. What happened to him?

“Lando… what’s going on? Why aren’t you with Olivia?” Saying her name left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he shifted, like his knees had given out. Slowly, he slid down the cabinets until he hit the floor, back against the drawers, legs stretched out carelessly.

You panicked for a second as he looked pale, dizzy, and lost. “Lan— hey.. are you okay?” You crouched beside him instinctively, heart pounding.

Then he slumped into you without warning. His head fell to your shoulder, the warmth of his skin pressing into yours. And for a long, drawn-out moment, you just let him rest there. His breath was slow, ragged, like he had been running a marathon, like he had been fighting something for a long time.

But all of it—the tension, the pain, the confusion—had finally spilled over in this one vulnerable moment.

Lando sighed against your collarbone. “M’tired.” His hot breath tickled your skin, making you shiver at the sound of his voice.

And you stayed like that. There, on the kitchen floor. Tiles cold beneath your legs, your body stiff beside his slumped frame while letting the boy rest on your shoulder. The silence settled again, but heavier now, thick with questions you didn’t know how to ask.

His breath was slow and warm where it met your neck. You stared ahead at the fridge, heart unraveling in your chest.

This was still Lando. Your Lando.

The boy who used to throw pebbles at your window at 2 a.m. just to see if you wanted to go stargazing. The boy who once tried to braid your hair in sixth grade and ended up tying it in a knot. The boy who almost said he loved you once—and you didn’t hear it in time.

And now he was here, on your kitchen floor.

“I don’t wanna leave you.” Lando mumbled, his words barely audible, his voice thick and muffled against the fabric of your shirt.

Your breath caught in your throat. “What?”

But he didn’t repeat it. He just exhaled like he’d been holding that in for years. Like that sentence had broken out of him by accident, cracked through whatever wall he’d built around himself.

You held him there, on the cold kitchen floor, unsure of what to do with his confession. Your heart pulsed violently in your chest, because what did he mean? Did he mean tonight? Or forever?

Why wasn’t he with Olivia? Why wasn’t she the one holding him now? Why did he come here like you were still his safe place?

But you didn’t ask, not knowing how. You just sat there with him—shoulder to shoulder, breathing in the same air, memories thick in the space between you.

But the weight of his presence, of him leaning into you, of him saying those words that you didn’t know what to do with, was unbearable. And it broke something inside you. Something that you hadn’t realized was still holding on.

You closed your eyes, the tears threatening to spill again. You didn’t know what you wanted from him—or from yourself. You just held him. You held him because you couldn’t let him go. Not yet. Not when he was still here.

And you didn’t know it yet, but that moment would stay burned into you—into your soul.

Days after the kitchen night, the silence between you and Lando grew so thick you could feel it pressing against your skin. You thought maybe he’d text. Apologize. Mention what he said. Explain this whole situation.

But he didn’t.

And so, you convinced yourself that it was a mistake—drunken words said in a foggy haze. Words meant for the moment, and not especially for you.

Still, you couldn’t forget the way his head had rested on your shoulder, like he belonged there. You couldn’t unhear the slurred, soft-spoken “I don’t want to leave you.” Those six words looped in your head like a broken record.

Were they meant to be comforting? A warning? A confession?

But even worse than that was how everything returned to normal or, at least, seemed to.

You stopped bumping into him at school. He stopped showing up in the group chat.

Olivia posted more often now—the two of them posing in bookstores, going to brunch, prepping for their “future.” She seemed so perfect on his arm, so carefully curated. Their relationship was like a photo in a museum: admired by everyone, but no one really understood it.

And you—you felt like a visitor. A stranger peering into a life you used to be a part of. You didn’t go to the group hangout in the woods. You skipped the movie night that once used to be your thing. Your friends texted, called, asked where you were. But you always had an excuse: studying, babysitting your cousin, or just being tired.

Anything but the truth.

The truth was that it hurt to exist in a space where Lando no longer looked for you. Even when you did see him, it was… different. He was quieter, more distracted by being new version of him. He even laughed less than he usually would when he was around you. He didn’t hold eye contact like he used to—not the way he did when it was just you two in the corner of a room, stealing glances across dinner tables or hiding giggles behind shared inside jokes.

It was like watching a star dim slowly, day by day, losing its uniqueness.

You’d pass each other in the halls sometimes. There was a flicker in his eyes—like maybe he wanted to say something, even the smallest thing. But the moment always passed and you’d look away first, because it felt safer that way.

One afternoon, you found yourself sitting by the window, the same one you both used to lean against when you studied together. The sky outside was soft and grey, and the silence in the room felt like it was screaming at you.

You clutched your phone in your hand, screen still open on the last video you ever took together—blurry, spontaneous, just you two laughing over some dumb joke, your laughs loud and vibrant. You looked at your smile in it, and how easy it had been to smile with him. How full you had felt back then.

But then came a new notification. A tagged photo on Olivia’s Instagram.

“Couldn’t be happier to start this chapter with you. Amsterdam, here we come <3”

The picture was beautiful, in that staged kind of way. Lando kissing her cheek, his arm around her waist as she held her passport and their tickets. The luggage was behind them, and departure gate in the background.

You blinked once. Twice. Then your chest caved in.

He hadn’t told you. Again. But this time he hadn’t even said goodbye.

There had been no message, no last knock on the door, no final look.

The disbelief washed over you in waves. First it was confusion, then came the bitterness. And then that slow, aching pain—like someone had reached inside and quietly rewired your heart. And it would knock the breath out of you, because suddenly it would make sense.

“I don’t wanna leave you.”

But he did. And he was already gone, taking his future with Olivia, leaving you with nothing but the words he’d whispered to you on that kitchen floor. Words you still didn’t understand, but somehow knew were real.

────୨ৎ────

The airport was too bright.

Everything felt like it was glowing under harsh, white light—the floors, the departure signs, the rows of metal benches where people sat with neck pillows, their luggage beside them, and some even taking a nap.

Lando could hear Olivia's voice next to him, cheerful and animated, chatting with her mum as they went over last-minute plans. He smiled, or at least tried to, but it didn’t feel right on his face. It didn’t stick.

He stood a little outside of it all—just off to the side of the check-in area, surrounded by people but entirely elsewhere. His eyes kept drifting toward the entrance doors. Every few seconds, his gaze flicked there—searching.

It had been weeks since that night. The kitchen. The water. Your shoulder. The words he wasn’t supposed to say out loud.

You hadn’t texted him since. Not even once. He had tried writing a couple of short, awkward messages but he always changed his mind, immediately deleting them.

And yet, some stupid, desperate part of him believed you’d still come.

Maybe you’d rush in, sleeves of your favourite hoodie pulled up your arms, out of breath, pretending you just happened to be nearby. Maybe you’d roll your eyes and mutter something like “figured you’d want a dramatic send-off, loser.”

He would’ve smiled, laughed even. He would’ve known what you meant. So he kept looking. Every flash of the color which your favourite hoodie had. Every girl which walked a little too fast through the crowd. His stomach turned every time he thought—that might be you.

But it never was.

“Boarding group A, you’re now welcome at gate 27.”

The announcement echoed through the terminal. Olivia squeezed his hand, excited, practically buzzing with it. “Ready?” She asked, sending him a warm smile. Lando nodded, but his eyes were still locked on the doors. Still waiting, hoping, hurting.

Olivia tugged his hand gently, and he looked one last time, but you weren’t there. It felt like something inside his chest folded in on itself.

────୨ৎ────

The house was quiet. Your parents were already gone for the day, hanging out with their friends which came to your city. The sun was filtering in through the curtains, soft and golden.

You were still in bed. Blankets pulled up to your chin, phone in your hand, screen dark. You hadn’t looked at his Instagram story. Not yet. Seeing Olivia’s post was enough for you.

You didn’t want to see the gate, again. The luggage. Olivia’s arm looped through his. You didn’t want confirmation that this was real. That he was really leaving. That he was no longer just not here, but truly, physically and emotionally gone.

Your chest ached with the weight of everything unsaid. And now you laid in your bed, curled under your blanket, breathing through the quiet kind of grief that doesn’t come with sobs or screams—just this low, constant ache in your chest. Like your ribs were too tight. Like your heart was trying to remember how to exist without him.

You stared at the ceiling—eyes wide, dry. You weren’t crying, you just felt… hollow.

Somewhere in a crowded airport, Lando was still looking for you in a sea of people. But now it was too late.

He had left. And you had let him.

────୨ৎ────

a few months later

The sky hadn’t been blue in weeks. Months.

Every day carried a quiet grayness, like the world had slipped into a version of itself that was somehow dimmer—dull and breathless. The leaves had started to curl at the edges, the sun set earlier now, and everything seemed to echo more, especially the silence in your chest.

You didn’t realize how much you had gotten used to him being part of your days until the days went on without him. Not suddenly—not like a door slammed shut, but like a faucet that dripped until the sink overflowed. Now, the drip was gone, the tap turned off. But you were still soaked in the memories.

He was gone. And you hated how easily everyone had accepted it.

It was late afternoon, the kind of cloudy-gray sky that made everything look softer, like the world had been rubbed with a layer of dust. You sat outside the library, on that same bench tucked beneath the skeletal arms of a tree that had long since shed its leaves. The wind moved gently through the branches, dry and cool, like fingers brushing against your skin, but you barely even felt it.

Your textbook lay open in your lap, untouched. You weren’t reading—you hadn’t been reading for a while. You were just… sitting. Existing. Or something like it.

Students moved past in waves—laughing, talking, balancing coffees in one hand and phones in the other. Their lives felt fast, full, like they were already becoming something. Moving forward, getting somewhere. But you? You felt stuck in the same still frame, like time had stretched out for you but kept moving for everyone else.

Your phone buzzed once in your pocket. You didn’t reach for it. You already knew it wouldn’t be him.

It hadn’t been him in months.

Lando was gone. Not just in the physical way—though yes, he was hundreds of miles away in Amsterdam, probably stretched out in a dorm bed beside someone who wasn’t you. But he was also gone in the invisible, intimate, excruciating way. In the way someone disappears from your days, not all at once, but in pieces. One text not sent, one weekend not spent together, one secret not shared until all that’s left is pure silence.

You saw all the stories, posts, sunlit selfies. Blurry party photos, Olivia’s cherry gloss smudged on his cheek, and his hand around her waist like it belonged there. His smile—it looked so familiar, yet no longer yours.

He had everything he had ever wanted.

A new city. A new life. A new girl.

And you were still here, feeling as if you’re basically wasting your time. Staring at the same sidewalk cracks, listening to the same sad songs and playing the same night in your head—the one where you almost told him everything. The one where he looked at you like you were the only person in the universe, only to walk away and give his world to someone else.

Sometimes, in quiet moments, you thought back to that night in your kitchen. When he showed up drunk, lost, whispering he didn’t want to leave you. You hadn’t understood what he meant back then. Not fully. Maybe you didn’t want to, but now, in the echo of his absence, it haunted you.

It wasn’t even the relationship that hurt the most. It was the way it all disappeared—like you had never mattered, never been chosen, never been even considered.

You remembered finding out about him and Olivia. You didn’t sleep that night. You just lay there, eyes burning, heart breaking in this small, quiet, invisible way—where you weren’t allowed to scream or sob or say this isn’t fair because technically, nothing had been promised.

But it had felt like a promise. Hadn’t it?

In the shared glances, in the laughter, in the way he used to text you when something dumb happened and say you were the first person he thought of. In the memory of him crouching in front of you at the party, brushing a tear from your cheek and saying he missed you.

Damn. Had you been that easy to forget?

Now, months later, you still carried that grief, that quiet ache but one else really noticed it. You’d gotten good at pretending—at laughing when you were supposed to, convincing that everything was great when people asked about school, often responding “yeah, I’m okay” with just the right smile to convince them.

But deep down, you were stuck, you couldn’t move on, and that’s what scared you the most. Because he had already moved on.

His heart had mended so quickly, while yours was still bleeding.

You saw it every time you opened Instagram. The way he glowed in those photos, new hair suiting him so goddamn good, looking like nothing ever haunted him. Like you had never haunted him. Like the version of himself that only existed when he was with you had vanished—as if it never mattered in the first place.

And yet you still remembered.

You remembered the time he fell asleep with his head on your lap, mumbling half-dreamed thoughts about how safe he felt with you. The time you screamed the lyrics of your favourite songs in your room, both of you out of breath from laughing too hard. The moment, months ago, when he almost confessed—voice low, eyes soft, something hidden in the way he touched your hand. But you had brushed it off. Laughed, and teased him about it, not taking him seriously because back then you hadn’t known.

You hadn’t realized, and now it was too late.

It wasn’t fair, how one person could move on and build a life, while the other lived with an ending that never truly ended.

You looked up from your textbook and blinked into the gray sky. Your chest ached—dull and constant. It had become part of you now, the same way a scar settles into skin.

Sometimes, you wondered if he ever missed you. If he ever thought back to the version of his life that included you. But you knew the truth. For him, it was just something that happened. Something small. But for you? It was everything. And it felt like the world ended when it did.

Some mornings, you stared at your phone for too long. You’d open your messages and scroll to his name, only to lock your screen again. His contact was still saved—still with the dumb nickname he’d given himself when you finally saved his number. Still with the photo of him pulling a face, mid-laugh, cheeks pink from the cold. You couldn’t bring yourself to change or delete it because deleting it would make it all real, and you weren’t ready for that.

You still carried all of the conversations in your head. Those little ones, and stupid ones. Like what he would say if he saw you after going to the hairstylist, how he’d tease you for the playlist you’d made for studying or how he’d groan dramatically about missing your mom’s cooking if he walked through your front door again.

You still remembered the way it all slipped. The last few months of high school had felt like they were lined with fog—slow, delicate, full of things unsaid. You had started keeping your emotions in a box, tucking them beneath small smiles and empty reassurances. You didn’t want to be a weight on his shoulders, didn’t want to make things harder. And most importantly, you didn’t want to lose him by telling him how much you needed him to stay. But you lost him anyway.

When you got to know that he was going to university with Olivia, it felt like your heart had been held above a flame. Slowly, gently burning.

He had made his choice, and it hadn’t been you.

You never told anyone how much that night broke you. How you cried in the shower with your hand pressed over your mouth, not to muffle the sobs, but to hold yourself together. You didn’t want anyone to know that you’d fallen apart over someone who, to the outside world, had never been yours to begin with.

But he had been yours. In the stolen glances, in the late-night conversations, in the inside jokes that no one else understood. He had been yours in every way that mattered—until he wasn’t.

Now, time was moving without him. He was off in a new city—Amsterdam, with new friends, new routines and new loves. And you? You were left behind with the echoes.

You never told him how often you still wore the hoodie he left at your place after one of many movie nights. Or how your chest still clenched every time you passed his old house, how sometimes you swore you could hear his laugh in the crowd, only to remember he wasn’t here anymore. The worst part? No one knew you were still grieving. Because you decided to just smile through it as it had never been said what you two were.

Some days, the sadness came in small waves—manageable, dull, like a bruise. Other days, however, it felt catastrophic, like you were drowning in everything unsaid. Everything he’d taken with him, everything he’d left behind.

You wondered—deeply, painfully—if he thought of you at all. If there were nights when he missed your voice, if he ever wished, even just for a second, that he’d done it all differently.

But you didn’t ask, you didn’t reach out because if he had wanted to stay he would’ve.

Right?

And yet, even now, all this time later, with the silence between you stretching wider and wider from one day to another, you still dreamed of him sometimes. Still woke up with tears on your pillow and his name lodged somewhere in your throat. Still felt like he was right at your fingertips.

Close enough to remember, but too far to touch.

────୨ৎ────

Amsterdam had been covered with heavy, dark rain clouds for a week now. Thin, cold rain that didn’t fall in sheets, but misted the air like grief that never stopped clinging. The kind that soaked into the seams of your hoodie and stuck to your eyelashes.

He’d been in this city for eight months now. Everything should’ve felt like a new chapter. Everything should’ve felt like the freedom he once craved — the escape he told himself he needed. Instead, he felt… off. Out of place in his own life. Like he had walked onto someone else’s path and didn’t know how to find his way back.

He had new friends here, a schedule, a routine, a girlfriend. He even made sure to decorate his room with little posters, like you once told him to. But even then—even with those pieces of color and personality—it felt hollow. He felt hollow. Olivia filled the space beside him, but not within him. That space had been carved out slowly, over the last year. And it hadn’t been carved for her. It had been carved for you.

Lando hadn’t been able to sleep properly in weeks. His room was too clean, too beige. He missed the cute mugs you used for drinking tea with him and the way your socks never matched. He even missed the ridiculous alarm tone you used—that one song you claimed was the only thing aggressive enough to get you out of bed. Now his alarm was Olivia. Waking him up with a practiced kiss to the cheek and a to-do list for the day already in her hand. Organized and efficient, but distant.

She always smelled expensive and her hair was always perfect. Her perfume clung to his hoodies now, replacing the faint vanilla and lavender scent that used to make his chest clench unexpectedly. She fit the picture—but not the frame.

He didn’t notice how much he was unraveling until he stopped recognizing himself. Everything he said felt like a script, everything he did felt like it was on autopilot. He went to class., he sat through lectures, then he answered Olivia’s questions, and he smiled when he was supposed to smile.

But it wasn’t him. It wasn’t the Lando he had been all his life, this was a new, artificial version of him. He’d laugh at something someone said at a party, and the sound would feel different. He’d catch himself zoning out at lunch, his eyes drawn to things that reminded him of home—a chipped tile, a girl wearing her hair like you used to, the specific color of a hoodie like the one you always borrowed from him. It has never stopped.

You were a ghost that followed him everywhere, not haunting him maliciously—but softly, and quietly. Just present enough to hurt.

And every time Olivia asked him what was wrong, he’d lie.

“Nothing. Just tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“It’s just adjusting to a new place, that’s all.”

Sometimes, when Olivia was out late with her friends, he’d sit on the cold tile floor of the kitchen—like he had that night in your kitchen, and he’d let the silence settle.

He remembered what he said to you, slumped against the cabinets, head spinning, your shoulder warm beneath him. At the time, he hadn’t fully understood what that meant. But now? Now he did because he had left, and it had ruined him.

He checked his phone before the flight, over and over. Desperately hoping for a message. One of your typical, low-effort, high-meaning texts:

“Don’t forget your passport, idiot.” or “You’re gonna do great, Lan.”

But it never came.

He’d hoped—selfishly—that you’d come say goodbye. That you’d be there at the airport, even if just standing in the back. That maybe, just maybe, you’d catch his hand, say something like “Stay.” But you didn’t.

He’d looked for you anyway. Chest tight, heart racing, his eyes scanning the faces of every person who showed up to send him off. Laughing, hugging, cheering. But not you. And in that moment, he felt something twist deep in his chest—a mix of guilt and disbelief. Because even after everything… some part of him truly believed you’d be there. You always were, until now.

And something inside him snapped quietly in that moment. Like a string too tight for too long finally giving way.

She didn’t come.

She didn’t—

Lando never deleted your messages. He couldn’t. They were still there, buried deep in the chat log. All those late-night voice notes, the blurry selfies, the playlists you made, the “tell me you got home safe, idiot” texts. Now they sat untouched, blue and gray bubbles frozen in time.

One night, he tapped on one of your voice notes and hit play, and your voice filled the room. It broke him. He sank to the floor—knees pulled to his chest, face in his hands—and cried. Really cried. Not the frustrated kind, or the angry kind, but the kind that came from loss. From deep, heavy regret because now, with the noise of this new life screaming around him, he realized how quiet you had been when you left.

You didn’t beg, you didn’t argue. You didn’t even try to convince him to stay. You simply stepped back, and he let you.

Everything with Olivia started to rot after that. Not all at once—but slowly. He stopped laughing at her jokes, she started noticing how distant he’d become, they argued more. She asked why he wouldn’t touch her like he used to, why he stayed up late when she went to bed. Why didn't he try. He didn’t have an answer she wanted to hear. Because the truth was that he was still in love with someone else. And he’d left her behind.

He tried. God, he tried. Olivia was everything on paper—beautiful, perfect body, intelligent, well-spoken. She had a plan for her future, a five-year vision board, a curated Spotify playlist for every mood. But she didn’t know how to read his silences like you did.

She didn’t call him out when he was spiraling in his thoughts, having anxiety attacks. She didn’t remember how he hated fish or how he picked at the skin on his thumb when he was overthinking. She didn’t feel like home, and over time, he stopped trying to force it. He stopped texting her when he stayed on campus later than planned, he started noticing how tight her grip was on his arm, how her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes when he mentioned your name—which he always did by accident.

You had a way of slipping into his sentences, even when he wasn’t trying.

“Oh yeah, she always said that movie was mint!”

“We used to listen to this song in the summer.”

Each time, Olivia would go quiet, and Lando would pretend he didn’t notice—but he did.

He just didn’t know how to stop it.

The nights were the worst. When the city noise finally died, and all that was left was the glow of streetlights bleeding through the blinds. He’d lie awake, the bed too big, the air too thin, your voice still echoing faintly in the back of his mind.

It wasn’t even the last time he saw you that haunted him—not really. It was everything before that. The look in your eyes when you told him you were fine, the way you nodded, even though your voice cracked. The way you smiled for him even while your heart broke quietly behind your ribs.

He’d never forget the weight of your head on his shoulder in that quiet kitchen. The warmth of your presence, the familiar rhythm of your breathing, the silence between you that somehow said everything he wasn’t brave enough to. You just let him rest there, drowning in the alcohol, the ache, and the guilt.

Lando has thought about messaging you so many times. Late at night, early in the morning, after a fight with Olivia, after a dream that felt too real. He even typed out a few drafts, but he always deleted them because it felt too selfish. Because what right did he have to pull you back when he was the one who walked away?

So instead, he stayed silent—and hoped you’d reach out first. Yet days passed, and you didn’t.

He scrolled through your Instagram more often than he wanted to admit. You’d changed your profile picture, and even cut your hair shorter. You posted photos with friends, laughing in golden sunlight, and yet your eyes still carried something heavy, something distant. He zoomed in on one photo once, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining it—that slight sadness you always tried to hide behind your smile.

You looked okay. But not happy. And it wrecked him to know that he was probably the reason why.

At the four-month mark, he started skipping more classes, stayed in bed longer and let his favorite lego sets collect dust. Olivia noticed, of course, but she didn’t ask the right questions—and even if she had, he wouldn’t have told the truth. Because the truth was simple and devastating: he missed you more than he ever thought possible. Not just in the romantic sense—but existentially. Like something about his very being had gone numb without you there to ground him, like he couldn’t find the version of himself he liked anymore. The version who laughed too loudly, who stayed up late talking about nothing, who said stupid things just to make you roll your eyes and smile.

He felt like a stranger to himself, and the more he tried to fit into this new life, the more he realized he didn’t belong here.

He hadn’t told Olivia yet about the truth of what he was feeling. About the growing distance in his chest every time she kissed him. About how every time he said “I love you,” it felt like a lie wrapped in an apology. He couldn’t look at her without thinking about how he got here. And how he should’ve never left you behind.

────୨ৎ────

The apartment was dim, lit only by the blue glare of a paused movie screen and the glow of Olivia’s phone. Outside, the city murmured its usual midnight song—distant traffic, wind brushing windows, occasional laughter from people who still had somewhere to be.

However, inside, it was dead quiet.

Lando sat slouched on the far end of the couch, elbows on his knees, thumb pressed hard into the side of his temple. His jaw ached from clenching. He’d been this way for the past hour—motionless, burning silently.

Olivia didn’t notice. Or maybe she did, but chose not to care. Her legs were tucked beneath her, wrapped in that gray blanket she bought when they were picking things for the apartment. She scrolled on her phone, her thumb moving in slow flicks, laughter bubbling from her lips every now and then at something on her screen.

It didn’t even feel like they were in the same room.

“You’re really not gonna talk again tonight?” She finally said, not even looking at him, too busy replying to someone on Instagram.

He blinked slowly, taking a deep breath. “There’s nothing to say.”

Her eyes snapped to him. “That’s bullshit, Lan. You’ve been weird for weeks.” She tilted her head, getting a better look at him. Lando opened his mouth, then closed it, exhaling through his nose.

“Is this about college?” She asked, more pointed now. “Or is this about her?” He stiffened at her last words.

There it was—the unspoken name, hanging in the air like a match above gasoline.

“Of course it is,” She scoffed, throwing her phone down. “You’ve been floating since we got here. You barely try anymore. Like your body’s here, but your head’s somewhere else—always looking back to Bristol. You need to understand that this city and every memory that is connected with it is already long gone.”

He looked at her, and for the first time in a long time, really looked—and didn’t recognize the person staring back. She wasn’t the Olivia he had first met, full of ambition and spontaneous affection. She was different now. Controlled, and expectant. Like she wanted to mold him into someone else.

How could he forget about Bristol, about you?

“Because I don’t feel like myself anymore, Liv!” Lando finally snapped, voice sharp, loud and desperate. “I don’t even know who the fuck I am when I’m with you.”

Olivia’s eyes narrowed, “Wow,” She snickered, voice trembling with disbelief. “That’s a shitty thing to say to the person who moved hundreds of kilometers to a foreign country with you.”

“No. You moved here,” He snapped, his voice finally rising. “And I just followed. I followed after you here because I thought that maybe it would fix whatever I was feeling. But it didn’t. It just made it worse.”

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. She blinked a few times before finally letting out a scoff and replying, “Okay, so this is my fault, huh?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Bullshit!” She stood now, the blanket falling off her lap. “You’ve been checked out for months. Is this really about her, Lando? Just say it. Have balls and say it, straight to my face, that this is true.”

Lando’s chest tightened. He ran a hand through his curls, pacing in quick, tight circles. He could feel the frustration building in his throat, like it was choking him.

“I haven’t spoken to her in months, Olivia.”

“But you still think about her. I see it on your face every time we walk past something that reminds you of home. Every time someone says her name. You go quiet, and get lost in your little, stupid head again, overthinking everything.”

Her words landed like a punch in the stomach. He stopped pacing, his back was turned to her. Softly, he answered, “Maybe I am.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Her breath hitched, hands trembling, knotted into fists.

“You’re such a coward, Lando,” She whispered in disbelief. “You couldn’t even admit you loved her. You just kept pretending, and now that this life isn’t perfect, you want to run back like a scared little boy.”

He turned around, eyes shining now, but not from tears. From fury. “I never wanted this life, can’t you understand it?!” He shouted, gripping his fists tightly, his nails digging deeply into the skin of his hand. “You planned it all out and I just… I went along. I left my family, my best friend, my home. I thought I could make it work, but I can’t. I don’t even know who I am anymore, Olivia.”

“So what now?” She spat, a non-chalant grimace visible on her face. “You’re gonna crawl back and expect her to just be waiting for you with open arms? Like none of this happened? Pretend like you didn’t break her heart too?”

That brought him to a halt. He hadn’t let himself think of it that way—how much damage he might’ve caused. How you had stayed quiet while he disappeared into someone else’s world.

Lando felt sick.

“I don’t know what she’ll say,” He admitted, softer now. “But I can’t keep doing this. Not when I feel like I’ve lost everything that made me who I was.”

Olivia stared at him for a long time. Then, her expression hardened. “Then go. And don’t bother coming back.” She added coldly.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Go ahead. Pack all of your shit, dickhead. Go chase your fucking dream girl. Just don’t expect me to wait around while you figure out who you are.”

He nodded once, jaw tight, eyes stinging. “I wouldn’t even ask you to.”

And just like that, he turned around and walked into their shared bedroom. He pulled out the old bag from under the bed—the one with his initials stitched into the side from when he was sixteen. It hadn’t been touched in months.

He threw in clothes without thinking. Chargers. Toothbrush. Photo strip he’d once tucked into a side pocket—the one with the two of you, silly grins and bright eyes, back when life had been simple. With all the necessary things, he zipped the bag up, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped back into the living room.

When he came back out, Olivia stood there, arms crossed over her chest, tears in her angry eyes. She was bitter, not even trying to stop him.

“Lando.” She called him one last time, and he turned to look at her for the last time. “You’ll regret this,” She continued, voice low and furious. “She won’t take you back, and you’ll be left with nothing.”

But Lando didn’t say a word, he just walked out, slamming the door behind him. The moment the door clicked shut, he felt it—like breathing after holding it too long. Like grief and relief tangled into one.

For the first time in months, the silence didn’t feel suffocating. It felt like something new beginning.

��───୨ৎ────

You weren’t expecting anything—just the usual hum of silence broken only by the rain pounding on the windows. It had been a quiet evening. Too quiet, actually.

You’d brushed your teeth, turned the lights low, your skin still warm from a shower, wrapped in a worn hoodie far too big for you. A movie played softly in the background, but you weren’t really watching. You never did anymore. Everything had dulled around the edges. You went through motions now. You existed in between hours, in between memories of what used to be and the aching of what could’ve been.

It was close to 1:00 AM. You hadn’t planned on staying up this late, but sleep never came easy these days. Not since he left. So when the knock came—three distinct raps followed by a silence so heavy it filled the room—your stomach dropped.

You froze mid-step, heart punching your ribs, unsure whether it was just your mind playing tricks on you. But then it came again—three more knocks, slower this time. Heavier. Like the person on the other side wasn’t sure they had the right to be there.

Your feet moved before you realized it. Soft, tentative steps across the hardwood. The kind you take when your heart is at your throat. When everything in you says, “Don’t hope. Don’t you dare hope.”

You reached the door and slowly peeked through the peephole. And in that moment, everything inside you fell apart.

It was him. Lando.

Soaked from head to toe, rain dripping from his curls, hoodie clinging to him like the weight of every decision he’d made. His face was pale, exhausted. His eyes locked on the doormat like he couldn’t bear to look up. He looked like regret had come to life.

You stared, frozen in place. Every nerve in your body screamed. Every instinct said this isn’t real, that it was just a trick of your mind conjured out of all the times you’d cried yourself to sleep.

You didn’t even think twice as your fingers already fumbled at the lock, breath shallow, pulse racing. When the door finally creaked open, the rain surged in, bringing cold and memories with it.

Lando slowly lifted his head, making your eyes meet, and in that moment it felt as if everything around stopped. The storm behind him blurred into white noise, and the air between you buzzed with everything unspoken.

Your throat tightened, and you felt as if your knees threatened to give out any second. You hadn’t seen him in eight months. Just glimpses, pictures with Olivia that felt like salt in a wound you never asked for. But now here he was, Lando in the flesh, standing right in front of you. And you couldn’t breathe.

Lando didn’t speak. He just stood there, rain running down his face, mixing with something that might’ve been tears—but you couldn’t tell. He looked older somehow. More tired, like he hadn’t slept in days, maybe weeks. Like life had eaten him alive.

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to scream, and cry. To ask him why—why he left, why he never looked back, why he let you shatter without a single word.

The pain hit you all at once—heavy, violent, and consuming—making you break apart. Your throat burned as you moved towards him. You shoved him back once, then again. Your fists thudded against his chest, angry, raw, messy and real.

“You bastard—” Your voice broke into a sob as you hit him again. “You goddamn— selfish coward—” Lando flinched at your words, but still didn’t move away.

You shoved him harder. “You— you left me! You said nothing, not even a single word! You just disappeared! You think you can show up here after months and what? What?!”

Your fists pounded his chest as anger boiled over into pure heartbreak. “Do you have any idea what you did to me? How much it hurt?” Still, he took it. He didn’t raise a hand. He let you hit him. “You just left! Like I was nothing to you. Like I wasn’t even— God, I hate you!”

Each word broke more of you apart. Hot tears blurred your vision as your fists pounded against him with every ache you’d buried for months. You were crying now, properly crying. Ugly, broken sobs tearing through your chest. The kind of crying that made your knees weak, that shook your whole body.

“You fucking asshole! You didn’t even say goodbye—” Your voice cracked. “I waited, Lando. I waited for you to say something. To make it make sense. And you just— you were gone.”

Still, he said nothing. His breath was shaking, lips parted, eyes wet from more than just the rain. And then finally—finally—he moved. Slowly and carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal, he wrapped his arms around you in a strong embrace. You struggled at first—your fists still weakly hitting at his chest, but his arms only tightened more. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other splayed across your back, grounding you.

“Shhh… I know. I know.” He whispered, his throat tightening, “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked on the last word, and that’s what finally shattered you.

You stopped fighting.

His arms wrapped around you like he’d never let go. Tight and desperate. One hand tangled in your hair, the other pressing you against him like he was terrified you’d disappear. You could feel his heart pounding in his chest—fast and scared. He was shaking, and so were you.

You sobbed into his hoodie, the fabric soaking up your tears and rain and months of silence. He didn’t say a word. His chin dropped to rest on the top of your head as he held you there, like if he let go, the world would fall apart again. You gripped at him like a lifeline, hands fisting into his hoodie, face pressed into the warmth of his chest as your body trembled. You missed him so much.

No words were needed. Not yet. Just the rain and the sound of your heartbeat against his. The thud of two souls colliding after too long apart.

You cried into his chest while he stood in your doorway, dripping rainwater and regret, your name probably sitting at the edge of his tongue.

And still, nothing. Nothing except the unshakable feeling that even now, even after everything—this was still home.

────୨ৎ────

Some time had passed before you finally led him inside.

The house was still quiet. Not the kind of quiet that hummed peacefully—but the breathless kind. The kind where the walls still echoed with everything left unsaid.

Rain had soaked into the hallway carpet beneath your feet, his clothes leaving wet spots behind him that you didn’t have the heart to care about. Your hand trembled slightly as it held onto the railing while you climbed the stairs. Behind you, Lando followed wordlessly, his movements hesitant—like he wasn’t sure he belonged here anymore.

Your room hadn’t changed much. Same soft light from the lamp on the bedside table, same books piled up on your desk, same blanket folded at the end of the bed. And yet, when he stepped in behind you, something shifted. The air tightened.

Lando stood in the doorway, dripping, still breathing like he hadn’t figured out how to do it properly since he saw your face again. And you didn’t say anything. Not yet. You just turned around to face him, heart pounding in your ears like a warning, and the second your eyes met again in that dim golden light, something collapsed inside you. Not with noise, but with a softness that hurt.

You crossed the room slowly. No rush, no desperation, just the ache of every second that had passed since he had left. Every second you’d spent trying not to miss him, trying not to hate him, trying not to wish for this exact moment.

He looked down at you when you stopped in front of him. His hair was sticking to his forehead. His shirt clung to his skin, knuckles were scraped, and his eyes held centuries of regret. And you reached for him—not with certainty, but with instinct.

Fingers brushed his sleeve, then his hand, and finally, without a word, he let out the quietest exhale and stepped closer to you, forehead pressing to yours like he’d finally made it home.

You stood like that for a while, eyes closed, neither of you moving. The sound of the rain bleeding through the walls.

“I…” He started to whisper, voice cracking—but you shook your head against him.

“Don’t,” You breathed, your voice trembling. “Not yet, Lan.” The nickname made his heart squeeze painfully, remembering all the happiest times when you called him that.

Lando nodded as he understood what you meant. This wasn’t the time for words, for answers—not tonight.

You took his hand and pulled him gently toward the bed. It wasn’t romantic nor filled with lust. It was the comfort and longing that made you do that.

You handed him a towel from the dresser, watched as he clumsily dried his hair, and peeled off the hoodie that stuck to him like a second skin. Then you passed him one of your old sweatshirts—the navy one he used to steal during movie nights, and the one you could never bring yourself to throw away. He hesitated, but eventually he took it, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled it over his head.

You turned away to give him space. But when you sat down on the bed, you felt the weight shift beside you. He was close, but not touching. Like he was scared to ruin the fragile thing you’d just begun stitching back together.

Not knowing what to say, you lay down, and he followed your steps. It was awkward at first, like learning again a language you used to speak fluently. His arm grazed yours and you shifted slightly, making him mirror your moves. The duvet settled over you both like a secret, warm and heavy and sacred.

It took time—slow, aching minutes—for your body to relax. But it happened, eventually. Your head found its way to his chest, just above his heart, and his arm found your waist. Your legs tangled together under the covers like they’d never forgotten how to fit. And still… you said nothing.

You listened his breathing—to the gradually slowing thump of his heart. To the rain whispering against your windows. You felt the warmth of his skin through the borrowed fabric. You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

He held you like you were made of glass. Carefully, and reverently. Your fingers curled in the hem of his sleeve and didn’t let go. And finally—finally—you allowed yourself to breathe.

You didn’t want to sleep. You were afraid all of this would vanish if you closed your eyes. That if you let go, he’d disappear again. That the morning would come and this would all be just another cruel dream. But your body betrayed you, and for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, you fell asleep wrapped in the arms of someone who knew you. Who had broken you, and had come back.

You didn’t dream You just slept—heart pressed to heart, hands entwined in quiet forgiveness.

And Lando? He stayed awake, watching the way your face softened in sleep. The faint frown that still lingered, even now. He studied every inch of your skin like he was afraid he’d forget it again. His thumb brushed your back, up and down, slow and reverent.

He couldn’t believe that he’d left this, that he’d chosen to leave you.

You stirred slightly, breathing shifting against his chest, and he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear so gently it almost broke him.

And that was when he knew.

No matter what it took—no matter how long it would be—he wasn’t leaving again. He couldn’t. You were his home. And this? This was just the beginning.

────୨ৎ────

The next morning the rain hadn’t stopped. It painted the windows in soft streams, whispering against the glass like an old lullaby, a rhythm that felt almost like breathing. Slow, gentle and unrelenting. The world outside was hushed, dulled beneath a curtain of gray skies and water-soaked streets, but in the stillness of the apartment, it felt safe. Wrapped in that soft kind of silence that only rain brings—where time slows, and nothing demands to be done except existing.

The bedroom was still dim, bathed in the faint amber glow of the bedside lamp that was left on throughout the night. Its golden light caught on the edges of things—the half-empty glass of water on the dresser, the corner of a blanket trailing off the bed, the framed photo next to the books which depicted you and Lando, laughing at something neither of you remembered now. Younger, lighter, unaware of the ache the years would bring.

But now, your older selves lay beneath the covers, wrapped up in warmth and each other. Skin against skin, his arm draped around your waist, your legs tangled naturally beneath the duvet. As if you’d always belonged in this shape. Like the spaces you left in each other had only ever been waiting to be filled.

His thumb moved slowly against your side—back and forth, back and forth. A silent check-in. A promise, a reminder that he was there.

When you woke up, you didn’t move at first. Just let your eyes follow the soft pattern of shadows across the ceiling, let the sound of the rain blur into the quiet thudding of your heart.

Lando shifted slightly, lifting his head just enough to look at you. His curls were messy, and his eyes—blue and familiar—were half-lidded but awake. “Are you okay?” He murmured, voice thick with sleep and something deeper.

You hesitated, then shrugged, your voice soft. “Just thinking.”

“About?” He questioned, his tone careful. Like he already knew the answer might sting.

You blinked slowly, and swallowed the lump forming in your throat. “You know… I don’t think I’ve forgiven you yet,” You whispered. “Not fully.” The words cracked slightly on their way out, and you hated how vulnerable they sounded. How fragile they made you feel.

Lando didn’t flinch, nor pulled away. He just held your gaze. “I know.” He said quietly.

You turned onto your side to face him fully, his hand now resting on the curve of your hip. The mattress dipped slightly under your movement, the duvet sliding down your shoulder. Your skin cooled instantly in the air, but it wasn’t why you shivered.

“I told myself I had,” You continued, a little more steadily now. “I wanted to. But I still remember the silence. The way it felt when you left, Lan. Like— like I’d been erased from your life overnight. Like I didn’t matter.”

Lando’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly at your words. Then, slowly, he reached up, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. His touch lingered, as if trying to memorize you all over again, his eyes full of regret.

“I think about that too,” He murmured. “Every single day.” There was no defense in his voice. No excuses. Just the truth, bare and broken.

“I was a coward. I was scared, and I let that fear decide everything. I left you without a word and convinced myself it was the right thing. That you’d be fine, and that you didn’t need me. But it wasn’t about you. It was about me—and I hurt you because I didn’t know how to stay.” He shook his head, like the memory made him sick. “I was selfish. I chose a version of myself that made me feel safe, even if it meant becoming someone I didn’t recognize. Even if it meant walking away from the one person who ever really saw me.”

His eyes searched yours, shimmering. “And I’m sorry.”

The words hung between you, bare and trembling.

“I’m sorry for the silence. I’m sorry for every night you waited, every time you wondered what you did wrong, every piece of yourself you had to stitch back together without me. I should’ve been there. I should’ve fought for you.”

You felt your throat tighten. Your chest ached with the force of how badly you’d needed to hear those words.

“I think I didn’t deserve your love,” He continued, “but I had it. And I broke it. And that’s something I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life. But if there’s a chance—any chance—that I can still be the person you trust again… I’ll spend every day trying.” His voice cracked. “I just want you to know that I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”

You blinked, and the tears finally slipped down your cheeks again—warm, unstoppable.

You sat up slowly, mirroring him now, the duvet pooled around your waist. And for a moment, you just looked at him. Looked at the boy who had left, and the man who had come back.

You whispered, “Thank you.” as a wave of relief ran down you.

You never knew how much you needed to hear that apology. And though forgiveness wasn’t something that could be wrapped in a single moment, it lived in that breath. In the way your body leaned into his without fear. In the way he exhaled like he’d been holding that apology in his lungs for a year.

You didn’t need a grand gesture. You needed this. The truth, laid bare. Between two people who had shattered each other once—and were now choosing, quietly, to try again.Together.

Your eyes met his. “Do you regret it? All of it?”

He exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling with the weight of the question. “Not everything,” He said finally, “But most of all, the time I wasted pretending I didn’t love you.” That cracked something wide open inside you.

“I thought if I stayed gone,” He continued, voice shaking now, “if I became who Olivia wanted me to be, then maybe I’d forget how much I needed you. But I didn’t. I never did. And one morning, I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself.” He paused for a second, his throat tightening at the recall of all the memories, “I missed you so much it made me sick.”

Your breath caught. That was the moment you let the tears fall once again—not loud or gasping, just silent, and honest. They slipped down your cheeks like the rain on the window, blurring everything.

“I missed you too,” You whispered, your hand finding his beneath the blanket, your fingers curling around his like a lifeline. “Even when I told myself I didn’t.”

When you said that, Lando smiled. It was small, soft—nothing like the wide grins he used to wear when the world was still simple—but it was real. Tired and tender and entirely yours.

He leaned forward until your foreheads touched, his breath warm against your skin. Neither of you spoke for a while, there was no need to. Just that quiet, precious stillness—the kind that only came after the storm, after the wreckage, when you realized you were both still here. Still breathing. Still reaching for each other.

When he finally whispered, “Can I stay?” it wasn’t a question about just staying at your place. It was about everything that came after—your future.

You nodded, voice barely audible. “You never have to leave again, Lan.” And you meant it wholeheartedly.

His hand curled around your side again, anchoring you close, and your body folded into his like you’d done it a hundred times before—because you had. But never like this. Never with the knowledge that tomorrow wouldn’t take him away again.

The rain outside kept falling, steady and quiet, but the storm between you had broken. And in that little apartment, tucked beneath layers of blankets and bruised apologies, two people who had once been torn apart by time and distance had finally found each other again.

Not in grand confessions. Not in desperate pleas. But in the way his thumb still moved against your hip. In the way your fingers clutched his like they couldn’t bear to let go.

This wasn’t about going back to the beginning, rather about starting from here. Where the pain had already been named. Where the truths had already been spoken. Where love, battered but burning, had quietly survived.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow could wait because right now, in the amber light and the hush of falling rain, you were home.

────୨ৎ────

3 years later

Your shared apartment smelled like warm vanilla and the candle you lit hours ago—something earthy, sandalwood maybe, that had slowly wrapped itself around the quiet of the afternoon.

Outside, the sky was beginning to shift into early evening—dusted pinks and soft oranges stretching across the skyline like a watercolor bleeding into paper. A soft breeze drifted in through the cracked balcony door, swaying the white curtains like waves.

You were nestled into the couch, legs stretched out, a blanket tossed haphazardly over both your bodies. Your head rested on Lando’s chest, his hoodie swallowing you up, the fabric worn-in and smelling like him—clean cotton and a scent you could never name but always recognized. He was absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair, slowly, over and over again, untangling the strands with gentle care like it was the most important task in the world. And in that moment, maybe it was.

A record played low in the background, some old song he loved that you’d grown to love too. Lando had his arm wrapped around you, his hand trailing slowly through your hair. Over and over. Fingertips catching in soft strands before sliding free again, curling around them like he never wanted to stop touching you.

You were laying there, head on his torso, the quiet rise and fall beneath your cheek like a lullaby. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. It was one of those moments where everything was said in the silence—in the closeness, the steady breathing, the way your fingers rested against the inside of his wrist, your thumb brushing the faint line of a scar you both knew the story of.

Lando shifted a little, just enough to press a kiss to the top of your head. No words, just that.

You smiled into the soft cotton of his shirt, fingers tracing slow circles over the inside of his wrist. “You’re gonna make me fall asleep, Lan.” You mumbled, your words softened by the weight of comfort, eyelids heavy.

He tilted his head slightly, brushing his lips against your hairline. “Then fall asleep,” He whispered, voice laced with that familiar warmth that always made your chest flutter. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You smiled into his shirt, your heart swelling, a quiet little ache blooming behind your ribs. “You always say that.”

He smiled, too. “Because I mean it. And would it be so bad?” He said softly, the corners of his lips twitching into a half-smile. “I like having you like this, pretty girl.”

You tilted your head to look at him, chin resting against his chest. “Like what?”

He met your eyes, all warm honey and quiet adoration. “Close.”

And then he leaned down, connecting your lips in a kiss. Not in that rushed, desperate way he used to when everything was still uncertain—when love felt fragile and maybe temporary. No, this kiss was slow. Anchored. Like he was still choosing you, over and over again, even now.

You kissed him back, one hand curling into the collar of his shirt, the other still resting against his chest where you could feel his heartbeat under your palm. He pulled back just enough to brush your nose with his, grinning against your mouth. Lando looked at you like you were something precious—like he still couldn’t believe you were real, like even in all the time that had passed, he hadn’t gotten used to having you close again.

Your fingers slid up to his jaw, thumb brushing along the line of stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave. “You know, sometimes I still feel like I’m dreaming,” You said softly. “Like I’ll wake up and you’ll still be gone.”

His brows knit together, and his free hand came up to cup your cheek gently. “Hey,” He said, voice suddenly serious, “you’re not dreaming. I’m here.”

You nodded, but your throat felt thick, full of memories you hadn’t spoken aloud in months. The silence between you shifted—still soft, but a little heavier now.

“You know I love you, right?” He asked, quiet and sure.

You nodded again, slower this time, your eyes starting to sting. “I know.” His eyes searched yours, his thumb resting just beneath your cheekbone like he couldn’t bear to lose contact.

His hand slipped back into your hair, gently tucking a strand behind your ear. “I don’t think I knew how much until I almost lost you.”

You blinked, your lips parting, but no words came. Instead, you just laid your head back against his chest, curling in tighter, wrapping your arm around his waist. You didn’t need to say it—he could feel it in the way you held him like he was home.

“You know,” He murmured after a while, “I could do this forever.”

You pretended to think about it. “Do what?”

“This,” He whispered. “Be with you. Like this. Wake up next to you. Watch you fall asleep on me before we finish a movie. Let you steal all the covers.”

“That sounds a lot like a lifetime commitment.” You smirked, making the man beside you grin at your words.

“That’s kind of the point, love.”

You looked at him then—really looked—and it hit you again, how much love had filled the quiet spaces in your life since that night he came back. Since the rain, the doorstep, the apology. Since everything shifted.

You cupped his jaw, thumb brushing over the curve of his cheek. “You know,” You said softly, “I never thought we’d make it here.”

He leaned into your touch, gaze steady. “Well, I did.” And with that, the silence wrapped around you both again—no pressure, no need to rush. Just comfort, and peace. The quiet knowledge that love didn’t need to be loud to be real.

It was here. In the way your body curved into his, perfectly fitted. In the way his eyes softened every time they landed on you. It was here. Always.

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you melted further into him, burying your face in his neck, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. You stayed like that for a long time. Breathing. Existing. Loving.

The light outside faded into dusky blues. The candle flickered, the music looped. And still, you stayed like that—wrapped in each other. Lando’s fingers never stopped moving through your hair, slow and thoughtful, like he was memorizing the feel of you. And when the night time finally came, when the only light was the glow of the kitchen lamp left on across the room, Lando gently scooped you up—blanket and all—and carried you to bed.

Because this wasn’t the beginning of something new. This was the finally. Finally together, finally home. Finally, always.

Everything that had once been right at the fingertips, was now fully grasped.

reuploads and likes are highly appreciated ♡

taglist: @xoxomansee @htpssgavi @toriiez @neo-teenkidz

#lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris fic #lando norris angst #lando norris imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #mine #writing #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #fanfic #haniette writing

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rmview · 6 months ago

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hard to handle | san, m.

summary: san, a cocky boxer with a notorious temper, meets his match in his resilient physiotherapist who refuses to quit despite his antics. he does a good job keeping you at a distance, but during a playful bout, unintentional feelings surface and cause things to get a little physical.

pairing: boxer!choi san x physiotherapist f!reader

genre: boxing!au, pwp, tension, smut

words: 4.2k words

warnings: explicit & messy & unprotected sex, mean!san, cocky dom!san, big cock!san, sub!reader, size kink, pinning/restraining, teasing, clothed grinding, biting, praise, marking, fingering, clit play, orgasm control, edging, handjob, penetrative sex, choking, tears, creampie, almost public sex (?) and voyeurism themes — they’re in a public room with the door unlocked, interruptions.

minors do not interact! | masterlist | more ateez content

“you’re not allowed to quit.”

the words came sharp and sudden, slicing through the air with the same precision san delivered in the ring. you froze mid-stretch, hands stilling over his sore leg. slowly, you turned to meet his gaze, confused by the uncharacteristic weight in his tone.

“…okay,” you replied cautiously, trying to gauge his mood.

san’s brow furrowed deeper, and the irritation etched across his face didn’t waver. “coach kim told me you were planning to leave,” he pressed, voice edged with something almost accusatory.

you blinked, letting his words settle. with how insistent and demanding san was, it wouldn’t have surprised you if that rumor had sprouted legs and started running. after all, you weren’t the first physiotherapist to step into this circus — and judging by the quick turnover before you, most had found the door far more inviting than the job.

but you stayed.

why? it wasn’t some deep-seated need to prove yourself or a traumatic past molding you into a masochist. no, it was simpler than that: the paycheck was solid, and once you learned to see past san’s gruff exterior and insufferable tendencies, he was just… tolerable. like dealing with an overgrown five-year-old throwing tantrums in the body of a professional fighter.

“well, coach is wrong,” you said, shrugging as you resumed your careful movements on his leg. your voice was calm, steady, not betraying the flicker of amusement rising in you at his sudden concern.

but san wasn’t convinced. his dark eyes narrowed as if searching your face for a crack, a lie, a tell.

“he said you’re thinking about it,” he countered, his scowl deepening. “you can’t leave. i need you.”

it wasn’t romantic — far from it. his words came out firm, almost commanding, the way you’d expect from someone used to giving orders. someone used to winning.

still, something about this moment felt different. the commanding façade faltered ever so slightly, and there was a flicker of something raw in his voice. vulnerability, maybe? you weren’t sure. but it was there, buried under the frustration, and you couldn’t ignore it.

what was his deal? what was it about the idea of you leaving that got under his skin?

you paused again, letting your hands rest gently on his leg as you glanced up. his expression hadn’t softened, but you could see the edges weren’t as sharp. your lips twitched, a small smile creeping in despite yourself.

“are you sure coach kim wasn’t just teasing you?” you asked, your tone light as you tried to ease the tension. “you know, considering your, er, personality? because honestly, i haven’t thought about leaving.” even though it’s the saner option, you thought, but didn’t say it out loud.

san huffed, leaning back against the mat, his lips pressed into a thin line. he looked at you for a long moment, his jaw clenching before he finally spoke. “are you calling me a problem?” his voice was low, sharp, and cold enough to send a chill down your spine.

your breath hitched as his piercing gaze locked onto you, unrelenting and unreadable. his tone alone made your stomach twist, but it was the way his leg pulled away from your hands that had you stiffening. the dismissal in his actions was clear — he didn’t want you there.

“i…” you faltered, feeling the weight of his words press against you. “of course not, san. you’re not the problem.”

your voice was soft, careful, an attempt to diffuse the tension. but his eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched, signaling that your words did little to soothe his frustration.

“then leave,” he snapped, turning his head to the side, arms crossing over his chest like a fortress. “i don’t need you.”

his dismissal stung more than you’d like to admit, but you swallowed the lump forming in your throat. “i’m not going anywhere,” you replied, your tone hushed but steady, a small smile twitching on your lips. “i enjoy working with you too much.”

he scoffed, his lips curling into a mean sneer. “don’t bother lying, princess, you’re terrible at it.”

his words were biting, but the way he leaned slightly closer didn’t go unnoticed. he was testing you, waiting for you to crack under the weight of his intimidation.

“i’m not lying, i wasn’t lying.” you whispered, shaking your head. “just teasing…”

“well, stop it,” he growled, his voice dropping an octave. the air around you grew heavier as he glared at you. “it’s annoying. i don’t like it.”

“i know,” you murmured, your voice almost playful as you reached out, lightly brushing your fingers against his arm. “but that’s exactly why i do it. you’re kind of… cute when you’re like this.”

his eye twitched at your words, and the next thing you knew, he moved. with one swift motion, he shoved you back against the couch, his body towering over yours. his knee pressed into the cushion beside your hip, locking you in place, while his other hand braced against the armrest, boxing you in completely.

the weight of his presence stole the air from your lungs as he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours. the glint in his eyes was sharp, teasing yet dangerous, and his lips curled into a sneer that sent a shiver down your spine.

“cute?” he repeated, his tone mocking as he pinned your wrists above your head. his grip was firm but not enough to hurt, though the dominance in his posture had your heart pounding.

you stared up at him, wide-eyed and breathless, your cheeks heating under his intense scrutiny. “san…” you started, but your voice faltered.

he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, his breath mingling with yours. “do you think you’re immune to being kicked to the curb just because you’ve been here the longest?” he murmured, his voice low and laced with warning.

your lips parted, a soft laugh escaping despite the way your body trembled under his. every part of you that he touched sent sparks flying through your veins, down your spine and between your legs. “you’d never. i’m your favorite,” you whispered, trying to mask your flustered state with a teasing edge, your words holding truth.

his expression hardened, but he didn’t pull away. instead, his grip on your wrists tightened slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “you wish,” he scoffed, though the slight hitch in his breath betrayed him. that and the subtle twitch of his cock in his shorts that you definitely felt from how you froze.

you weren’t sure whether to feel thrilled or terrified, but one thing was certain: you were treading dangerous waters, and san didn’t look like he was about to let you off easy.

“...this is a very risky, er, position,” you choked out softly, voice slightly strained. your gaze flickered between his narrowed brown eyes, to the door of the break room that you both were in, it’s door unlocked. your thighs rubbed together almost unknowingly and you resisted the urge to squirm. you were trapped.

“mhm.” san hummed dismissively, his gaze not leaving you. every twitch in your expression was noticed by him, especially the growing warmth on your cheeks and ears, that made him smirk. “and?”

“and coach could walk in...” you cleared your throat, mind fogging and something in the pit of your stomach clenching. you couldn’t imagine the look on the old man’s face if he walked in and saw you under the star fighter you were supposed to be healing. “it would be embarrassing.”

san chuckled, and your gaze snapped to his. it was mocking and you shivered — from fear or arousal, you didn’t know. “why? we aren’t doing anything... yet.”

“yet?” your heartbeat was wild, throbbing in your ears. you were sure san could hear it. if he was being so mean, he definitely could and was taking advantage of how meek you were. he knew you could never say no to him, not that you wanted to. “what do you — mmpf!”

the next thing you knew, you felt a tongue slipping past your lips, swirling inside your mouth. your breath was stolen from you, and with his free hand, san grabbed both of your wrists and pinned them to the couch, using his body to keep you in place.

it was a sloppy and dominating kiss. he explored and claimed every part of your mouth without pulling away. his body pressed against yours, and the kiss slowly grew more heated. his hand wandered down your sides, squeezing them softly for a moment before he pulled away from your lips, breaths mingled.

san studied your expression, eyes still narrowed in a cold glare. he smirked at how out of breath and dazed you looked, and pushed his knee between your thighs to part your legs. you were practically shaking and san didn’t even do anything yet.

“stupid.” he mutters out, tone rough and husky. leaning down to your neck, san began sucking on the sweet spot under your jaw that made you squeak.

his body pressed against you, almost uncomfortably, and you were practically trapped underneath him. your wrists were still pinned down, and you were hyperaware of every ridge and pane of his body on top of your curves. his broad chest, beefy arms, strong thighs and hard cock were suffocating you, and there was nothing you could do about it.

“you’re so stupid and cute, i could eat you right now.” he rasped, lifting his head to look down at you. his face was inches from your own. san looked obsessed.

you shivered at the unusual glint in his piercing glare, his smirk almost evil and you flushed. “eat me?”

“every last bit.” his voice was rough. a stark contrast to his actions. his hands would rub up and down your sides gently, his face still close.

a low and sensual growl spilled from between his lips as he kissed you again, lips rougher. he brought one of his hands up to thread into the hair at the base of your neck, tilting your head so he could have more access to your lips. his arm wrapped around your waist, tugging your body as close to him as possible.

everything was fine — as fine as san eating your face off could be — until you felt something long and hard press right against your clothed clit. “ngh... san!”

he merely chuckled against your lips, sharp teeth tugging your bottom lip, and then smoothing the sting with his warm tongue. “what?”

“i’m...” you started, but were unable to continue, gasping when you felt his hips grind against yours once more. small sparks shot from your clit to your spine, and you arched softly, voice a pitch higher. your pussy clenched around nothing. “...sensitive.”

“i know.” san groaned in your neck, and you felt his thick fingers of his free hand undo the drawstrings on your uniform scrubs. he silenced any of your gasps with another kiss, slipping his fingers into the front of your pants to push past your panties. you barely had time to register his next actions, until you felt the rough pads of his calloused fingers run over your quivering clit and folds.

your wrists were still held down with one of his hands as you moaned shakily, eyes squeezing shut. you felt san’s long fingers smear your slick all over the folds of your cunt, cursing lowly under his breath.

“fuck, you’re so wet.” he exhaled, his fingers circling your swollen clit and making you twitch. the feel of you writhing under him, feeling you squirm and hearing you moan, it only made san want more. he leaned down, his lips on your neck, nipping and sucking as he slipped a digit into your pulsing pussy, feeling your tight walls clench around him. “fuck.”

san gritted his teeth and, his body trembled with restraint.

“san... ah...” you squirmed softly as you felt his fingers pump and prod your spongy walls, gushing wetness the longer he stretched out your cunt. your eyes were glazed, and your arousal was dripping down his knuckles the longer he curled and scissored you open on the couch. “we... we shouldn’t be doing this.”

the sounds of your pretty voice, the feeling of your hips moving against his hand, the soft moans and gasps — san was losing himself in you. he added another finger, feeling the heat of your cunt around his digits, wanting to hear those sweet sounds of yours. “oh?”

“t-the door... it’s unlocked.” it was a miracle you could still think from how deliciously he played your cunt, but your ears were still hyperaware of the faint yells and sounds of sparring from the main gym. you throbbed around his fingers, almost in fear of being caught.

san grunted, reaching as deep as he could with the tips of his fingers before slowly pulling the digits out, and glancing down to see the way his skin glistened with your juices. “doesn’t matter.”

“but...” “but nothing.” san scoffed and sat back on his knees, undoing his shorts and pushing the cloth down along with his boxers so his hard cock sprung out. the veiny length was twitching and leaking precum from the angry red tip, and your flushed gaze was drawn to the sight while you rubbed your sore wrists. he used your slick smeared on his fingers to pump his hard cock, taking in the sight of you panting and sprawled half-naked on the break room sofa, thighs parted and folds glistening. “the only one coming in this room is you.”

your gaze met his smirking one and you tried to scowl softly, propping yourself up on your elbows shakily. “very funny.”

“i’m not done with you, princess.” san crawled back over you, pushing his face in your neck to nip at that spot that made you squirm, shifting between your legs.

you were so tired of him toying with you that you reached out to grasp his cock with your hands, experimentally stroking the hard length. your fingers couldn’t even wrap fully around the girth of his thick shaft, but that didn’t stop you. san let out a choked groan, his teeth gripping the flesh of your neck as you flicked your wrist at an agonizingly slow pace.

it was your first time fisting a cock and your hands were almost shaking. yet you loved the feeling of the large man practically turning into jelly above you from a few strokes. it only motivated you to try and squeeze tighter, pumping up and down, as your flustered gaze met his weak one. san was still trying to keep up his facade, but not for long.

san couldn’t hold back any longer. “that’s enough!” he hissed weakly, smacking your hand away and pulling you to lie back down on the couch, while he positioned the bulbous head of his thick cock at your entrance. “no more playing around.”

san was looking down at you, his eyes dark and focused, his body trembling with restraint that was held by a thread. he was so tightly wound and needed to cum now, before he actually lost it.

“o-okay...” your clit throbbed as he rubbed his cock against your wet folds a few times. your eyes were almost hazy from pleasure, and you pawed at the leather of the couch for stability. suddenly san couldn’t hold back any longer.

he grabbed one of your legs, to rest it over his shoulder, and pushed it up before he leaned over you, his body hovering above yours as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin on your neck. san’s hand gripped one of the small throw pillows for a moment, moving it underneath your hips, and then he slowly started to push his cock forward into your entrance.

as he sunk his thick shaft into your cunt inch by inch, the feeling of you clenching around him, the feeling of your breath catching in your throat, the way your body shook at the slow bottoming out — san’s eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head.

he grunted through his gritted teeth, his hand leaving the pillow by your hip to reach up and grasp your wrist, to hold it down again. san looked down at your face, his hips rocking slowly at first to get a feel of stretching out your small stretchy cunt, as his words came in short bursts. “god… ah… just like that…”

“san...” your voice was a soft breathless whimper, the sight of him above you making you quiver and clench more. all your dazed eyes could see was a beefy and sweaty san on top of you, jaw clenched and grunting, and you nearly came on the spot. “y-you... you... i hate you.”

he sight of you below him, so docile, flushed and soft, made his chest swell with something, his lips pulling into a slow mocking grin. “yeah?”

san was so desperate, so fucking hard at the thought of claiming you all night, to mark you and keep you under him. you had no idea how much he needed you. how could you, when he’d never said a word?

your cunt was so tight and warm. like nothing he’d ever had, or imagined in his long showers after training, eyes closed and fisting his cock for a quick release while he wished it was your cunt milking him instead. now, having you under him for real felt like a fever dream, and san’s hips had a mind of their own from the way his thrusts started to pick up pace.

“yeah.” your breath hitched softly, already forgetting your previous train of thought from the way san’s hips angled. the tip of his cock continued to repeatedly bully the spongy sensitive spot in you, making you see stars. “you’re so mean to me... all the time... a-and... and...”

you trailed off, eyes squeezing shut softly as you nearly found yourself cumming all over his cock. san was close too, and he just needed a few more thrusts before —

knock, knock.

fuck.

both you and san froze, and for a moment you felt your soul leave your body. whoever it was, could just twist the knob of the unlocked door and see you sprawled under san, with your leg over his shoulder, and his cock buried ten inches deep in your cervix.

“san, sparring practice in ten minutes!” coach kim called out cheerily from behind the door, unaware.

“we’ll be out soon.” san’s voice rumbled, and your wide-eyed gaze snapped to him, clenching almost in fear. san felt the twitch of your walls and glanced down at you, something almost evil lighting up in his eyes. “doc is still busy working on my bad leg, aren’t you doc?”

the color drained from your face when you felt san’s hips resume their thrusts, and you almost fearfully tried to push him away. shaking your head, you tried to stop him and whisper-yell, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to say a word without moaning shakily, so you stayed silent. something neither san, nor coach would let you do.

“is everything okay in there, doc?” coach kim asked, as you squirmed under san, his large palm holding your hip in place under him, and your ankle in place over his shoulder. his thrusts were still quick, aimed to make you and himself cum as soon as possible, whether coach walked in or not.

“answer him.” san’s lips brushed against your ear as he whispered hotly, smug. “you don’t want him to — fuck — come in, would you?”

it was hard to gather the courage to speak without screaming, especially when you opened your mouth, and the asshole above you took that as the exact moment to decide to rub your clit, coughing softly to disguise your noises. “i, uh, — ngh — we’ll be coming! in sometime... just... go on, coach... no need to — stop that! — wait up!”

you blurted between whimpers, trying to swat san’s wandering hands away as he pinched and rubbed all sensitive spots on your body, even dipping down to bite at your clothed nipples. you were still on edge as coach could walk in anytime, but that didn’t bother san. if fact, his hips pistoned into your cervix at a mind-numbing pace, all thoughts blown from your mind.

“you heard the man,” san grunted in your ear. his smooth skin was drenched in sweat, slight red marks left on his shoulders from your nails, and his brows were furrowed in concentration. “we have five minutes to finish.”

you let out a strangled noise when you felt the sudden onslaught of stimulation, his large palms grasping your hips as he fucked you hard. guiding your hips to match his, san made sure his hips were angled to fuck right up into your womb, smirking to himself when he noticed the slight outline of his cock bulging from your stomach. “t-there’s no way... that we can f-finish... in 5 minutes...”

“you wanna bet?” san rasped, forcing his mouth on yours, kissing you deep and slow, his own grunts and sighs barely muffled by his lips. san could feel you tightening around him, hear the breathy, soft pants coming from your lips.

how could he hold himself back when you responded so eagerly?

san pulled his lips away to look down at you, his hand leaving your leg to grasp at your throat, his calloused thumb resting on your jaw, and his grip firm. you looked so good under him like this.

“that’s it, princess,” san groaned, his hips pushing forward, his voice uneven from all the pleasure. he didn’t think he’d last the next 30 seconds, let alone 5 minutes.

but he wouldn’t cum before you. that would almost be insulting, making sure to use his free hand to fondle your swollen clit, bringing you to finish as soon as him.

“san!” you cried out, already feeling your release building. you tried to bite at your knuckles to keep yourself quiet and muffle all the whimpers and gasps that could reach outside the room. your nails dug into his biceps, eyes squeezing shut.

both of you were so close, san’s hips moving more erratically, and your body losing control. your voice was choked and a pitch higher, every noise you made streaming into soft sobs, tears blurring your eyes. you felt too good. “san... i’m gonna...”

san could feel your body trembling, your breathing getting shallower, and when you spoke, it only made him feel closer. he panted, his breath coming out in hot, uneven puffs, his nose rubbing against yours, his hand on your throat tightening.

“go on… squeeze that cunt of yours tight… i’m almost done.”

you didn’t need to be told twice, and when you squeezed so beautifully for him, san lost himself.

he came with a strangled groan, his movements stuttering, his hand squeezing on your throat for a moment. his eyes squeezed shut as white hot pleasure coursed through his veins, his mind blanking out and ears ringing. for a few moments, he thought he saw the pearly white gates of heaven, as he unsteadily pumped ropes after ropes of his hot cum into your pussy.

you could feel your insides being painted white while san grunted curses under his breath, the hot seed almost burning your walls. he made sure to thrust a few more times so his cum filled your insides snugly, fucking it deeper.

your overstimulated whimpers were what bought san back to reality, the ringing in his ears fading as he looked down at you, disheveled and naked waist down, his cock still buried deep in your cunt.

he was momentarily distracted by the sight of your puffy folds wrapped around the base of his cock, a creamy ring of cum around his shaft. he felt himself twitch, just barely suppressing the urge to fold you in a mating press and take you again.

“still hate me?” his voice was slightly strained. san couldn’t find it in himself to pull out yet. his gaze flickered down to your disheveled shirt stretched over your chest, and he couldn’t help but grasp your breast and squeeze. he’d play with them next time.

you were too out of breath to reply or swat his hand away, exhaling shakily as you slowly got down from your high. “i’m still deciding.” you needed a moment, or ten, to get your thoughts in order. “and you didn’t finish in 5 minutes, you took 8.”

“whatever.” san chuckled, nipping your cheek playfully.

he slowly pulled out, his muscles tired. but he wasn’t fast enough. because the next thing you knew, there was a soft click, and the two of you didn’t even have time to freeze, before the break room door swung open.

“san, you little shit, you’re late for — what the fuck!?”

author note: my first smut fic, yay! if this sounds familiar to you, it’s because this plot is heavily inspired by the love of my life, joo jaekyung from the bl manhwa jinx (he’s the best guy around)! please do interact and tell me what you think! also, i made the banner myself so pls show some love if you think it looks nice :3

tag list: @tsukisrants ; @dawn-iscozy ; @vixensss

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pitlanepeach · 1 month ago

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Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Six

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pregnancy, emetophobia warning, domestic fluff, birthdays + Christmas, some emotional instabillity.

Notes — I hope you guys love this one. It's so full of sweetness. A bit of frustration too, but mostly sweetness.

December 2023

The lights in the MTC's build bay always felt too bright. Amelia squinted up at them in annoyance, then turned her gaze back to the car.

Her car.

Not hers in any legal or possessive way — it belonged to the team, to the season, to the wind tunnel and CFD modellers.

But the final profile of the MCL38-AN was a shape that had lived in her brain before it ever existed in carbon fibre form. It had existed exclusively within spreadsheets and flow charts and headaches. Whiteboard scrawls at two in the morning. Phone calls to her dad. Arguments with aero. Hours of simulations. Hours of starting over.

And now it was real. Sitting right in front of her.

Orange and black, sleek and hungry, its chassis caught the overhead lights and glowing.

Amelia didn't move. She needed minute. She just stood beside the rear wing, arms crossed tight over her chest, soaking in the project that had consumed every spare hour of the past two years of her life.

She had half a muffin in her bag from breakfast four hours ago. She'd forgotten to eat it.

The name on the spec sheet was just technical: MCL38-AN. The suffix had started as a quiet claim — her way of signing something no one could take from her. Years ago, her father had passed off one of her ideas as his own. "AN" for Amelia Norris, scribbled on a draft after too much coffee, felt like insurance. But the department kept using it. Zak hadn't stopped them. And now it was printed on the official build list, black ink and daring her to believe it was really hers.

Her name. On a car.

"Staring at it won't make it disappear," came a voice from the other end of the garage.

Amelia didn't look over. "I'm aware," she replied flatly.

Anthony, one of the build engineers, chuckled and walked closer, wiping grease off his hands with a rag. "Just never seen you stand still this long before. Thought maybe you'd short-circuited."

"Internally," she replied. "I'm experiencing the Blue Screen of Emotion."

He laughed again. "Hell of a machine you designed."

She didn't correct him.

Instead, she stepped forward and laid one hand on the side-pod. The material was cold and smooth under her fingers. She could feel the vibration of the building, the faint hum of tools and voices and fluorescent life, echoing back through the structure.

"This was all in my head once," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "And now it's... this."

Anthony, thankfully, didn't say anything saccharine. Just gave a nod and let her stand there.

Amelia walked slowly around to the front of the car, fingers trailing against the bodywork. Her brain was already scanning for imperfections — minor details to flag, alignment to double-check, tolerances to run again. But beneath that, buried under years of ruthless professional calibration, was something quieter.

Pride.

Not loud or dramatic or showy. Just a quiet click of recognition.

This was good work. And it was hers.

"Can we run power systems later today?" She asked.

Anthony nodded. "Soon as Oscar finishes his lunch."

"Tell him I said no mayo on the telemetry."

"I don't even know what that means."

Amelia didn't clarify. She just smiled faintly to herself and stepped back, surveying the car one more time.

MCL38-AN.

Not bad for a girl who used to line up her Hot Wheels in exact weight-to-downforce order as a kid and got sent home from school for correcting her teacher's physics formulas.

She pulled out her phone, snapped a picture of the car, just for herself, then typed out a message to Lando.

iMessage — 14:33pm

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

Almost ready for testing. I'm so proud it's making me nauseous.

A second later, another text.

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

Or maybe that's just the pregnancy.

—

Amelia sat cross-legged across from Lando, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands despite the lingering warmth in the air. Lando was barefoot, legs stretched out, half a grin on his face as he finished the last bite of cake she'd awkwardly cut with a plastic knife.

They were on Max's boat, rocking gently in the Monaco harbour. They'd stolen it for the day.

"Bit late," he teased, licking frosting off his thumb. "Birthday was like... three weeks ago."

"You were busy," she said simply. "So was I. And also I needed time."

"Time?"

"To figure out what to give you." She said. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a small, square box; plain brown kraft paper, tied neatly with black ribbon. No card. Of course there was no card. She hated cards — never knew what to write in them.

Lando raised an eyebrow as he took it. "Not socks?"

"No."

He peeled the ribbon open and lifted the lid.

Inside was a tiny frame. Minimalist. Neutral. Inside it, a single page torn from a notebook — lined paper, slightly smudged pencil. On it: a series of racing lines drawn from memory. His best qualifying lap from Silverstone. Annotated in her handwriting with tiny notes. Brake here. Open throttle earlier. Turn-in felt cleaner than expected.

He stared at it for a long moment before speaking. "This is..."

"You told me you wanted to frame that lap. I had the data sheet, but I wanted to draw it from memory," she said, eyes on the water instead of him. "That way it's both yours and mine. More special."

Lando didn't speak. Not right away. Just set the frame down carefully and crawled across the cushions to kiss her — soft, deliberate. One hand cupped her jaw; the other rested over her heart like it was helping him breathe. When he pulled back, his eyes were suspiciously glassy. "I think that might be one of the best birthday presents I've ever received," he said. "And I love it."

She gave a tiny shrug. "Good. You're really hard to shop for. You buy everything you want as soon as you decide that you want it."

He laughed, pulling her into his chest.

The boat rocked gently, and the sun sank lower, and for once there was nothing they needed to do, nowhere they needed to be. Just a belated birthday, and a perfect lap, and the girl who knew every corner of it better than anyone ever would.

—

The ultrasound room was dim, lit mostly by the soft blue glow of the monitor and the faint flicker of winter sun bleeding through the frosted windowpanes. The air smelled faintly sterile, like clean cotton and antiseptic.

Amelia lay back on the table, her t-shirt folded up over her stomach, the thin paper drape rustling every time she shifted. One hand was clenched tightly in Lando's — not out of nerves, exactly, but out of that taut, quiet focus she always wore when she didn't have full control of a situation.

She eyed the plastic bottle in the technician's hand with thinly veiled suspicion.

"What is that?" She asked flatly.

"Just ultrasound gel," the technician said, chipper and entirely unprepared.

Amelia narrowed her eyes. "What are the ingredients?"

The woman faltered, eyes darting to Lando and then back to Amelia. "Um..."

Lando looked at his wife.

Amelia didn't look at him. "I just feel like if we're going to lather something all over my body, I should know whether it contains...you know, petrochemicals or carcinogens or hormone disruptors."

The technician blinked. "It's... mostly water-based," she said finally. "And glycerin. No dyes. No perfumes."

Amelia stared a second longer, then gave a short, diplomatic nod. "Fine."

Lando leaned over and whispered, "You sure?"

"Yes," she muttered.

The technician, clearly deciding she'd earned the right to proceed, gently pressed the probe to Amelia's stomach. She flinched, not from pain, but from the cold smear of the gel, and made a disgruntled little noise in the back of her throat.

Lando squeezed her hand once, smiling.

And then the screen flickered. A faint, grainy image bloomed into view, shadow and static and light, and the whole room seemed to still.

"Ah, a very easy one. There we are," the technician said softly, her voice shifting into something gentle. "One very small someone."

Amelia blinked at the monitor. "That blob is a baby?"

The tech chuckled. "That blob is your baby."

Lando's breath caught in his throat. He shifted closer to her side, eyes locked on the flickering movement onscreen — a heartbeat, tiny and fast and impossibly loud once the audio kicked in. It sounded like wings. Like something about to take off.

Amelia didn't speak for a long time. Just stared. Her mouth parted, eyes wide. She looked stunned, like her body had already figured it out, but her brain hadn't quite caught up.

"Is that..." she finally whispered. "That flicker, is that... the heartbeat?"

The technician nodded.

Amelia's mouth wobbled. Her fingers clenched tighter around Lando's. "It's going so... fast."

"Perfectly normal at this stage."

Lando, who had been quiet until now, suddenly straightened and leaned in closer, eyes glued to the screen. "Wait—how fast? Like, beats per minute?"

The technician glanced at the monitor, tapping a few keys. "Right now, it's about 170. A bit faster than an adult's, but that's exactly what we expect this early on."

Lando's eyes widened. "One seventy? That's incredible. Is that—like—normal?"

"Yeah, perfectly normal. It usually starts slower around five weeks and then speeds up."

Amelia's voice was quiet, but steady. "How many weeks are we exactly?"

"About seven weeks from the last menstrual period," the technician replied, smiling gently.

Lando glanced at Amelia, then back to the screen. "So... when's the due date? When can we expect... I mean, when—?"

The technician switched the screen to a small calendar. "Based on measurements, your due date should fall somewhere around August 14th."

Amelia exhaled slowly, eyes still on the grainy image of that tiny flickering heartbeat. "August 14th," she repeated. "Between Spa and Zandvoort, then."

Lando grinned and squeezed her hand. "That's... just over six months away. Feels proper real now."

Amelia's lips twitched in a tired smile. "Yeah, it's a bit overwhelming."

Lando's voice softened. "Overwhelming in a good way?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I think so."

He looked at her with such tenderness that it made her throat tighten.

She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Maybe," Lando said softly, "instead of letting this make us feel out of control, we need to learn how to trust that our little person is just... doing its own thing."

Amelia closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, the flickering heartbeat was still there — small but unmistakably alive. "Okay," she said quietly, "yeah. Okay."

The technician smiled again, dimming the monitor as she packed up. "You're doing wonderfully. We'll schedule your next scan in three to four weeks time, but for now, just try to enjoy this moment."

Lando squeezed Amelia's hand.

—

The Norris house was full of noise — crumpled wrapping paper on every surface, half-eaten mince pies on plates, Christmas music playing softly in the background, and the fire crackling with the kind of persistent warmth only a real log burner could offer.

Amelia sat on the arm of the couch, a mug of peppermint hot chocolate in her hands (the only thing that didn't make her nauseous that week), watching Lando and his siblings messily construct some kind of Christmas LEGO set on the floor.

It was chaos. The good kind. Lando was wearing a Santa hat and trying to boss everyone around. Cisca was curled up in the other armchair watching them fondly, and even Adam was getting involved, despite pretending he was "too old for LEGO" about twenty minutes earlier.

Amelia felt warm. Not just from the fire, or the hot chocolate. But that kind of rooted, grounded warmth she hadn't felt since childhood.

Lando glanced up at her from the rug. His cheeks were flushed, curls a little wild, still in pyjamas. He grinned that stupidly wide grin of his; the one she could never not return.

"Okay," he said suddenly, clapping his hands together. "We've got one last gift."

His siblings groaned dramatically. "You're just trying to win Christmas," Flo said, already suspicious.

"No," Lando said, glancing up at Amelia. "This one's from both of us."

He got up and walked to the tree, pulling out a small box, about the size of a mug, wrapped in deep green paper and a lopsided gold bow. He handed it to Flo, gesturing for her to open it.

She peeled it back, frowned... and then blinked.

Inside was a tiny McLaren onesie, size newborn, folded neatly next to a photo printout of the ultrasound. On the front of the onesie was a little stitched helmet — and underneath it, "Team Norris. Arriving August 2024."

There was a beat of silence.

Flo stared.

"Shut. Up."

Adam whipped around, eyes wide. "Oh my god."

"No way," Flo said, already scrambling up from the floor.

Cisca covered her mouth, eyes wide and glassy. "Are you—? Are you serious?"

Amelia nodded, quietly overwhelmed by the whole thing, but smiling anyway, caught in the centre of a hug from Lando's siblings as they collapsed into her, cheering and yelling and somehow knocking her mug over (Lando caught it just in time).

Flo kept staring at the ultrasound photo like it was a sacred relic. "I am going to be the best auntie."

Adam walked over to Lando and gave him a tight hug, a forehead kiss, and a pat on the back.

Cisca hugged Amelia gently, brushing her hair back. "I had a feeling," she whispered. "You've had that glow."

Amelia laughed. "The glow is just sweat from the constant nausea. But thanks."

Lando wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, chin on her shoulder, warm and soft and safe."Merry Christmas," he murmured.

She leaned her head back against his. "Merry Christmas."

—

January 2024

The new apartment smelled like fresh paint.

It was bigger, with big windows and tiled floors and way more space than their old place. But in that exact moment, it mostly looked like a war zone. A mess of cardboard, bubble wrap, and various limbs sticking out from behind furniture.

"Why does your wife own so many pairs of shoes?" Max asked, squinting as he pulled box after box labelled Amelia: Shoes from the back of the moving van.

"She likes having options, Max," Lando replied from inside the apartment. "You wouldn't get it."

"I've already seen three pairs of the same sneaker!"

"Sometimes she wants them to look newer, sometimes she wants them to look worn!"

Amelia stood frozen in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped tightly around a single lamp. Not because it was heavy, it was from IKEA, but because she'd very quickly reached her max input for the day.

People talking, laughing, doors slamming, someone (probably Charles) putting a Spotify playlist on the TV at full volume, Celeste asking where the boxes marked kitchen - fragile had gone (answer: behind the miscellaneous - Lando's gamer shit), and her mom trying to organise snacks that everyone had insisted they didn't need but everyone was happily eating.

It was chaos. Warm, well-meaning chaos. But chaos all the same.

"Breathe, baby," came Lando's voice, suddenly right behind her. His hand gently closed over hers, guiding the lamp to the floor. "Let go."

"I'm fine," she said quickly.

"You're vibrating."

"I'm self-regulating."

"You're about to pop like a champagne bottle on the podium."

She blinked at him. "Lando."

"It's fine," he whispered, kissing her cheek. "Go sit. I'll turn down Charles' shit music."

She nodded once and retreated to the kitchen, or, well, what would be the kitchen, once all the boxes weren't stacked like a cardboard skyline.

Her dad followed her a moment later, holding a garbage bag full of what looked like packing peanuts. "Need anything, sweetheart?"

Amelia, dazed, looked up at her dad. "A new brain."

"I meant, like, a juice box."

"Oh. Do we have any?"

"I'll ask your mom." He laughed and kissed the top of her head before disappearing to the balcony.

Celeste popped in with a stack of throw pillows and collapsed beside her. "Remind me never offer to help anyone move again."

Charles, sliding by with a box labeled guest bathroom, raised his hand. "You're all weak."

"You hired movers," Max called from the hallway.

"Because I am smart," Charles countered.

Eventually, they made enough of a dent in the chaos to pause; boxes stacked in corners, the couch unwrapped, the kitchen sort of navigable. Everyone collapsed onto furniture, floor cushions, or each other.

Lando dropped next to Amelia with a thud. "Jesus," he said. "I'm never standing up again."

Tracey passed around bottles of water.

And then, without thinking, because she was tired, overwhelmed, and slightly frantic, Amelia looked at the empty room across the hall and said aloud. "Oh, cool. I'll be able to start putting the nursery together."

The silence was instant.

Zak froze mid-sip. Tracey turned so fast she almost knocked over Celeste. Charles blinked once, then again. Celeste slowly tilted her head like a confused golden retriever.

Only Max continued scrolling on his phone. Lando looked suspiciously casual, but his eyes had gone wide.

"Sorry," Charles said slowly. "Did she just say nursery?"

"She did," said Tracey, standing like she was ready to break into dance or faint, unclear which.

Amelia, blank as ever, looked up. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry."

"You're pregnant?" Celeste screeched, immediately launching across the couch.

"About eight weeks," Amelia said matter-of-factly.

"Oh my gosh—"

Lando, grinning now, tugged Amelia into his side. "We were gonna wait a while. But she's obviously forgotten the whole secrecy part."

"Not forgot," Amelia said. "Just... didn't filter."

Tracey shrieked. Charles stood and clapped. Celeste immediately demanded to know every detail. Her dad was just staring at them, his jaw slightly ajar.

Max looked at Lando and deadpanned, "Told you she'd blurt it eventually."

"You knew?" Tracey barked.

"Of course I did." Max said.

Celeste swatted him. "I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

Amelia rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, buried in a couch cushion, legs tucked under her, chaos all around her, but warm. Safe.

Loved.

"I'm going to have to help you build nursery furniture, aren't I?" Charles asked.

"Yes," said Lando.

—

Amelia sat on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter, wearing her comfort pyjamas and cupping a warm mug in both hands. Her mom was rifling through a drawer looking for teaspoons and her dad was standing far too close for someone who'd said "I'm not gonna hover."

"You're hovering," Amelia said without looking up.

"I'm not," Zak replied, absolutely hovering.

Tracey gave him a look as she passed. "Sit down, Zak."

Amelia smirked faintly.

Zak pulled a stool out beside her but didn't sit. He just sort of... rested one hand on the counter and stared at her in that way dads do. "You keeping anything down?" He asked.

"I'm eating a lot of toast," Amelia said. "And drinking ginger tea."

He looked vaguely panicked. "Should we be calling someone? We have dietitian's, or—?"

"Dad."

"What?"

"I'm pregnant. Nausea is normal."

Zak muttered something about "precautionary measures" and "just checking" and "your iron levels, you never know," and finally Tracey grabbed his sleeve and tugged him to the other side of the kitchen.

"Let her breathe," she said, soft but firm.

He sighed but relented, pouring himself a cup of tea and stealing a look at Amelia like he still couldn't believe it. Like some part of him was seeing her as a baby again in his arms; not a woman, not a race engineer, not someone capable of growing a human. Just his daughter.

"I'm going to be a granddad," he said eventually, more to himself than anyone else. He blinked a few times, then smiled like he'd just realised it wasn't a prank.

Amelia raised her eyebrows, lips twitching. "Has he only just realised that?"

Tracey chuckled. "Oh no, honey. He's already ordered some books on newborn safety."

Zak tried to look insulted. "One of us has to be prepared."

Tracey ignored him and turned her attention back to Amelia, warm eyes softening. "You know," she said gently, "that first night at dinner, when you got all worked up about Lando... I just knew."

"Knew what?"

"That this was going to be something magic," she said. "You had that look on your face. Not the 'I'm in love' one, not yet. But that one you get when you've found something you'd fight for. And I thought, ah. There it is."

Amelia blinked, caught off guard. Her mouth opened, then closed again, unsure how to respond.

Tracey smiled knowingly. "You've always been complicated. Precise. A little special in a systemised way. But with him? You were safe. Not smaller, not quieter; just... steadier."

Zak, finally sitting, looked from his wife to his daughter, then back again.

Tracey walked over and touched Amelia's hair, smoothing it back without thinking. The kind of motherly gesture that was muscle memory. "We're very proud of you," she said softly. "Not just for the baby. For the life you're building. For letting yourself build it."

Amelia didn't answer right away. Just looked down into her tea and let that sit in her chest like a warm ache. "Thanks," she said finally, quiet.

Tracey smiled. "Now come sit with us in the living room and let your dad lecture you about your fiber intake."

"Oh no."

"I made a PowerPoint," Zak added helpfully.

Amelia stared at him. "I—I eat enough fibre. I swear. I promise. Don't make me sit through one of your terribly constructed PowerPoints."

—

Five hours later, the apartment was finally quiet.

The kind of quiet that only came after the storm; post-laughter, post-chaos, post-Max dropping a full pizza box face-down on the kitchen floor and Charles chasing Celeste with bubble wrap around his head like a helmet.

Everyone was gone now.

Some boxes still weren't unpacked, the dining table was holding an array of loose screws and takeout containers, and there was one singular sock hanging off the new lighting fixture that neither of them remembered installing.

But it was quiet. And theirs.

Lando lay stretched across the couch in sweats and a hoodie, one leg propped up on a box labeled BED LINENS???. Amelia was curled on top of him like a blanket folded in half, her cheek resting against his chest, arms wrapped around his middle.

She was half-asleep, her body finally relaxing after hours of overstimulation and problem-solving and people asking where things were that she did not know. "Is it weird I don't feel like this is real yet?" She murmured.

Lando looked down at her. "The apartment?"

"All of it. The space. The nursery. The fact I told everyone because I accidentally emotionally short-circuited. I mean, who announces a pregnancy like that?"

"You," he said, brushing his fingers through her hair.

She huffed a breath that was half-laugh, half-groan. "My brain was tired. My mouth just... decided."

"Hey." He tugged gently on a loose strand of her hair until she looked up at him. "It was perfect. So you. I mean, Tracey looked like she was about to cry and throw you a baby shower in the same breath."

Amelia groaned and buried her face back into his hoodie. "She's going to buy so many pastel things. I'm not emotionally equipped for pastel."

Lando laughed. "We'll make a blacklist. No tulle. No gingham. No text that says 'Born to race' or anything cringe like that."

Amelia was quiet for a moment. "Do you think it's okay we're doing this now?"

He didn't ask what this meant. He knew.

The baby. The life. The shift. The permanence of it all.

"I think it's us," he said simply. "And I think whatever that ends up looking like is okay."

She let out a breath. "I don't know how to do any of it. Not even the parts people think I'm supposed to be good at. I couldn't find the dish towels today."

"That's what the box labels are for."

"And you?"

"I'm just here to kiss you when your brain melts and tell you you're brilliant anyway."

She finally looked up at him again. Her eyes were tired — not with sadness, just the fatigue of too much change all at once. But they were also soft. "You're annoying," she said.

"What, being emotionally intelligent and devastatingly handsome is annoying now?" He teased.

"You're a good human weighted blanket, so I won't argue with that."

He smiled and kissed her forehead. "It's a privilege, honestly."

They lay there for a while, the hum of Monaco outside their windows, the buzz of city life just distant enough to feel like background music. Inside, it was soft. Warm. Familiar.

Eventually, Amelia whispered, "We really live here now."

Lando tightened his arms around her. "Yeah, we do."

"And we're gonna have a baby here."

"Mmhm."

"I have to start nesting. Like... soon."

"Tell me what you want built. I'll blackmail Charles and make him do it."

She laughed quietly against his chest, a sound full of exhaustion and affection.

Then, softer, almost to herself, "I think I'm happy."

Lando didn't say anything right away. He just turned his head and kissed her temple again, slow and sure, before whispering into her skin, "I know."

—

The morning had not been kind.

Amelia had thrown up twice before she even made it out of bed, once more in the sink when the smell of coffee drifted through the apartment. Her stomach had settled into that weird, hovering nausea, not quite sick, but never okay, and everything around her felt a little too much.

Too bright.

Too loud.

Too far from stillness.

The apartment was still full of half-unpacked boxes. One of them had exploded into a mess of packing peanuts by the bookshelf because Lando had tripped over it while trying to carry a lamp. That had made her laugh, for a moment. But now even that memory felt distant and staticky.

She hadn't eaten anything. Her body felt too heavy and too floaty at the same time.

So she wandered into the room off the living room and stood in the doorway, barefoot and still in one of Lando's shirts, staring at the swing.

The sensory swing hung from a reinforced hook in the ceiling, an enclosed hammock-style cocoon of soft dark grey fabric.

She hadn't used it yet.

But now... now she needed to be held by something.

Amelia walked over slowly, pulled the soft stretch of the fabric down, and climbed inside like she was folding herself into a shell. It wrapped around her shoulders, her hips, her knees. A full-body compression hug.

She let herself swing gently, letting the quiet motion do what words and plans and spreadsheets couldn't. The light filtered through the gauzy curtain. The outside world muffled. The only sound was her breathing.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

Her muscles finally, finally relaxed.

And then, maybe because the relief was so sharp in contrast to how awful she'd felt all morning, or maybe because everything just hit all at once, Amelia cried.

Just soft tears slipping down the sides of her face into the swing's fabric as her body unclenched. She didn't even try to stop them. Didn't need to understand them. Her hands cradled the soft swell of her lower belly as she rocked gently in the cocoon, the comfort so complete it almost hurt.

The motion, the weightlessness, the compression; it was like someone had pressed a reset button on her nervous system.

"I love you very much," she whispered, hand on her stomach, words falling into the soft dark of the swing. "Even if you are already making me throw up five times a day." She gave a little wet laugh. Then sniffled. Then rocked some more.

Eventually, Lando peeked his head around the doorframe.

He didn't say anything. He saw her there, bundled up like a sleepy moth, puffy-eyed and peaceful, and his whole expression softened.

"You good, baby?" He asked gently.

She nodded, still sniffling, half-smiling. "It works."

He smiled back. "Good" He walked over and pressed a kiss to the fabric where her shoulder must've been, still swaying. "Want toast when you come out?"

"Only if it's with the nice jam. The apricot one we got from the market last weekend."

"Anything you want. We're celebrating the swings debut, after all."

"Dramatic." She said.

"I know," he grinned.

And then he left her to swing, warm, wrapped up, and for the first time all day — completely okay.

February 2024

Amelia woke to the smell of espresso and something sweet (cinnamon, maybe) and the distinct sound of someone failing, very quietly, not to clatter around in the kitchen.

She blinked, groggy, and rolled over to find Lando's side of the bed empty. A sliver of warm morning light streamed in through the curtains. The apartment smelled like flowers and coffee and... possibly burning toast.

By the time she made it out of bed, hair a mess, t-shirt halfway sliding off one shoulder, she found him standing in front of the kitchen island, proudly staring at a tray of slightly overdone croissants, a half-burnt omelet, and a mug that said engineers do it with precision.

He turned the second he heard her. "Don't say anything," he warned, waving a spatula at her. "This is a labour of love."

"I can see that," she said, amused. "How's the toast?"

"Charcoal adjacent."

She padded over and leaned into his side, arms looping gently around his middle. "Morning."

Lando pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Happy birthday, baby."

He guided her over to the table, where a small stack of wrapped gifts sat beside her laptop — one of them unmistakably from Oscar if the cartoon scribble on the tag was anything to go by. Another looked suspiciously like it had been wrapped by Max's girlfriend Celeste, given the glittery ribbon and note that just said DO NOT OPEN NEAR ZAK.

"Did you do all this this morning?" Amelia asked, eyeing the slightly lopsided croissants.

"Well," he said, handing her the mug, "I tried to sneak out of bed early. But then you curled up in the blankets and made that sleepy sound you make and I lost, like, twenty minutes just watching you sleep."

Amelia sipped the coffee. Ugh. Decaf. "Weirdo."

"Your weirdo."

They sat together, eating what they could salvage of the breakfast. Lando gave her a small, leather-bound notebook for scribbling car notes (with custom embossing: A. Norris, Race Strategist / Best Mummy Ever). She rolled her eyes, but she didn't stop smiling.

Later, while she was cleaning up plates, he appeared behind her with one last gift, this one small and velvet. Her breath hitched when he opened it. A pendant: a tiny silver disk with a barely-there engraving.

A heartbeat. The one they'd seen on the ultrasound.

"I wanted you to have something that was just... for you," he said quietly.

She touched the charm gently, thumb brushing the engraving. "I love it," she said, voice slightly wobbly.

He kissed her temple again, arms wrapping around her. "I love you."

The rest of the day was full of small joys; visits from friends, a video call with her mom, cupcakes delivered from a café Oscar insisted was life-changing. Max and Celeste swung by with a gift bag full of baby-safe skincare and a framed photo of the four of them.

At one point, her dad had messaged her.

Happy birthday, kiddo. Love you so much. See you soon.

To which Amelia replied.

Love you too.

That night, after the guests had left and the candles had flickered low, Amelia found herself curled up in her sensory swing by the window, legs folded up under her, pendant resting in the middle of her collarbones. Lando lay on the sofa nearby, watching her with quiet contentment.

"I think this was one of my best birthdays," she said softly.

He smiled. "Even with the burnt toast?"

She nodded. "Especially with the burnt toast." And then, after a pause, "Next year, we'll have someone else around to help us celebrate."

Lando's eyes softened. "Next year," he echoed.

—

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2024 F1 Grid

George R.

Welcome to the 2024 rookies!

Oh wait.

LOL.

Nevermind

Lando N.

Someone get this man a rookie asap

Charles L.

Bro we are all still here 💀

Alex A.

Just the same 20 people trying not to crash into each other

Esteban O.

Consistency is key 😂

Oscar P.

George is out here welcoming imaginary friends

Carlos S.

Rookie of the year is the Ferrari catering team

Lewis H.

I vote my physio as rookie of the year tbh

Yuki T.

I still feel like a rookie emotionally 😮‍💨

Fernando A.

I feel younger every season 😎

George R.

Ok ok I made one mistake

I was being polite

What if someone snuck in overnight. Like a stealth rookie

Pierre G.

Bro this isn't among us

Max V.

Let him live he tried ✋

Lando N.

He tried and failed. Spectacularly

George R.

Blocked. All of you. I'm blocking all of you.

—

The main presentation hall at the MTC was cold, the hush of anticipation a physical thing. Staff, engineers, drivers, media teams, and execs milled around in soft clumps, all eyes drawn to the shrouded figure on the platform. Silver satin draped across carbon fibre; sleek, taut, and humming with promise.

Amelia stood off to one side, arms crossed over her chest, one foot tucked behind the other like she was bracing herself against something invisible.

It was familiar, this room. She'd stood in it a dozen times. But this time was different.

This was her car.

She heard footsteps and didn't have to look to know it was Lando. He came to stand beside her, hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers, gaze fixed on the covered car like it might move if he blinked.

"It looks like a spaceship," he murmured.

"It's as complex as one," she said simply.

He grinned. "I'm gonna drive a spaceship."

"You're going to win in it."

Her dad walked out onto the stage, some carefully crafted speech on hand, but Amelia barely registered it. Her ears rang with something heavier; a low, surging pressure that sat in her chest and refused to settle.

She heard her name, heard Zak referencing her as lead technical design engineer on the project, and the soft ripple of polite applause. She didn't move. Didn't blink.

When the cover was pulled back and the MCL38-AN was finally exposed under the lights. Lean, mean, shimmering with graphite and papaya — the room went reverently silent.

It was beautiful. Sharp and elegant and mean in all the right places.

And hers.

Her hands trembled slightly where they were folded. Lando noticed. He reached down, laced his fingers through hers without saying anything. She didn't look at him, but she held on.

Oscar appeared at her other side, chewing a protein bar. "It looks fast," he said through his mouthful.

"It is fast," Amelia replied, deadpan.

He nodded. "Good. I hate slow cars. Bad for my numbers."

Lando snorted. "Your numbers are fine."

"I want more numbers."

Amelia ignored them both. Her eyes were fixed on the low spoiler, the curve of the side-pod, the subtle detailing near the rear suspension she'd fought tooth and nail to implement — backed up by three sleepless weeks of CFD simulations and one argument with the floor design team that she'd very nearly won with sheer stubbornness alone.

"Do you want to go look at it up close?" Lando asked, gentle.

Amelia shook her head. "Not yet."

He didn't press. Just stayed beside her as people filtered forward. Cameras clicked. Flashbulbs strobed. Somewhere, someone asked Oscar to smile more. Zak was already doing a walk-around with Sky Sports.

But Amelia stayed back, hand in Lando's, watching as her car, her beautiful, terrifying, finely-tuned monster, greeted the world for the first time.

Finally, Lando leaned in, voice low against her ear. "I'm so proud of you."

Her mouth twitched, just a little. "I know," she said.

Then, after a beat, "I'm proud of me too."

—

There were two weeks until they were due to fly out to Bahrain for testing.

The smell of carbon composite and metal dust still clung to the air. Most of the lights had been dimmed in the engineering wing of the McLaren Technology Centre, but not in Bay 2. Bay 2 was lit up like a crime scene — bright, clinical, unrelenting.

And Amelia was pacing.

"You changed the front wing flow guide without flagging it to me." Her voice was flat, but her tone cut sharp enough to peel paint. "It's not a minor tweak. It alters the pressure delta across the entire front third of the car."

Across the table, three senior aero engineers; experienced, respected, and visibly nervous, stood their ground, albeit quietly. One of them, Benji, cleared his throat.

"We didn't go behind your back," he said carefully. "It was discussed at the Friday meeting—"

"I wasn't at the Friday meeting," she snapped. "I was with Oscar for simulator calibration. You knew that."

"We had to lock a version in for pre-season aero scanning," said another engineer, trying to be the reasonable one. "You were behind schedule finalising the nose cone parameters—"

"I was behind schedule," Amelia repeated, eyebrows arching dangerously, "because I was rewriting your cooling duct schema so it wouldn't explode in Bahrain."

Silence.

Lando stood quietly just inside the doorway, arms crossed, watching. He wasn't saying anything — yet. But his eyes never left Amelia.

"You've added drag," she said after a beat. "I ran the updated airflow map through CFD myself after I saw the render. It introduces wake turbulence at high yaw, and we already struggle with straight-line pace. You've made us slower on the straights to gain — what? Four points of front downforce?"

"Four points could help balance in the high-speed corners," Benji offered.

"At the expense of the entire overtaking window!" Amelia barked. "You want Lando and Oscar to defend for twenty laps in DRS zones with a car that drags like a parachute because you like the numbers it spits out on paper?"

Someone muttered something; too low to catch. Amelia's head snapped around like a hawk.

"Say it louder," she said. "You clearly thought it was clever enough the first time."

The engineer paled slightly. "I just said... maybe you're too attached to this design."

Lando stepped in before Amelia could respond.

"No, see, here's the thing," he said, tone deceptively easy. "You don't get to say that. Because her attachment? That's why this car is visibly better than last year's. She is the reason why we had the third-fastest chassis on average post-Zandvoort last year. Because she gives a shit. And if Amelia says it's wrong? Then it's wrong."

The room froze. One of the engineers swallowed hard.

Amelia, though, didn't say anything for a full five seconds. She just stood there, arms folded, staring down the table like she was willing the numbers to change.

Then, calmly, "You're reverting to the previous design."

"We can't. Not until—"

"I'll update the approval file myself," she continued. "I want the renders sent back through me. If you're going to make changes to a car with my name on it, you'll run it by me first. Not the group chat. Not Zak. Not the test team. Me."

Stillness.

Eventually, Benji nodded, his jaw tight. "Alright."

She left the bay without another word, her footfalls even, deliberate. Lando followed a few paces behind, catching up only once they hit the corridor.

"You didn't have to jump in," she muttered.

"I know," he said. "But I wanted to."

They reached the elevator. Amelia punched the call button too hard.

"They're not wrong," she said quietly, not looking at him. "I am too attached."

Lando nodded. "Yeah. And that's why you're the only one I trust with it."

—

The hum of the wind tunnel was a low, constant growl behind the soundproof glass. Screens lined the wall of the operations room, flooded with live data — airflow vectors, pressure maps, drag coefficients, temperatures.

Amelia sat perfectly still in the front row, staring at the monitor.

The numbers were wrong.

Not wildly, not catastrophically. Just... wrong enough.

Behind her, the aero lead, one of the few who hadn't been at the shouting match in the engineering bay days before, was going over test notes in a too-cheerful voice. "And that's run twelve with the revised front-wing guide and standard rear beam. A bit of turbulence in the crosswind scenario, but nothing unmanageable."

Amelia's fingers twitched against the armrest of her chair.

Zak stepped in beside her. "They've already locked the transport containers for Bahrain," he said in a low voice. "The old spec wouldn't make it through the scans in time."

"I know," Amelia said without looking at him.

"We'll revert before Melbourne," Zak added. "That's the plan."

"I know."

She said it again, like repetition might dull the edge.

Zak hesitated. "I get it. I do. But it's one race."

"It's the first race," Amelia said quietly. "It sets the baseline. The whole development curve starts from that data. Every upgrade, every refinement — it's all going to skew unless we compensate."

Zak didn't argue. He didn't need to. They both knew she was right.

But it didn't matter.

Because the parts were packed, the plane was leaving in 48 hours, and the wrong spec was going to touch asphalt in Bahrain.

She stood abruptly. The chair creaked as it slid back.

"Amelia," Zak said. "I know this is hard for you."

She turned, her voice clipped but steady. "It's not hard. It's inefficient."

And she left the room.

—

The lights were low. Her desk lamp cast a soft amber glow across a table full of design sheets and scribbled notes, crossed-out margins, red-circled flaws, annotations that no one else in the department could read but her.

Her iPad was open to the Bahrain track layout. She wasn't crying — not even close. But her jaw was clenched hard enough to ache. Her hands flexed, restless, unable to do anything.

She hated that feeling.

A soft knock came at the door.

"Go away," she said without looking.

It opened anyway.

Lando leaned in, holding two takeaway drinks. "I come bearing peace offering. Decaf vanilla chai for my beautiful, smart wife."

She didn't move.

"I know," he said gently. "It sucks."

"I'm not angry anymore," she said.

He gave her a look. "Don't lie to me, baby."

She finally looked up, and he crossed the room to set the drink beside her keyboard.

"I spent a year making it perfect," she murmured.

Lando touched her shoulder. "And it still will be."

Amelia looked back at her notes. "I hate being forced to let something go when I know I'm right," she said. "Just because I'm one person versus an entire team — and I know that it's not fair to expect them to just blindly trust everything I say, but it makes me so mad.'

"Okay," he whispered. "Time to go home, I think."

—

"Do you need six pairs of sunglasses?" Amelia asked, holding Lando's McLaren duffel open.

Lando didn't even look up from where he was rolling socks. "Yes."

"You only have two eyes."

"It's called fashion, baby."

She rolled her eyes and shoved the sunglasses back in, making sure the soft case separated the orange-tinted pair from the purple ones, because God forbid they get scratched.

Their bedroom looked like a tornado had touched down; open suitcases, half-folded clothes, a stack of electronics chargers that Amelia had labeled with colour-coded cable ties two seasons ago and still didn't trust Lando to keep organised.

Her own packing was... slower. More deliberate. She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her own suitcase, a checklist open on her iPad and a faint, lingering wave of nausea rising every few minutes like a passive-aggressive tide.

"Are you sure you're okay to fly?" Lando asked for the third time that afternoon.

Amelia clicked her Apple Pencil against her teeth. "I'm pregnant, not ill."

"Still."

"I have packed ginger chews and compression socks."

He looked up. "You hate ginger chews."

"I also hate throwing up at 30,000 feet. Sometimes compromise is necessary."

He grinned. "That's very mature of you."

Amelia waved vaguely in the direction of the ensuite. "Can you grab the skincare bag? Not the one with my regular stuff — the one with the unscented moisturiser that doesn't make me gag."

"Yes, your highness."

She threw a sock at his head.

The packing process stalled every few minutes for various reasons: Amelia needed a snack; Lando forgot where he'd put his phone; Amelia remembered she hadn't downloaded the Bahrain telemetry files onto her personal iPad; Lando insisted on reorganising his racing gloves by colour.

Eventually, Amelia sat back with a soft groan, rubbing a hand over her belly. Not that there was much to feel yet, no bump, just the persistent hum of her body shifting quietly into something new.

She felt... heavy. But not in a bad way. Just full of lists, of responsibilities, of life. Literally.

"Hey," Lando said gently, crouching in front of her. "You okay?"

She nodded, slow. "Yeah. Just... tired. Everything feels like it takes twenty-percent more effort."

"You want to skip testing?"

Amelia narrowed her eyes. "Lando."

"I'm just saying—"

"No. Don't even suggest that. I need to be there for Oscar and I want to be there for the cars first proper run. I have to see how it holds up."

He smiled softly. "Just checking. That's my job now, remember? Worrying about you."

Amelia's expression softened. "I'm fine. I'm just slower than usual. I'll sit. I'll drink plenty of water."

Lando stood and offered her a hand, helping her up off the floor with the ease of long practice. They zipped the last suitcase together, and she stared at the organised chaos around them with a long, contemplative sigh.

"Think this baby is gonna like Bahrain?" She murmured.

He shrugged. "Hot. Loud. Feels like it's already genetically predisposed that baby is not going to have a good time."

She laughed, quietly, the sound curling in her throat.

They were flying out in the morning. Testing started two days after that. And in a few more weeks, the 2024 season would roar to life; full throttle, no mercy, no brakes.

But for now, there were just bags and chargers and familiar, cluttered rhythms. And them.

Just them.

For now.

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seobluuu · 24 days ago

Text

𓂃 ࣪⋆⭐️˚ ༘ she loves you ⋆ 유지민

in which karina has always been brave — on stage, in front of cameras, under the spotlight. but when it comes to you, her courage crumbles like a sandcastle at high tide.

she loves you. god, does she love you.

but saying it out loud? terrifying.

so instead, she shows you in a five different quiet ways, until she finally says the three words.

alternatively. five times karina almost said "i love you" (and the one time she finally did !!)

starring. yu jimin x fem!reader

word count. 800

genre. the fluffiest fluff u can ever read , maaaaaybe a little soft angst if u can spot it

#01 when you fell asleep on her shoulder

the movie was just background noise. jimin wasn’t paying attention to it anyway. not when the weight of your head against her shoulder was so much more interesting. the soft rhythm of your breathing, the way your fingers twitched slightly in your sleep, the faint vanilla scent of your shampoo mixing with the warmth of the shared blanket — it all made her chest ache.

she should’ve woken you up. the movie wasn’t even good, and you’d complain tomorrow about missing the ending. but the thought of moving, of disturbing this fragile moment where you trusted her enough to drift off against her, felt impossible.

jimin's fingers hovered near your hair, hesitating before she carefully tucked a loose strand behind your ear.

i love you, she thought, so loud in her own head she was almost afraid you’d hear it.

but you didn’t. you just sighed softly, nuzzling closer, as jimin paused the movie, and draped a blanket over you.

#02 when you laughed at her terrible joke

jimin wasn’t funny. she knew she wasn’t funny. (minjeong had made sure of that by groaning at every single one of her punchlines for years)

but when she mumbled some ridiculous, sleep-deprived pun about bananas —"i find them very… appeeling" — you didn’t just laugh.

you cackled.

it was the kind of laugh that took over your whole body, the kind that made you clutch your stomach like you’d been physically wounded by how bad it was. you eyes squeezed shut, tears gathering at the corners, and jimin swore her heart did something dangerous in her chest.

i love you, she thought, watching you wipe tears from your eyes.

but instead, she just grinned, nudging your shoulder. “see? i am funny.”

#03 when you brought her coffee after a long day

practice had been brutal. jimin's muscles ached, her voice was tired, and all she wanted was to collapse into bed. but when she walked into the dorm, you were there, holding her favorite iced americano, condensation dripping down the sides, extra shot, light ice, just how she liked it.

“come on, drink up” you said softly.

jimin stared at you, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

i love you, her heart screamed.

but she just took the coffee, letting her fingers brush against yours for a second too long. “you're the best,” she mumbled, voice rough.

#04 when you danced with her in the kitchen

it was 2am, and the dorm was quiet. everyone else was asleep, but the two of you were still awake, rummaging through the fridge for snacks when a slow song started playing from your phone.

jimin didn’t think. she just reached for you.

“y/nie, dance with me,” she said, pulling you close before you could protest.

you laughed, but your hands settled on her shoulders, letting her sway you both gently in the dim kitchen light. the song was soft, dreamy, something about love and forever, and jimin's throat tightened.

your forehead bumped against hers, breath warm against her lips.

i love you, she wanted to say.

but the moment felt too fragile, too perfect to ruin with words. so she just closed her eyes and held you tighter.

#05 when you got sick and she took care of you

you were never sick. so when you called in with a fever, jimin panicked.

she showed up at your apartment with enough supplies to stock a small pharmacy — soup, medicine, tissues, even that weird herbal tea you liked but she thought tasted like dirt.

“you didn’t have to come,” you croaked, voice wrecked.

jimin just pressed the back of her hand to your forehead, frowning at the heat. “of course i did.”

she spent the whole day fussing over you — fluffing your pillows, making sure you drank water, even reading to you when your headache got too bad for screens.

at one point, you dozed off mid-sentence, your head lolling against her shoulder. jimin carefully adjusted the blankets around you, brushing your hair back from your face.

i love you, she thought, pressing a kiss to your temple.

she hoped you could feel it, even in your sleep.

bonus when she finally said it

jimin had always been good at holding back.

tonight, the city lights were twinkling outside the window, with some old rom-com playing on the tv that neither of you were really watching. you were telling her a story about your day, hands waving animatedly, and jimin was just —

watching

the way your eyes lit up when you talked about things you loved. the way you bit your lip when you were trying not to laugh at your own jokes. the way you always, always found a reason to touch her — a hand on her arm, a nudge of your knee against hers.

and suddenly, jimin just couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“i love you”

you froze. blinked. “...what?”

jimin's face burned. “i—i mean. you know. i just... i love you.”

for a terrifying second, you didn’t say anything. but then your face split into the brightest smile she’d ever seen.

“took you long enough,” you teased, leaning in.

and when she kissed you, she didn’t hold back at all.

#seobluuu writes ⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆#aespa karina #aespa x reader #karina x reader #yu jimin x reader #wlw #karina #yu jimin #karina imagines #aespa imagines

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yan-randomfandom · 8 months ago

Note

yandere viktor with an innocent and naive reader but with magical abilities, where the reader knows how to use simple magic like conjuring plants or controlling water... ((the reader only knows the basics of magic, since no one taught it and this magic would be the only one so far who knows how to do it, and the reader was a little scared of being in a rush or being studied like a lab rat because she has magic, but she confided her secret to Viktor...)) Why do you do that?

Y!Viktor x GN!Mage!Reader

a/n: posting this before act 2 omg, i think i need a rewatch — btw this one only has very light yandere undertones,, ..erm

🫧 ;

"Psst. Hey, want to know a secret?"

Viktor blinked. His eyes followed the moving reflection on the iridescent river. Your figure was mirrored in the water, an unreadable expression on your face.

... He looked up, alarmed. Were you talking to him? Viktor didn't even know you.

You met his amber eyes. For whatever reason, on the edge of the cliff just above the water, you folded your legs against your chest and buried half your face in your arms.

"Well?" you pushed, voice muffled.

His mouth opened, then closed. Viktor nodded wordlessly instead.

" ... Promise me you won't tell anyone."

Without a moment's hesitation, the young boy nodded again.

He watched as you stood up and jumped steadily into the river, splashing him and his mechanical boat. A low, frustrated groan escaped him as water seeped into his clothes.

"Oh, sorry," you said as he tried to wipe the water from his face. "Let me get that for you."

Suddenly, Viktor felt his weight gradually become less unpleasant—almost refreshing, even, as if the water slid across and away from his skin and clothes.

That's when he saw it.

A small blob of water, floating in the air. It moved carefully like it was fragile.

Then came another, and another. Small specks came together until it formed one single bubble.

Abruptly, it dropped in the river. Like nothing ever happened. Viktor's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Cool, right?" you grinned. He looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, his jaw gaping. One of your hands was lifted, fingers poised in a manner of delicacy.

"You," Viktor finally spoke, stammering, his breathing ragged. "You did that? Was that... magic?"

You chuckled, settling yourself beside him. He turned to you, scooting over to make room, and met your steady gaze. “I think so. But I was serious when I said never, ever tell anyone.”

He shook his head, utterly appalled. "Is this some sort of trick?"

"I wish—"

“This is not funny,” he snarled, his demeanor shifting completely, catching you off guard. “If you’re just here to get a reaction out of me, I’d advise you and your friends to leave. Please.”

You frowned, standing up with your fists clenched. “No, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m so sorry! And I don’t… even have friends.”

Viktor searched your face.

There's nothing to suggest a lie. He's observant, and he quietly prides himself over it, but this is one of the few cases where he genuinely starts to doubt his judgment.

"But," you sighed, turning away. "I'll leave if that's what you want. Apologies."

...

"... Wait."

— 🌱

The leaves of the seedling barely moved.

"Aw," you chuckled, dropping your arm to your side. Who knew conjuring plant powers could be so draining? "Well, I tried. Let's take a break!"

He let out a choked noise, pausing his writing. "We barely started! How is it that whenever you get to try something new and amazing, you avoid it?”

...

You didn't respond immediately.

Viktor put down his notebook, looking back at you, who was blankly staring at him.

"I guess I'm... scared?" you said, tilting your head. To his surprise, you gently grabbed his hand, running your thumb across his palm.

His face warmed. He physically couldn't say or do anything.

"You're the only one who knows about this, Vik," you muttered, your eyes fixed on his rough skin. "I sprung this on you when we were kids, which is kind of hilarious, by the way, but I had a reason. In my mind, you were the only one who would understand."

He thought so, too.

Viktor couldn’t stop himself from slipping his fingers between yours. It was a good thing you weren’t looking at him—otherwise, you might’ve seen how red his face had become.

"And you told me no one will believe me," he said, and while the memory was of you giving him a serious warning, his tone was filled with nothing but endearment.

"I still stand by that," you laughed, pulling your hand away from his, much to his disappointment. You still hadn't glance at his face. He mentally scolded himself for almost hoping you would see his expression. "Especially with our age now. They'll just think you're crazy."

"I understand," he chuckled, turning away. "About that break... you want to go to our usual?"

A smile curled your lips. "Yes, please!"

— 💌

Viktor said he has a surprise for you.

Admittedly, you're feeling extremely anxious. He grew up to become a researcher, an inventor—facts that don’t surprise you.

As his best friend, a person able to do magic, while absolutely shitty at it, you know he sees you as someone with massive potential. Literally. No one else in Piltover or Zaun is known to do this. Maybe in a hundred years—who knows? You didn't even have a proper education.

...

Viktor cleared his throat. "I've been offered a position in the University of Piltover."

You froze. The letter in his fingers bore the university’s wax seal in the center, bold and unmistakable.

“Holy shit,” you blurted, your eyes darting between him and the letter. “Holy shit!”

Jumping over to Viktor, you wrapped your arms around him in a tight embrace. The biggest, most triumphant smile tugged at your lips. He staggered a little, but you were too wrapped up in your happiness to notice.

"Language," he laughed, hugging you back.

You snickered. "I'm so proud of you! Words can't even begin to express how happy I am for you!"

Pulling back, your hands still rested on his shoulders. Your smile relaxed ever so slightly as your eyes gazed into his softer ones.

"I knew you could do it," you exhaled.

A small pause.

Viktor had a look. Oh, shit. What’s that smirk for?

"...You're not done," you accused, raising an eyebrow.

He lifted the letter in his hand. "I have not accepted yet."

Now, your brows knitted together in utter confusion.

"... Why not—?"

"I said I won't be going unless they let me bring a plus one."

You smile faltered, denial crossing your face. He noticed it. Did he just say what you thought you heard him say?

"Are you saying...?" Your expression shifted into worry; you didn't quite understand his point.

"I want you to come with me," Viktor said, grabbing your hand and placing the letter in your palm. "To Piltover."

Oh, no. You didn't mean to.

You panicked, pulling away, the letter slipping from your hand.

Viktor's brows furrowed. He thought you'd be happier about the news.

Then, he looked around.

It had rained just before he decided to share the news. Some raindrops were still fresh, glistening from the downpour.

And around your figure, small droplets rose into the air. The air is thick with tension.

"Viktor. You're not giving me to them, are you...?"

Defeated. That's how your voice sounded.

"Of course not," he hushed, pushing you onto a chair. "Never. Please calm down. Let me explain."

You obliged, sitting down. He sat beside you.

"I'm sorry," you spoke first, meeting his eyes. "It's not that I don't trust you. Heck, I trust you more than anyone. The thought of going up there... it just makes me anxious."

"I understand," Viktor nodded. He turned his head. "However, I promise you, I won’t let them take you away from me. You’ll be solely under my care. But I do know someone who’s willing to help us."

Viktor. So compassionate and filled with empathy. You admired him for those very reasons, not just for his brilliance. His presence feels like a whole other world to you—someone who could help you understand your abilities. Perhaps the only chance you have to truly learn who, or what you are.

"I'll be a burden."

"No. Of course not. I want you by my side."

You hesitated. Despite your family being clueless about your ability, they were still the people you cared for. You still had a life in the undercity.

"And if I refuse...?"

Viktor took a moment to respond. The thought of leaving you hurt his heart.

"You... I believe you don't have much of a choice."

You couldn't explain why, but you found it in yourself to wholeheartedly believe him.

— 💜

zamn

critique is welcome btw

#yan writes #yandere arcane #viktor arcane #yandere #yandere arcane x reader #viktor x reader #yandere viktor x reader #mage anon

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moonlight-alexia · 5 months ago

Text

forever with you | a.p.

alexia putellas x reader | 2.5k | forever with you sounds perfect to alexia, there isn't anyone else she'd rather be with / alexia proposing to you

italics indicate that it's a little memory/flashback

ˏˋ°•*⁀ it is officially the 4th here in aus, my favourites birthday <3 so here is a little alexia fic for her birthday. i hope you all enjoy it

‘Ah mi amor,’ You let out a small laugh as Alexia gently grabbed your wrist and pulled you onto her lap. You’d both been caught up in celebrating the supercopa win, along with Alexia and her captain duties, you hadn’t seen much of each other, ‘I’ve missed you,’ You let out a soft sigh, smiling as she tucked your hair behind your ear.

‘I’m here now Ale,’ Leaning into her touch you placed a kiss on the corner of her mouth, lightly teasing her.

Though Alexia wasn’t having any of that and swiftly pulled you in for a kiss. Your lips softly brushing against each other, adding more pressure and deepening the kiss.

‘Dios mío, get a room,’ You heard Mapi yell before something soft was hitting you both making you pull apart. A silent agreement between you and Alexia that you were both ready to go back to your hotel room. Wanting to spend some time where it was just the two of you.

Alexia was already in bed when you came back from the bathroom. You always took a lot more care and had a much more in depth skincare routine than Alexia did so it was quite common for her to already be in bed, waiting for you. More times than not after a big match like the one you just played today, Alexia would already be asleep, even if she’d wake slightly when you slipped in beside her and protest that she was just resting her eyes and not really asleep.

But the protests always died when you’d pull her into your side, arm wrapped around Alexia’s waist, her neck snuggled in the crook of yours, a soft kiss on her forehead and she’d be back asleep within seconds.

Though tonight, even though she was physically tired, Alexia knew she wasn’t going to get the best sleep tonight. Even with the thought of being cuddled up against your side, the weight of the ring she had in her bag, packed so delicately and very well hidden in case you went to grab anything out of her bag like you normally did, would be on her mind all night.

No matter what the outcome of the final, Alexia had the proposal planned. Perfectly planned exactly how she knew you would like. Planned

‘Ale, did you need-,’ Except, those plans went out the window the moment she looked up at you as you were making your way to bed. You were wearing one of Alexia’s hoodies, the one that you’d claimed as your own when the two of you first started dating. Your favourite of Alexia’s and you’d always make sure she wore it right before you’d go to your respective national teams. Helped you sleep better before matches if it felt like Alexia was there next to you.

Most of Alexia’s clothes were slightly too big on you and the hoodie was just that. Your hair you had messily put up in a bun, not caring how it looked since it was only up so it wouldn’t get in your way when going through your nightly routine knowing you would take it out the second you got into bed. The warmth of the light from the lamp hitting your skin just right, along with the natural glow of your skin.

To Alexia, in this light you looked utterly beautiful, no words could accurately describe just how gorgeous you are. At least none that could ever do it justice in Alexia’s eyes. It’s in moments like this that Alexia wishes she could take photos with her eyes, she just wants you to see and understand how you are to her. As if the small smile and dreamy look in her eyes whenever her gaze landed upon yours wouldn’t tell you on its own. You were the one for her and she never let you feel any other way or leave room for you to doubt her feelings for you.

Alexia’s known for a while that she wants to marry you. You stole her heart and never gave it back, not that she minded you kept it safe and unbroken. It was a moment quite similar to this one right now when Alexia realised that she wanted to officially spend forever with you.

It had been a long day at training, even more so since you’d lost the last game. Losing wasn’t something you’d often come across these days playing at Barcelona, but it wasn’t something that you could avoid forever. The lows always helped to make the wins feel that much better.

There was always an intensity to training and after a loss it was always much more intense. So going home, the home you shared and built together with your girlfriend, made these days feel that much better.

‘Ale,’ You softly sighed, turning your head so you were looking up at her, ‘You’re sending me to sleep and it’s still so early,’ You were laying with your head on Alexia’s lap, a movie on in the background while she was caught up with, you were sure it was, something related to football on her ipad. Her fingers gently playing with your hair and, every now and then, running softly along the back of your neck.

‘Mi vida, just relax,’ Alexia’s attention was fully on you now, leaning down lightly kissing the top of your head, ‘You deserve it cariño,’ The softness in which she spoke to you always made your heart flutter and your body fill with warmth. She knew how hard you worked and how you struggled to let yourself rest when you needed it.

Alexia peppered your face with soft kisses, deliberately skipping your lips each time she got close, ‘Amor,’ You whined softly, Alexia smiled, her hand tracing along your jaw while her lips hovered above yours. You were about to whine again when she let them connect. A slow, deep kiss, lips lingering against yours momentarily when she pulled away.

‘Te amo,’ You whispered it back, both of you in your own little bubble, ‘Now rest, I’m right here if you need me, not going anywhere,’

Alexia gently rubbed along your back while you curled up even more against her. It didn’t take long for you to allow yourself to relax with Alexia, it had always come naturally. At the end of the day her arms were your safety, whatever happened during the day didn’t matter as long as you were in her embrace.

The glow of the afternoon sun slipped through the bottom of the blinds, the glow illuminating your face. Some days your schedules were packed full, so Alexia always enjoyed these quiet moments with you. Whatever she had been doing on her ipad was fully forgotten, she was captivated by you.

The thought of forever with you, of marrying you, popped into her head that day. Realising that she would be content with spending every moment of her life with you, wanting to share every moment and achievement with you. Knowing that without you by her side she wouldn’t feel completely whole. From that day she’d started planning and trying to figure out the perfect proposal, though Alexia would never forget the day that made her almost accidentally blurt out a proposal.

It wasn’t even a loss, but it was a very sloppy win and it hit Alexia harder than anyone could have anticipated. She had seemed fine afterwards, but you’d failed to realise she was just going through the motions completely on autopilot. Alexia wasn’t the loudest or most out there person but she wasn’t the quietest either.

Alexia couldn’t help but put even more pressure on herself. It was a habit she had, along with your help, tried so hard to stop. The pressure to be the best all the time, and you hated seeing how she would shut down when the weight of that came crashing down pulling her with it. That didn’t stop the occasional slip and Alexia falling back into that habit, one that came so naturally to her.

‘Lo siento, mi amor,’ You crouched down in front of Alexia. You don’t recall hearing Alexia speak a word since you both got home, though you’d been distracted trying to get the both of you something to eat, ‘I should’ve noticed,’ Your voice was soft and small. You weren’t necessarily talking to Alexia right now, knowing that she wouldn’t really be listening to anything outside of her own head.

‘All those missed chances,’ You knew she was thinking about the game before she’d even said it. She was fidgeting with her fingers so you took her hands in your own, your thumb gently rubbing over her hand.

‘You know it wasn’t just you. You don’t have to be perfect for us, there’s no such thing and you know that,’ Your voice still had a softness to it but there was a slight firm undertone, one that was needed to break through all the self doubts that was filling her head, you needed her to hear you, ‘There are days when, despite everything we do, it just doesn’t click for us out there. But we will come back stronger next time. You’re not alone in this and you don’t need to carry the weight of it all by yourself. You’ve always got me, the team and the fans. No one needs- I don’t need you to be perfect,’

You could see the conflict in her eyes, the hesitation to believe what you were saying, ‘It’s not you that has to fix everything all the time. Yes you’re our captain, pero amor, lean on us we’ve got you, I’ve got you. You are more than enough exactly as you are,’ You brought each of her hands up to your lips, softly kissing each knuckle while looking up at her.

A deep sigh, Alexia nodded slightly leaning forward so her forehead was resting against yours. You wrapped your arms around Alexia, tightly holding her against you, ‘Gracias, mi amor. How do you always know what to say, what I need,’

‘Because I just know you Ale,’ Another way to say you love Alexia, a way that means more to her than she could ever tell you, ‘How about a warm bath and an early night? Bubbles in the bath?’

‘I’m not a kid,’ Alexia’s voice was small and you could hear the small pout her lips were forming.

You chuckled softly, ‘Oh my mistake, so you really really don’t want a warm bath with little bubbles,’ Your tone was teasing.

‘Con una vela vainilla y pequeña, por favor,’ Alexia kissed the side of your neck, you could feel a small smile against you and your heart felt a little lighter knowing Alexia was going to be okay.

When you wrapped her up in a soft, fluffy blanket in bed later that night, holding her close to you. She almost asked you to marry her, while she took care of you, you never hesitated to take care of her. To let her know it was okay to not be the one to take care of everyone all the time. Alexia let you take care of her, she felt safe enough to do that with you.

Her plans didn’t matter anymore, right now was perfect.

‘Alexia…’ Your voice cut through, bringing Alexia back to reality. You were now standing at the side of the bed, lightly waving your hand in front of Alexia’s face. She registered the use of her name and raised an eyebrow at you, ‘Knew that would make you come back to me,’ You smirked knowing there’s only certain times when she doesn’t mind you using her name and right now wasn’t one of them.

‘¿Estás bien?’ You asked since it had been a long day, you’d more than understand her being tired but zoning out was on the more unusual side for Alexia.

‘More than,’ Alexia couldn’t wait any longer. You were confused when she sprung out of bed, almost like there was a fire she had to get away from as quickly as she could, ‘You’re so beautiful,’ Alexia had circled the bed, wrapping an arm around your waist bringing you into her, her other hand cupping your cheek. You leaned into her touch, your face heating up at the intimacy. After all these years together and Alexia still made you feel like you were a teenager having her first crush.

Alexia kissed you deeply, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed once she pulled away. There was this goofy, lovesick smile that wouldn’t leave her face when she looked at you. You sitting in front of her, in her hoodie, in your natural beauty and the thought of forever felt like it would never be long enough with you.

‘Mi vida, wait here, por favor,’ A small chuckle left your lips, still confused with Alexia’s sudden actions but she was cute so of course you listened and watched her rummage through her bag.

Walking back towards you, hands behind her back holding the box out of view for now, Alexia suddenly grew very nervous. She didn’t have any doubt that you would say no, but she was second guessing if it was the right moment for you. It felt right for Alexia so she pushed through the doubts, also worried that she wouldn’t find the right words or convey them in the way she wants to. She didn’t have that extra mirror practice like she had planned to have the night before.

A small timid, partly awkward still partly goofy and loved up, smile graced her lips, ‘Mi amor, I had this all planned out but looking at you right now, seeing you and just being here with you, nothing has ever felt more right,’ A small gasp left your lips when Alexia knelt down on one knee, revealing the box and the ring inside it to you, ‘You are so beautiful and I really love the life we’ve built together. There is no one else but you, you are the one for me, we just fit together like we were made for each other. Like you were made for me,’ Your eyes were starting to well up with tears with each word Alexia spoke. She was pouring all her emotion and feelings into her words and you could feel it so deep within you, ‘I want a forever with you, mi vida, will you do me the honour of being my wife,’

So overcome with emotion, it felt like all the air had been sucked from your lungs. You nodded furiously and let out the smallest, ‘Sí,’ while you pulled Alexia up your lips crashing onto hers. Deep, breathless and full of a joy that couldn’t be contained between you both.

Alexia chuckled when you finally let her pull away slightly, ‘Amor, amor, I need to put the ring on your finger, por favor,’

You laughed forgetting that you skipped over that part entirely, just wanting to be close to her. Alexia took your hand and slid the ring on your finger, gently leaving a kiss to seal her love that would stay with you for a lifetime.

Alexia held you in her arms, your eyes transfixed on the ring that shone beautifully on your finger. You still couldn’t believe it, ‘This was perfect Ale,’ Whispering out into the soft comfortable silence that filled the hotel room you were staying in, ‘I love you Alexia,’

‘I love you, more than anything,’

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

liked by alexiaputellas, marialeonn16 and 130,809 others y/n if this is what i get after a cup win, what could i get after we win the champions league again 😏 ps. forever with you has a nice ring to it mi amor ❤️tagged: alexiaputellas

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #barca femeni #barca femini x reader

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gay-dorito-dust · 11 months ago

Text

Remy fic for @littlekidsteve

It has only been a little while since you and Remy had managed to escape the void along with Electra, Laura and Blade before biding them farewell, all the while you and Remy took a long walk as you both tried to figure out what you were going to do now that you were free.

Out of everyone you and Remy were the closet and so the idea of saying goodbye to one another after everything felt wrong, Remy had become apart of you as you became a vital part of him, so much so to the point neither of you could fathom an life without the other being apart of it some way or another.

‘Got any plans now that we’ve escaped the void?’ You asked him and he hums while shuffling his playing cards, a habit you noticed he had whether he was in need of a distraction or in deep thought.

‘I have been in the void for so long that I didn’t think I’d ever get out mon Cher, nor would get out so I made my inescapable prison a home, so all this is…rather new to me.’ Remy admits as he looked over at you with a soft expression before nudging you with his shoulder. ‘You have lived a life before the void, I think you’d be better suited for that question.’

You chuckled as you rubbed the back of your neck. ‘Yeah well I’m pretty sure they’ve pruned it by now, so I’m just as lost as you are and I haven’t been in the Void nearly as long as you have.’ You told him and Remy couldn’t help but chuckle as he went to grab your hand, intertwining it with his own. ‘Then we shall find a way to navigate our new life, together.’ He promised as he then brought your hand up to his lips before softly kissed it.

‘You promise?’ You asked.

‘I promise mon Cher.’ Remy echoed and suddenly everything felt like it was going to be okay, the void was long behind you both as the future was on the horizon, waiting for your both to take it

And soon enough with time and patience you and Remy found yourselves in your own little apartment -that was funnily enough not far from where Wade, Blind Al and Logan lived- and living a quiet, domestic lifestyle, just like you had wanted for a long time but couldn’t due to certain circumstances. You couldn’t help but smile softly upon first seeing Remy with an peaceful expression on his face as he slept, he looked beautiful and at ease with everything that you found yourself admiring him in silence, not wanting to ruin this moment by sneezing or shifting your weight and waking him by accident.

‘Wade is right. You are beautiful.’ You muttered lowly as you memorised his face and the way the light from the window made his skin glow an almost golden hue, making him look ethereal, as you took the time to appreciate the way his eyelashes kissed the apples of his cheeks. Remy was a handsome man and you were in no shape or form to deny it when you were more then aware of this face since the moment you met, but it wasn’t his physical appearance that drew you in but more or less his heart and his ability to light up anything that he touched, and soon enough you found yourself falling for the Cajun Frenchman more then you’d originally thought.

Remy has consumed your every waking and sleeping thought, claimed your body and heart as his own with how his eyes never seemed to leave you the moment you entered the room, smiling at you warmly before cross over to stand next to you for the rest of the day while occasionally showing off a new card trick he learnt. Even during combat Remy would stay close by to keep you safe when he felt that someone was getting too close for comfort by throwing one of his kinetically charged playing cards at them, and when you look over at him he just winks at you and continues the fight.

‘I can sense you watching me mon Cher.’ Remy said as he smiles cheekily, opening one eye to look at you as he brought a hand behind your head, pulling you in for a brief but sweet kiss before pulling away to look at you. ‘Am I really as beautiful as you say?’ He adds in a whisper as though he didn’t want anyone else to hear your conversation.

‘You can’t be blind to your own beauty can you Remy?’ You asked as you moved a hand to rest upon his chest, tapping your fingers against his skin in an unheard rhythm.

‘I’m not, I just want to hear you say it.’ Remy replied as he found his eyes wandering across your face with fondness and admiration. You couldn’t help but laugh as you rested your head against his chest, nuzzling into him. ‘You are indeed beautiful Remy Lebeau, the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on.’ You admit as you look at him, pressing a kiss to his chin as you felt his arms tighten on you, restraining you from moving away from him.

‘You flatter me Cher, but it is you who’s the most beautiful.’ Remy says as he presses a kiss to the top of your head, breathing in the shampoo and conditioner you used and closing his eyes, never having the luxury of experiencing peace before in his life but finding himself falling in love with it as fast as he did with you. Remy felt as though he could stay in this bed forever with you but knew with your plans for later today he wouldn’t, though that didn’t stop him from doing whatever he could to keep you in his arms.

‘Wade, Logan, Laura and their friends are coming over soon.’ You murmured.

‘I know.’ Remy relied.

‘We should get up soon.’ You continued.

‘I know.’ Remy repeated as he kissed your head again, cuddling you further into his chest. ‘We’ll get up soon, but for now can we just…stay here, please Cher.’ He adds in a plea and you couldn’t help but feel yourself slipping into sleep the longer you stayed in Remy’s comforting and strong arms.

‘I guess five minutes wouldn’t hurt.’ You said as you nuzzled yourself into his neck, kissing it. ‘Then we’ll have to…to…wake.’ Before you could finish your sentence you had found yourself fast asleep as Remy smiled down at you. ‘I’m sure they won’t mind Cherie, they’ll understand.’ He says before joining you in dream land.

Bonus:

‘Where the fuck are they?!’ Wade shouted as he, Logan, Laura, Al, dogpool and the rest of his friends stood outside in the hallway to yours and Remy’s apartment after banging on the door for the past five minutes.

‘They’re probably still asleep, best we leave them be before we fucking wake the rest of the apartment complex.’ Logan said, side eyeing Wade as he sifted the welcome gifts in his arms.

Wade pouts and just as they were about to leave, a rugged and scruffy looking you and Remy opened the door to greet them as Wade laughs. ‘You two looked like as though we’ve interrupted something between you two.’ Wade the leaned towards you to whisper. ‘Is the French dick that good?’ You glared at him as you flicked him on the forehead, watching him as he winced and rubbed his forehead with a pout.

‘We may or may not have overslept thanks to someone.’ You nudged Remy in the side as he smiles cheekily and brings an arm to your waist, tugging you into his side. ‘Guilty as charged.’ He said proudly as you both stepped aside for everyone to enter your shared apartment before joining them, happy to have known such weird yet beautiful people.

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aventurineswife · 1 month ago

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Hi again :3 as mentioned I'm just gonna write these down as to not forget and you'll get here eventually

Platonic Boothill, Aventurine, Ratio and Jing Yuan meeting reader's biological father who is responsible for their mother's death and is generally just an awful person but wants to get his child back for reasons unknown.

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold

Tags: Boothill x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Platonic Relationships, Found Family, Protective, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy (or Bittersweet) Ending, Justice & Retribution, Revenge Themes, Confrontation, Subtle Whump, Power Displays, Strong Bonds, Reader Has a Dark Past, Mentorship Elements.

Warnings: Mentions of Parental Abuse & Neglect (emotional, possibly physical), Mentions of Murder (reader’s father killed their mother), Emotional Manipulation & Gaslighting (father trying to reclaim the reader), Mild to Moderate Violence, Themes of Found Family vs. Toxic Biological Family, Confrontation Scenes, Reader Processing Trauma.

Tagslist: @themiddletenmasibling

Boothill sat on a barrel, one leg crossed over the other, fingers toying with a bullet between his fingers. His eyes gleamed under the dim light of the saloon, narrowing as he regarded the man across from him—your father.

"You got some nerve, showin’ up here after all these years," Boothill drawled, twirling the bullet before snapping it between his fingers. "What’s the play, huh? You waltz in, say a few pretty words, and think you can take ‘em back like nothin’ happened?"

Your father sneered. "I don’t need to justify myself to some gunslinger freak."

Boothill’s grin widened, sharp teeth flashing like a predator scenting weakness. "See, that’s where you’re wrong. ‘Cause you ain't talkin’ to just me. You’re talkin’ to the one who made sure they never had to go back to you. You’re talkin’ to the man who sees right through your lies."

You stood behind Boothill, fists clenched, emotions tangled. He had always been the first to step up when you couldn’t, shielding you from the past you’d tried to escape.

"You killed their mother," Boothill continued, voice devoid of its usual humor. "And now you think you can come back, like you got some kinda right?" He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You lost that right the moment you pulled the trigger."

Your father scowled but didn’t move. Boothill stood up, slow and deliberate. "Now, I ain’t the law. I don’t got a badge. But I got my own way of dealin’ with muddle-fudger like you."

The mechanical plates in his fingers shifted as his hand hovered over his revolver.

"You best turn ‘round and leave, partner. Before I put you in the ground like the outlaw you are."

Your father took one last look at you. You felt the weight of his stare, the years of pain he’d inflicted. But with Boothill standing beside you, unwavering, you knew—you were never going back.

And your father knew it too.

Aventurine leaned back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head as he regarded the man before him—your father. His signature smirk was in place, but his eyes were cold, calculating.

"Ah, family reunions. Always so dramatic," he mused, adjusting the golden rings on his fingers. "But you see, I have a rule against bad investments. And you, my dear sir, are the worst kind."

Your father scoffed. "This is none of your concern. I came for my child."

Aventurine exhaled, feigning disappointment. "So predictable. You don’t actually care about them, do you? No, no, you just don’t like losing something you think belongs to you."

You stiffened beside Aventurine, but his presence was like a wall between you and the man who had haunted your nightmares.

Your father’s lips curled into a sneer. "What do you even know about it?"

"Oh, plenty," Aventurine replied smoothly, swirling the wine glass in his hand before setting it down with a clink. "See, I know the type. Men who think they own what they destroy. Men who kill and expect forgiveness. Men who show up after years of absence and think they still hold the cards."

He leaned forward, eyes glinting. "But here’s the thing—I rigged the deck before you even sat down."

A tense silence filled the air.

Aventurine smiled. "They’re not going with you. And I suggest you leave before the stakes get... lethal."

Your father hesitated, but there was something in Aventurine’s gaze, something dangerous beneath the charm. He knew when he was outmatched.

He turned sharply and walked away.

Aventurine leaned back, sighing theatrically. "Honestly, predictable men bore me."

You exhaled, tension leaving your shoulders. "Thank you."

He winked. "What are friends for, if not for running conmen like him out of town?"

Ratio stood between you and your father, arms crossed, his piercing gaze unwavering. His alabaster mask rested on the table, revealing his sharp eyes—the kind that saw through deception with ease.

"I fail to understand the logic in your request," Ratio said coolly, tilting his head. "You claim to want them back, yet you were the one who ensured they had no home to return to."

Your father clenched his jaw. "They’re my blood."

Ratio’s lips curled slightly in amusement. "Blood is merely biological happenstance. It has no bearing on worth or responsibility." He took a step forward, and though he did not raise his voice, there was an undeniable weight to his words. "You ended their mother’s life. And now, you dare demand theirs?"

Your father’s expression twisted in frustration, but Ratio’s calm, intellectual disdain was an impenetrable wall.

"Pathetic," Ratio remarked. "Your mind is so small, so desperately clinging to control you do not have. Tell me, have you truly convinced yourself that you deserve their forgiveness?"

Your father flinched.

Ratio smiled, but it held no warmth. "You are nothing but a relic of a past they’ve outgrown. Be grateful for that mercy and leave before I decide to educate you in a more... permanent manner."

Your father hesitated for only a moment before turning and vanishing into the night.

Ratio glanced at you. "Are you all right?"

You nodded, exhaling shakily. "I think so."

Ratio adjusted his cuffs, his sharp gaze softening just slightly. "Good. Then let us never speak of that fool again."

Jing Yuan sat, eyes calm but unreadable as he regarded your father. The General’s fingers drummed softly against the wooden desk, the only sound in the otherwise suffocating silence.

"You are asking for something that is no longer yours," Jing Yuan finally said, voice smooth yet firm. "And after what you have done, I wonder… do you truly believe you deserve it?"

Your father sneered. "This is none of your concern."

Jing Yuan chuckled softly, though there was no amusement in it. "You are mistaken. Everything concerning their safety is my concern."

Your father’s confidence wavered.

Jing Yuan leaned forward, resting his chin against his hand. "I have led armies, quelled rebellions, and negotiated peace among the stars. I have seen men like you, men who believe power grants them ownership over others." His gaze sharpened. "You are mistaken yet again."

Your father opened his mouth, but Jing Yuan’s next words left no room for argument.

"They are under my protection. I do not take that duty lightly."

The weight of authority in his tone was absolute. A silent warning.

Your father stiffened, realizing he had lost. Without another word, he turned and left.

Jing Yuan sighed, looking at you with a faint, knowing smile. "A shame, really. I had half a mind to throw him in a cell."

You chuckled weakly. "I wouldn’t have stopped you."

Jing Yuan placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You are safe now. That is all that matters."

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f1-mcmuffin · 1 month ago

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From the fifth member!au

Reader reacting to the whole magui and lando situation especially since lando was seen with magui before he got together with her and everythingg

The Other Woman

(Requested) Lando Norris x Reader (5th Member of BLACKPINK AU)

ABSOLUTELY NO HATE TO MAGUI OR PIETRA THIS IS STRICTLY FICTIONAL

| Lando Norris Masterlist| Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |

Lando and Magui shared an unspoken understanding—two people who enjoyed each other's company, their chemistry undeniable, but never fully acknowledged. Their conversations were easy, with laughter that filled the spaces between their words. It felt natural, uncomplicated. There were no expectations. At least, that was Magui’s view.

Lando, however, had always been cautious. He could sense the undercurrent between them, the subtle hints of something more, but he kept things friendly. Racing was his focus. He knew that Magui was smart, confident, and beautiful, but there was something missing—a deeper connection that went beyond playful banter.

But still, Magui made him laugh, and he appreciated the comfort of her presence, especially during those long stretches between races, when the world outside the circuit seemed so far away. Yet, even then, Lando’s mind wandered to other things. It was always racing and something pulling him toward the future that seemed more important.

Lando and Magui are standing by the bar, drinks in hand. The conversation is light at first, nothing more than the usual chatter about races, the weather, and a few laughs. But Magui, as always, is a little more flirtatious than Lando realizes.

Magui leans in slightly, her voice smooth, “You know, I always enjoy talking to you. You’re different from the others.”

Lando laughs, leaning against the bar, half-attentive. “Yeah, well, I try to be. It’s easy when people aren’t all about racing all the time. Nice to talk about... other stuff.”

Magui gives a soft smile, her eyes lingering a little longer than Lando realizes. “I’ve always liked that about you. You’re not so caught up in the spotlight. You actually get it. You know what it’s like to just... be.”

Lando’s smile softens as he takes a sip of his drink, but there’s an uncomfortable edge to the conversation that he can’t quite place. “Yeah, I guess. It’s nice to have moments where I can just enjoy something without all the cameras.”

Magui steps a little closer, brushing her arm against his in a way that feels more intentional than casual. “You deserve someone who gets you... who appreciates who you really are.”

Lando chuckles awkwardly, stepping back just enough to break the physical contact. “Yeah, I’m just... not really looking for anything right now. I mean, racing’s kind of been the focus, you know?”

Magui, ever the persistent one, doesn’t miss a beat. “Sure, I get that. But sometimes, you’ve gotta make room for more. You’ve got so much going for you, Lando. People like you don’t stay single for long.”

Lando shifts, feeling the weight of her words in a way he doesn’t entirely understand. There’s a part of him that enjoys the attention, but another part that feels uncomfortable with the pressure she’s subtly applying.

Magui notices the shift, her voice dropping slightly, becoming more pointed. “You know, I could... I could make things more interesting for you, Lando. If you wanted to... have some fun.”

Lando looks at her, his expression softening but not in the way she expects. “Magui, I’m not in the right headspace for any of that. Not right now.”

Her smile falters for a moment, but she quickly recovers, flashing him a practiced grin. “If you change your mind, I’ll be around.”

After that, Magui thought she understood. She tried to convince herself they were just friends—close friends, and nothing more. And if there was anything deeper? It could wait. She was patient.

But when he met her, everything changed. Her presence became constant, her name slipping into Lando’s conversations with casual ease. He started to smile more, laugh more. His eyes would light up when he spoke about her, and Magui could see it—the way he lit up around her was different from how he was with anyone else.

It was subtle at first—just the tiniest shift in Lando’s demeanor. His interactions with Magui become less and less frequent. He started talking less about his races with Magui, leaving their conversations feeling a little emptier. When he did text back, his replies were shorter, almost like a polite obligation.

Magui had always been skeptical, watching from the sidelines, quietly observing as their connection grew stronger. Magui thought it was just a phase, something that would fade as quickly as it had started. After all, Lando was never the type to settle down—not in the way she seemed to expect. He was always so focused, so determined, so used to living in the fast lane, and she seemed like a world he wouldn’t be able to fit into.

Magui had known how to keep things casual with Lando. She’d always been the one who didn’t ask for more, who didn’t make things complicated. She understood the unspoken rules between them. It was simple, easy. She thought it was enough for him, and for a while, it had been. But somewhere along the way, things had shifted. She had seen the way Lando looked at her, the way he had started pulling away, the way his focus had slowly, imperceptibly shifted.

At first, she told herself it was just a fleeting thing. It wasn’t going to last. Lando would snap out of it. It would pass, just like everything else. But now, as she watched from the distance, as she saw them together—really together—she realized just how wrong she had been.

It wasn’t just a phase. It wasn’t some fleeting connection that would fade in the rush of racing and fame. What they had, the way they looked at each other, the way Lando was there for her, supporting her—Magui could see it now. She’d been wrong and that’s when Magui’s walls began to crack. She had always told herself that one day, when the time was right, Lando would come back to her, that their connection was something real. But watching him with her, watching how effortless it was for him to drop everything for her.

Magui realized the truth: he moved on.

Lando’s heart has found someone else, and that someone wasn’t her.

Magui wasn’t used to feeling like this—left behind, forgotten. And as much as she tried to bury her feelings, they kept surfacing, each interaction with Lando stinging a little more. He didn’t intentionally pull away from her, but he had. And Magui didn’t know how to deal with it.

One night, after weeks of silence, she sent him a text, hoping for something—a sign that they still shared something.

"We should hang out soon. Catch up. It’s been a while."

The response came almost a day later, but it was brief, almost curt.

"Busy. Talk soon."

Magui stared at the message for longer than she should have, a tight knot forming in her chest. This wasn’t the Lando she knew—the one who wouldv’e dropped everything for a quick chat, the one who would have laughed at her silly jokes. This Lando was distant, cold. She had taken his attention, and that space in his life that Magui once filled had disappeared.

Magui’s mind raced, the jealousy she had suppressed rising to the surface. She tried to push it down, but it was impossible. Magui had always believed, deep down, that Lando would eventually choose her. But She was different. She made Lando’s smile wider, his laugh easier. Magui had never seen him like that before.

While Magui was trying to come to terms with her feelings, while Pietra's hostility toward her grew. It wasn’t overt, not at first, but it was clear. Pietra couldn’t hide her dislike of her, who was quick to pick up on the coldness in her interactions.

It started with the smallest gestures—Pietra not responding to her attempts at small talk, her clipped answers when they were all together. At first, she tried to ignore it, chalking it up to Pietra being distant or just in a bad mood. It didn’t take long for the silence to speak louder than words.

She was no stranger to rivalry or people not liking her, especially while being in the Kpop world. But this? This was more personal. She wasn’t sure if Pietra had it out for her because of her own friendly protectiveness taward Lando or because Magui had made it clear, that she wasn’t interested in being “just friends” anymore. Either way, the atmosphere around Pietra felt thick, tense, like a storm waiting to break.

One evening in Monaco is picturesque, the marina glimmering under the soft light of the street lamps. The restaurant is a chic yet understated place, tucked away from the bustling crowds. The air is warm, with a gentle breeze coming off the water, but despite the beautiful surroundings, there’s an undeniable tension in the air. Max F. and Lando had arranged for a casual double date, hoping that their girlfriends would hit it off. They both with their arms resting casually on the backs of their chairs, share a laugh as they look over the menu.

Max is in a good mood, eager to see the two women bond, while Lando is more focused on making sure everything goes smoothly. He’s noticed the subtle current between Pietra and her, but he’s hoping it will dissipate as the evening goes on. Pietra, however, doesn’t seem interested in playing nice.

She, ever so professional, despite the growing tension, tries her best to stay light and friendly. offering Pietra a warm smile as she speaks, her voice warm but cautious. “So, Pietra, I’ve heard so much about you. Max says you two have been together for a while now. That’s amazing. How did you two meet? I’ve always been curious”

Pietra doesn’t look up or respond immediately, taking a sip of her wine with an almost deliberate slowness. Pietra eyes her for a moment before setting the glass down with a soft clink. “We met a while ago,” she says, her tone cool, as if the conversation is something she’s only tolerating. Her eyes briefly flicker toward her, a hint of irritation behind her gaze. “Max was... a little too eager, but I eventually gave him a chance.”

Lando tries to lighten the mood, shooting Max a brief look, but he doesn’t catch the way Pietra’s words linger in the air, heavy with an underlying edge. Max, sensing the tension, chuckles nervously. “Yeah, I had to prove myself. It took some time.”

She was still trying to keep the conversation light as possible. She forces a short laugh, trying to ease things along. “That’s kind of sweet, though. It must have been nice to see that persistence paid off. I think relationships take time to build, especially with our busy schedules.”

Pietra glances at her briefly, her lips pressed into a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Oh, we are. Max knows how to keep things interesting.” she responds, the word drawn out with a slight emphasis. She shifts in her chair, her posture stiff, clearly uncomfortable. “But I suppose some people don’t need as much time to figure things out.”

Pietra’s comment clearly makes a jab at how fast her and Lando go together, and she feels the weight of it. She’s trying so hard to keep things civil, to extend kindness, but Pietra’s thinly veiled jabs aren’t making it easy. Still, she maintains her composure, her smile never wavering.

“Of course,” she says, her voice smooth, though there’s a tightness in her chest. “Some people just click right away, you know? Like when you meet someone and it just feels... right.” She glances at Lando, her eyes softening for a moment, as if the connection they’re building could offer a small sense of relief from the awkwardness. But Pietra’s eyes are sharp, catching the glance and narrowing slightly.

Lando glances at her, his eyes softening, he’s aware of the tension in the air. He doesn’t want to put pressure on either woman, but he can’t help feeling a little uncomfortable. He reaches for the breadbasket, trying to fill the awkward silence with something normal. “Yeah, we’ve been spending more time outside of racing events, which has been nice. It’s been... different, but in a good way.”

Pietra finally looks at her, her gaze sharp. “Must be nice to have time for that,” she says pointedly, leaning back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest. “Some of us don’t get to choose when to step away from the spotlight.”

Her smile falters for a moment, but she quickly recovers, her voice still warm. “I get that. It’s definitely a balancing act.”

Lando shoots Pietra a look. “Pietra, come on, let’s just enjoy the evening, yeah? It’s been a long week, and we’re all here to relax.”

Max, trying to diffuse the situation, grins at her and says, “Lando and I both agreed—tonight is about getting to know the girls better. We want you two to be friends, so... let’s make it happen.”

She looks at Lando, grateful for his efforts, and smiles at him. “Exactly. It’s a chance for us to all just hang out and have fun.”

Pietra’s expression doesn’t soften, clearly unimpressed with the idea. “I guess”

“So, have either of you two been to the south of France? I think it’d be nice to get away for a bit.” Max asked

She was grateful for the change of subject, leans in slightly, eager to engage with Max. “I’d love to. I’ve heard there are some beautiful spots by the coast. Maybe next time, we could all go together—just to relax, no racing, no distractions.”

Pietra’s laugh is almost too quick, too forced, and it cuts through the conversation like a knife. “Relax, huh?” she says with a mocking smile. “I’m sure some of us would be too busy to ‘relax’ properly.” She sets her wine glass down a little too hard, the clink of glass echoing in the sudden quiet that follows. Pietra doesn’t look at her, but the comment is pointed, deliberate.

Her stomach tightens, but she doesn’t let the discomfort show. She’s used to this by now—navigating through difficult conversations, keeping things calm. “I’m sure everyone needs a break now and then,” she says, her voice steady, though the words feel like they hang heavy in the air. “But it’s nice to know there’s a chance for some peace, right?”

Pietra just stares at her, her lips curling into a thin, tight smile. “Sure,” she says, but the word is almost laced with sarcasm. She turns to Max, her attention momentarily shifting. “I think I’ll take a rain check on that. I’m not in the mood for a group getaway.”

The tightness in the air is palpable, suffocating almost. Lando looks back and forth between the two women, feeling the weight of the silence pressing down. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Max catches his eye and shakes his head slightly, as if to say let it go.

Her smile was forced but polite, tries again. “That’s okay, Pietra. Maybe another time.” She doesn’t want to argue, doesn’t want to add fuel to the fire. She’s just trying to make it through the night, to show she can be the bigger person. “But I do think a little break every now and then would be nice for everyone. Just to unwind, you know?”

Pietra pulls a tight smile on her face before dropping it almost immediately, before she turns to the menu as if she’s suddenly uninterested in the conversation. The tension in the air settled into a quiet, simmering discomfort that she felt deep in her chest. She forces a deep breath, trying to keep her composure.

Lando leans closer to her, his hand lightly brushing hers under the table. “Don’t mind her,” he says quietly, his voice soft, but there’s a sadness to it. “She’s just... protective. Max and I thought this might be a good idea, but... maybe we’re rushing it.”

Her meets his eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the heaviness of the moment. “It’s okay,” she says, her voice steady. “I get it. I just want to make sure we’re all okay. I can handle it.”

But Lando knows better. He can feel the strain between them, the way Pietra’s barbs have landed, and he wishes he could fix it for her. He wishes he could make it all easier.

Max chuckles lightly, “So, guys, have you both been to Tokyo? Y/n, I think you mentioned it last time—it must be nice to have some time off in a place like that, huh?”

She was grateful for the shift, smiles, her voice a little more relaxed. “Yeah, Tokyo’s amazing. I’ve had the chance to go a few times for work, but there’s so much to see outside of the busy parts. It’s really inspiring.”

Pietra's eyes narrow slightly at the mention of her career, her lips curling into a tight, almost cruel smile. “Right. Your work,” she says, her tone laced with sarcasm. “It must be nice to be in a career where you don’t have to actually do anything other than... dance around in front of a camera. Must be a breeze.”

She freezes for a moment, her mind reeling from the sting of the words. Her fingers tighten around her glass, but she doesn’t let the frustration show on her face. She’s used to the criticisms of her career, the shallow judgments of what it’s like to be in the K-pop world. But hearing it from Pietra, directed at her so deliberately, feels different.

Lando glances at his girlfriend, sensing the shift in her expression, but before he can say anything, Pietra continues, her voice cold. “Must be a real change of pace, huh? From running around in high heels to shaking your hips for a bunch of cameras. No pressure, right?”

Her jaw tightens. She’s just about had enough of the comments, but she knows that snapping back would only make things worse. She feels the old defensive instincts rise in her chest, but she swallows them down, pushing them aside for the sake of keeping the peace. It’s hard, though. Her throat feels tight, and she fights the urge to respond.

Lando, clearly uncomfortable, leans forward, his eyes flickering from Pietra to her. “Pietra, that’s enough,” he says, his voice low but firm. He doesn’t like where this is going, and he’s tired of seeing his girlfriend get put in a corner.

But Pietra doesn’t back down. She looks directly at her, her eyes hardening. “I’m just saying,” she presses, her voice filled with venom. “I don’t get how someone can be taken seriously when they’ve built a career on gimmicks. I mean, let’s be honest, it’s all just a product, isn’t it? And you’re just a face, a brand.”

The words hit like a slap, and for a moment, her vision blurs. It takes everything in her to keep her face neutral, to stay composed. She wants to snap, to tell Pietra just how much work goes into every performance, every song. But she doesn’t. She holds herself back, refusing to give Pietra the satisfaction of seeing her react. Instead, she simply smiles, though the smile feels like it might crack under the weight of the words.

“Yeah…,” she says sarcastically, her voice tight but calm. “It’s a different world, I guess. But I’ve worked hard for everything I’ve accomplished. Everyone has their own path, right?”

Max, still trying to steer things back to safer ground, chuckles awkwardly. “Yeah, we all work hard. No need to get into all that.”

Pietra, however, isn’t finished. She leans back in her chair, her arms folded across her chest. “I just think it’s funny, you know?” she says, her voice dropping to a near-whisper but loud enough for everyone at the table to hear. “How people in your industry act like it’s so much more important than what it is. Like the world revolves around pop stars and image. It’s cute, really.”

Her blood boils, but she’s silent. She takes a quick tight deep breath and can feel Lando’s gaze on her, trying to gauge how she’s taking it. He wants to intervene, but he knows that anything he says will only make things worse. So instead, he remains silent, his fist clenched under the table.

Her hands tremble slightly, but she doesn’t show it. Instead, she takes a deep breath, forcing a smile that feels tight against her lips. “It’s alright, Pietra,” she says softly. “I know where I stand. I’m fine with my career.”

For a moment, Pietra’s eyes flicker with something—maybe it’s satisfaction, maybe something darker—but she doesn’t comment further. She picks up her glass again, taking a long sip, and the conversation stumbles into a tense silence.

Her eyes narrowing as she glances between Lando and her, suddenly shifts gears again. She looks at Max, who’s nervously poking at his plate, as if trying to avoid the growing irritation at the table. “You know,” she says casually, her tone light but dripping with sarcasm, “it must be nice to have a personal life that’s... free of any complications. No messy... entanglements, no drama. Just the usual ‘perfect’ image to keep up.”

Her stomach twists, but she forces herself to look calm, keeping her smile firmly in place. Entanglements? She can’t help but wonder if Pietra’s talking about her own situation, or if she’s trying to throw subtle jabs in the direction of something Lando has made a conscious choice to distance himself from.

Lando notices the shift in his girlfriend's expression, and his jaw tightens. He’s been trying to keep the evening civil, but Pietra’s words hit their mark and he knows exactly what Pietra’s implying. The knot in his chest grows heavier, and he can feel his patience wearing thinner by the second. He tries to keep his voice even, offering a forced laugh to break the ice. “Yeah, it’s all just so perfect, huh?” he says, his voice a little too sharp, though he’s clearly frustrated.

Pietra doesn’t pick up on his irritation. Instead, she goes on, her words turning more biting, more deliberate. “Some people are just lucky, I guess. They don’t have to deal with the mess that comes with relationships. With... people who don’t really understand how to, you know, keep things quiet. Keep things professional. They’re too busy with other things.” She pauses, and the weight of her unspoken words lingers in the air, a subtle but unmistakable reference to Lando’s past relationships.

Max coughs awkwardly, trying to redirect the conversation. “Alright, alright—let’s not go there, Pietra.”

But Pietra, ever defiant, shrugs. “What? I’m just saying, some people are better at keeping their personal lives in order than others. No need to complicate things, right?”

her eyes narrow slightly, her hands tightening around her utensil. She wants to say something, to shoot back at Pietra, but she holds herself back, aware of how it could escalate. The last thing she wants is to feed into the drama. But the implication—about keeping things “quiet” and “professional”—hits too close to home.

Lando, who’s been holding his anger in check for far too long, finally shoots a sharp look at Max, his expression dark. The anger is evident on his face, his eyes narrowing in frustration. Max, who’s always been the peacekeeper in their group, immediately goes quiet, sensing the shift in the air. He looks at Pietra for a moment, then looks down at his plate, awkwardly avoiding Lando’s gaze.

“You need to stop, Pietra,” Lando says, his voice low but controlled, the words cutting through the tension like a blade. “Enough.”

The room falls into a tense silence as everyone feels the weight of his words. Max, still trying to salvage the evening, opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything. It’s clear now that Lando has had enough, and no one is willing to push him further.

Pietra doesn’t back down entirely, but her expression falters for a moment, her lips tightening as she glances between Lando and her. “Fine,” she says, her tone dripping with feigned indifference. “I guess I’m just too blunt for some people.” She leans back in her chair, her arms crossing over her chest, her eyes darting between the two of them with an almost smug satisfaction.

She was already feeling like the barbs are starting to pierce through her carefully constructed calm, and feels the last shred of her restraint snap. She feels a heat rise in her chest as Pietra’s words hit her once again, and she can’t hold it back anymore.

“You know, Pietra,” she says, her voice steady and resolute, surprising everyone at the table.“I’ve been trying to be nice to you. I’ve been trying to keep things civil and not get into petty little conversations like this. But for once, I’m not going to sit here and pretend that your comments don’t bother me.” She leans forward, her gaze now fully fixed on Pietra.

Pietra’s eyes flicker with something dark, but she doesn’t speak, waiting for her to continue.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me or my relationships or my career or what I’ve worked for,” she snaps, her voice firm and unwavering. “And you certainly don’t know what it’s like to be constantly scrutinized, judged, and belittled for something you love, something you’ve worked your ass off for. I’ve put in more hours, more blood, sweat, and tears than you could ever understand. So don’t sit there and act like I’m some pretty face who got lucky. My success didn’t come from just being a face or a ‘brand.’ It came from hard work. Real work.”

Pietra blinks, clearly taken aback, but she doesn’t stop. “And don’t you dare pretend like your little backhanded comments about ‘entanglements’ or ‘keeping things professional’ are anything but passive-aggressive digs at me. I’ve never been the one to air out personal drama, but don’t test me. I’m tired of playing nice with people who think they can talk down to me. At this point you don’t have to like me, no problem I dont care. But don’t belittle me or my relationships. You are you and I am me. ”

The silence in the room is deafening. Lando, his eyes wide, watches her with a mixture of awe and something like pride. Max shifts uncomfortably, glancing between the two women, but it’s clear he knows better than to interfere.

Pietra, for the first time all evening, seems speechless. Her lips part as if she’s about to respond, but the words don’t come. Her eyes flicker with a mixture of shock and something darker—resentment, perhaps—but she quickly masks it with a tight smile.

“Well,” Pietra says, her voice strained and colder than before, “looks like I touched a nerve. I’ll leave you to your little perfect life, then.” She leans back in her chair, arms crossed, though her demeanor has shifted, her earlier smugness replaced with a faint trace of irritation.

She doesn’t back down, her gaze steady, but her heart is pounding in her chest. She’s been holding all of that in for so long, and for the first time in what feels like forever, she feels a sense of relief. She finally spoke up.

Lando, clearly pleased with the way she handled the situation, glances at Max with a pointed look, his expression fierce. Max, sensing Lando’s anger, raises his hands defensively. “Alright, alright,” Max says quickly, trying to get the conversation back on track. “Let’s just—let’s move on. No need to keep this going.”

She looks at Lando, her expression softening slightly as she feels the weight of the moment start to lift. Lando reaches across the table and gently places his hand on hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. His thumb strokes over her knuckles in a silent gesture of support.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, his voice filled with concern.

She smiles at him, the tension finally easing out of her body. “Yeah. I’m good now. Just needed to say it.”

Max gives a small, awkward laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “I think we can all agree, this dinner’s been... interesting.”

Lando lets out a breath, glancing at the two women with a mix of frustration and a small amount of hope that they can both move past the hostility. “Let’s just enjoy the rest of the evening. No more drama, alright?”

The air feels tense but also lighter now, the moment of confrontation settling into the background as the night moves on.

The room was quiet, except for the low hum of the TV playing something forgettable in the background — a rerun, maybe. she didn’t really register it. She was curled into the corner of their couch, Lando’s hoodie swallowing her frame, her thumb idly scrolling through her phone.

She wasn’t even looking for anything and it found her anyway.

A photo. Grainy, likely taken on someone’s phone without them noticing. Lando — leaning against the bar at a restaurant, grinning. And next to him, too close to be just casual, was a girl she recognized now, Magui.

She paused, her eyes scanned the image slowly. Magui’s smile was directed at him. Lando wasn’t touching her, but his body was tilted toward her like it was second nature.

The timestamp was from about a year ago, way before her, but it still hit her like a thud in the chest.

She tapped on the gossip account, and more appeared. Photos of them at the same parties. Arriving separately but leaving together. The kinds of photos fan accounts lived for — blurry, inconclusive, but loud in implication.

She locked her phone and stared at the black screen, her own reflection staring back.

It wasn’t jealousy, exactly. It was more the sting of realizing she hadn’t been the first page in this chapter — just the one people were reading now and people were loud about it. Too loud. Whispering comparisons between Magui and her like it was a competition.

She didn’t want to feel second. But tonight, she did mentally.

The FaceTime ring echoed once. Twice. She considered not picking up.Then she did.

Lando’s face appeared — fresh from a shower, curls damp, the kind of smile that was easy and unguarded.

“Hey,” he said. “Missed you today.”

She offered a smile, small and automatic. “Hey… yeah. Just tired.”

He tilted his head. “That dance rehearsal kick your ass?”

“Not really.” She paused, then exhaled. “Just… tired of the internet.”

That got his attention. His posture shifted, a flicker of concern tightening his features. “What happened?”

She hesitated. Her finger picked at a loose thread on the hoodie sleeve.

“People have a lot of opinions lately,” she said finally. “About us. About who you were with before me.” Lando didn’t say anything for a moment. His gaze dropped, thoughtful.

“You mean Magui?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “That was before you. Way before anything serious between us.”

“I know,” she said quickly. “I do. It’s just weird, seeing it. Seeing you like that with someone else. I wasn’t looking for it, but now it’s everywhere. Like I’m supposed to feel… less.” Her voice cracked just slightly on the last word.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re not second.”

“Then why does it feel like everyone thinks I am?” she asked, quieter now. “Like I’m the girl you moved on to, not the one you chose.”

“I didn’t stop talking to her because of pressure,” Lando said. “I stopped because I met you. And suddenly I didn’t want... almost. I wanted something real.”

Shd blinked, throat tight. “She wanted more?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah but I couldn’t give her what she wanted, because I didn’t feel it. Then you walked into that Ralph Lauren event in that gorgeous black dress and dumped me and I...”

“You looked at me like I glitched your simulation,” she murmured, a reluctant smile breaking through.

“I thought I was hallucinating,” he said, grinning. “You were so... you. I couldn’t stop looking.”

She shook her head, a breath of laughter escaping her. Then, more seriously: “Just… don’t let me be blindsided, okay? If anyone from your past is going to show up, I’d rather it be from you than some gossip account.”

“Always.”Lando said, voice low and steady. “Same goes for you too,” he joked. She let out a laugh and shook her head.

Then there was a pause. Something silent and warm passed between them.

“I want this — whatever this is — to be honest.”

She nodded, finally letting her body relax. “Me too.”

The silence now wasn’t uncomfortable. Just real. Still a little fragile, but real. She wasn’t sure what this thing between them was becoming — but for tonight, she chose to believe him. And that felt like enough.

Somewhere, Magui scrolled through Lando's Instagram, her thumb moving mechanically as she looked for the posts where she wasn’t front and center. Magui told herself it wasn’t jealousy, that it wasn’t about the way Lando’s relationship with her had blossomed into something real—something that had grown roots and was growing every damn day.

Magui had always been there, lurking in the background, stalking through gossip accounts to keep up with him and still liking Lando’s posts. The ones where he was smiling with a group of friends, the ones where he was celebrating his victories or showing off his new helmet or sharing a moment with his fans. The ones where she wasn’t beside him, her radiant smile stealing the spotlight and mogging everyone in the photo.

Magui told herself it was easier this way, keeping things casual. She had never been someone to get too involved, never wanted more than what they had shared in those late-night conversations or the stolen moments that were never meant to last. But deep down, there was a bitterness she hadn’t quite managed to shake off.

She hated seeing them together.

Hated seeing the way Lando looked at her—like she was the one he’d been waiting for, the one who finally tied him down. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to drift apart, like everything else in Lando’s life eventually did. But this... this wasn’t drifting. It was something real.

She continued to scroll, her finger pausing just slightly on a picture of Lando with some of his friends, she wasn’t anywhere in sight. That was safe. That was something she would like, something that didn’t feel like a reminder of her own failures.

Every time Lando posted a picture with her, she quickly scrolled past, not allowing herself to linger on it, not allowing herself to feel the pang in her chest. She told herself it wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t hers anymore, and he never truly had been. But it still hurts. It hurt because she had watched the whole thing unfold, watched him pull away, watched her own place in his life shrink until there was nothing left but empty conversations and shallow exchanges.

But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Liking his posts, even the ones where he was with everyone but her, was the closest she could get to holding on to the connection they’d once shared. Even if it was just through a simple tap of a button, it made her feel like she still had a piece of him. Even if it was just a faint shadow of what it had been.

It wasn’t healthy, and she knew it. But some part of her couldn’t let go. Not yet.

But the world of social media was like a double-edged sword, and Magui had never quite realized just how sharp it could be until now.

Since he and her had become more open about their relationship, BLINKS—devoted fans of BLACKPINK and her —had been keeping a watchful eye on every move. They’d seen the way Lando looked at her, the way he supported her with everything in him. They were invested in her happiness. Even if it meant scrutinizing everything about the people she surrounded herself with.

One evening, after she had posted an instagram dump of them together—one of those soft, intimate moments they shared—it didn’t take long for the fanbase to go into full detective mode. They were quick to dig into every corner of Lando’s life, from his whole family to when he first went on tevision in his karting days.

Their passion was undeniable, and when they noticed a pattern—comments from an old, familiar name—Magui’s, they couldn’t help but connect the dots.

BLINKS weren’t just fans; they were an army. And when they found something, they didn’t let it go.

A few hours after the post went up, the first tweet surfaced. It was simple enough, an old screenshot from an F1 gossip account, showing him and Magui together at an event, their arms casually draped over one another. The caption was innocent, playful, hinting at yet another fling Lando got caught with in public but to the BLINKS, it didn’t look so innocent.

@/BLINKS_Obsessed:

Wait, how old is this...Lando with some blonde girl? Does anyone know who she is? This doesn’t look like just friends to me…

The comments on the tweet started pouring in almost immediately, each one more eager than the last, trying to unearth every detail they could find about Lando’s past relationships. As they pieced together more and more, the cracks in the story began to show.

@/BLINKSUNITED:

Did Lando have something with her before Y/n? Should we be worried about her still lurking around? 🤔

As the online digging intensified, BLINKS started linking older posts and photos. They connected the dots between Magui’s old interactions with Lando—late-night social media exchanges, photos from before she entered the picture. They noticed how Magui has still been liking Landos instagram posts, especially the ones where she wasn’t in them, and the BLINKS didn’t miss it.

@/BL5CKPINKFOREVER: Magui is still liking his posts?! She’s been all over his social media, and Magui’s still lurking around even after her and Lando started getting serious… Something’s off here. 🤨

@/BLINKBLINKBLINK: She’s been hanging onto him for way too long. How can Y/n trust him if this bitch won’t back off? 😡

Before long, the situation escalated. BLINKS had a new target now, shifting their views from still attacking Jennie for her lazy dancing and Lisas new album that they keep saying flopped.

They didn’t just want to expose the past—they wanted to make sure Magui knew she wasn’t welcome in their world. They began flooding her social media with comments, bombarding her with messages that ranged from mocking to outright cruel. It wasn’t long before they started sharing her old relationships from past years, twisting them, insinuating things that weren’t there.

@/BLINKS.always.protect.our.favs:Why is Magui still so obsessed with Lando? Get over it already! Y/n deserves better than some girl who keeps hanging around like this. #LandoY/n #StayAway

The online attacks grew fiercer, and Magui found herself caught in the middle of a storm she wasn’t prepared for. Her social media, once a somewhat quiet space for her to share moments, was now filled with hate. Tweets, comments, even messages from BLINKS flooded in. They accused her of trying to wreck their relationship, of holding on to a past that no longer mattered.

Magui wasn’t naïve. She’d expected something—maybe some resistance, some gossip—but not this. She’d kept her distance, and had respected the boundaries between her and Lando. But BLINKS were relentless, and the more they dug, the more the reality of her situation hit her.

@/BLINKSgobeyond: Does Magui think she’s going to come between them? Nah, sis, Lando’s her’s now. You’ve had your turn.

The attacks intensified. Lando’s name was constantly dragged into the conversation, his past with Magui under a microscope. Fans accused him of not being clear with Y/n about his past, about allowing Magui to stick around for so long without making it clear to her that chapter was over. They wanted her gone, out of their world, and they weren’t shy about it.

Magui had never been one to shy away from attention, but this was different. It wasn’t admiration—it was a full-on witch hunt. And the worst part was, it was all because she couldn’t bring herself to stop liking Lando’s posts, even though she knew she should’ve.

While the sun was setting outside, casting a warm, golden glow through the apartment’s large windows. Her and Lando sat on the couch, the quiet hum of the city below filling the space around them. They had spent the afternoon together, enjoying a rare moment of peace, but there was an unspoken strain in the air now. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them, and she knew it had to be addressed.

Lando had been unusually quiet for the past few days. He wasn’t his usual, carefree self, and she knew it had something to do with the drama surrounding Magui. It was hard not to notice the way his fans had latched onto his past, the way they’d scrutinized every detail of his life in relation to her. The BLINKS had done their part to dissect the past, and now it was affecting everything—her relationship with Lando, his mental space, and the space they shared.

She took a deep breath, setting her phone down on the coffee table, her fingers tapping lightly against it. She turned to face him, her voice soft, but there was a quiet determination in it.

“Lando, we need to talk about this.”

Lando glanced up at her, a mix of exhaustion and frustration in his eyes. He didn’t need to ask what she meant; they both knew. “I know,” he replied, running a hand through his hair. “It’s been a lot.”

She nodded, leaning back against the couch, trying to find the right words. “I’ve been seeing all the comments, all the hate that’s been directed toward Magui. And I know it’s not just her they’re going after. It’s... it’s us. It’s our relationship. It’s like we’re not allowed to just be together without people digging into everything.”

Lando’s expression tightened, his jaw clenching. “It’s not just about her. It’s about me, too. I never wanted any of this—especially not for you. I know you don’t deserve this.”

She shook her head, her voice quieter now, but the emotion was there. “I don’t care about what they say about me, Lando. But seeing Magui dragged through the mud like this… it’s hard. I can’t ignore it. I don’t want to see anyone going through that, even if I don’t understand why she’s still holding on.”

Lando sighed, shifting his gaze to the floor for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “It’s not that simple. I don’t know why she’s still doing it, but I can’t control that. All I can control is where I put my energy now. And it’s with you.” His eyes met hers, the sincerity in his expression undeniable. “I’ve been pulling away from her, from everything that came before. I’m with you now. And I’m sorry if that’s been hard for you to see.”

Her heart softened at his words, but the weight of the situation was still there, hanging between them. She reached for his hand, her fingers curling around his. “I know. I know you’re with me. But I can’t help but feel like we’re stuck in this... this cycle, Lando. It’s like no matter how much we try to move forward, there’s always something pulling us back to this past that I don’t even fully understand.”

Lando looked at her, a flicker of guilt flashing in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I should’ve done more to keep this from affecting you. I never wanted you to feel like you had to be part of any of this drama. You didn’t sign up for it.”

She smiled faintly, squeezing his hand. “I know and I didn’t, but I also know what it’s like to be in the spotlight. It’s not just us anymore. It’s everything we do. Every time you post, every time you’re seen with me, every time I post something... people start picking apart our lives. And I know that you didn’t want it either. But I can’t pretend like it doesn’t hurt sometimes.”

There was a long silence as Lando processed her words. He wanted to be the one to protect her from it all, to shield her from the negativity that was poisoning their relationship. But he had underestimated the toll it would take on both of them.

“I’m not going to let them tear us apart,” he said finally, his voice low, but resolute. “I don’t care what they think. I care about you. And I know this is hard, but I want us to be stronger because of it. Not weaker.”

Her eyes softened, the vulnerability she had been holding back finally spilling over. “I just... I just want us to be able to move forward, you know? Without constantly looking over our shoulder, wondering who’s going to judge us next. I don’t want to have to feel like I have to keep defending myself, or you, or us. I want to focus on what’s real.”

Lando nodded, understanding her frustration. He squeezed her hand tighter. “We can do that. I know it’s not going to be easy. But I promise you, I’m here. I’m with you. And whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

she leaned in, pressing her forehead to his, feeling the warmth of his words settle around her like a blanket. “I just need to know that we’re in this together. That it’s you and me, and nothing else.”

“It’s always been you and me,” Lando whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “And it always will be. I’m not going anywhere.”

They sat there in the quiet, their hands still clasped, the weight of everything that had been said hanging between them. The world outside would always find a way to tear at them, to try and pull them apart. But in that moment, they knew that whatever came next, they were stronger together. They just had to remember that, every step of the way.

She sat on the edge of her bed, phone in hand, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she stared at the screen. The notifications were relentless—tweets, Instagram comments, and posts flooding in from BLINKS. The constant bombardment of messages about Lando and Magui had reached its peak, and she couldn’t ignore it any longer. The last few days had been full of passive-aggressive comments, veiled threats, and personal attacks, all aimed at tearing Lando down and dragging Magui into the mud.

She had tried to stay out of it. She had hoped it would die down, that people would realize how harmful it was. But now, seeing the hurtful comments not just about Lando but about Magui as well, she couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

She took a deep breath, her thumb sliding across the screen as she began typing the post that had been on her mind for hours.

She hit “post,” her fingers shaking slightly as she set the phone down beside her. She knew this wouldn’t be an easy call. BLINKS were fiercely protective of her, and taking a stand like this might upset some of them, but she couldn’t sit back any longer. The fans needed to understand the impact their actions were having—not just on Lando and Magui, but on her, too.

Yourusername

❤️ 6.1M 💬 69.7k ➤ 825k

Yourusername To all my amazing BLINKS, I want to take a moment to address something that’s been weighing heavily on my heart. I understand that you all care deeply about me, and I appreciate your support more than I can put into words. But lately, I’ve been seeing a lot of negativity directed at Lando and especially at Magui. And I need to make one thing clear: this behavior is not okay.

Lando and I have our own journey, and I don’t want to see him torn down by hateful comments. He is a good person, and he’s doing his best to navigate everything that comes with being in the public eye. No one deserves to be harassed, and it breaks my heart to see the way this has been affecting him.

As for Magui—yes, she’s part of Lando’s past, and I know some of you might feel some type of way about that. But the harassment she’s receiving is not only unnecessary, it’s cruel. She doesn’t deserve to be dragged into this. The negativity is doing more harm than good, and I’m asking all of you, from the bottom of my heart, to stop. I understand emotions are running high, but we can do better. We are better.

So I’m asking you all to reflect on your actions and think about how we can create a supportive, kind community instead of one that thrives on tearing others down. Let’s lift each other up and stop perpetuating hate. We owe that to ourselves, to Lando, and to Magui.

Please, let’s put an end to this. I know we’re capable of more.

With love, Y/n

It didn’t take long for the post to go viral. Comments started flooding in—some agreeing with her, others questioning why she would defend Magui, and a few still holding on to their anger. But the majority of the BLINKS took to heart what she had said, beginning to realize how their support had turned into something toxic.

@OT5BPFOREVER: I get it now. We were wrong. We let our anger take over, and it was never about protecting you, it was about hurting others. We’re sorry, Lando. We’re sorry, Magui.

@Loyal.to.y/n: We love you, y/n. We didn’t mean to make things worse. We’ll do better. Sorry for everything, Lando. We had no right.

@BLINKK_2018: We just wanted to protect you, but I realize now we were just hurting people. I apologize to Lando, and to Magui, too. We see now how it’s been too much. I hope you’re okay, Lando.

Her eyes softened as she scrolled through the posts. The BLINKS were listening. They were starting to understand. A few minutes later, she received a direct message from one of the BLINKS, apologizing profusely for the comments they had left on her past photos with Lando, asking if she and Lando were okay.

She quickly typed a reply, offering her thanks and encouragement for their change of heart.

But it wasn’t just the fans who needed to apologize.

Later that evening, her and Lando sat together, the weight of everything that had happened still lingering in the air. Lando, his gaze soft yet serious, turned to her.

“You really did that,” he said, a quiet smile forming on his lips. “You stood up for me. For Magui. I—” He paused, words almost failing him. “Thank you. That can’t have been easy.”

She smiled at him, brushing her hand against his. “It wasn’t easy. But it was necessary. I had to make sure we weren’t part of the problem anymore.”

Lando nodded, his fingers tracing the back of her hand. “I’m proud of you. Not just for standing up for me, but for doing what’s right. I know it’s been hard, especially with all the pressure and the noise. But we’ll get through it. Together.”

She leaned in, her forehead resting against his. “We’ll be okay. We’re already stronger than before.”

Magui was going through her own version of shock. She had been scrolling through her notifications when she saw her post. At first, she didn’t quite understand what was happening. Why was she, someone she barely knew, speaking out for her?

Her phone buzzed with message after message from fans, apologizing for their harsh comments, telling her how they now realized how wrong they’d been. Magui couldn’t quite process it. She stared at the screen, watching BLINKS apologize to her—to her—something she had never expected. Magui had always thought she would never get involved, that she would stay out of it and let the BLINKS keep attacking her.

But here she was, not only standing up for Lando but calling out the very same fans who had caused so much harm. She didn’t have to do this, Magui thought. She didn’t owe me anything.

Her chest tightened, and for the first time in days, Magui felt a weight lift off her shoulders. She wasn’t the target anymore. She wasn’t the villain in the story. And as much as the situation had been painful, it was the first step toward moving forward—away from the past, away from Lando’s history, and toward something new.

Magui sat back in her chair, reading the messages one by one, the realization dawning on her, despite the bitterness and the past, her actions had been a quiet act of grace.

magui_corceiro

❤️ 127.5K 💬 9.9k ➤ 78k

magui_corceiro I know things have been tough, and I’m sorry for the part I played in all the noise. I’ve always tried to stay out of the spotlight, but sometimes the past catches up. I appreciate the support, and I wish nothing but the best for Y/n and Lando. No hard feelings, just moving forward.

comments:

@/BP_goes_hard Magui, we were wrong. We should have never targeted you. Please forgive us. We’ll do better.

@/BLINKTINY We didn’t realize how hurtful our words were until now. I hope you know we didn’t mean to cause any harm. Apologies, Magui. We see it now.

Back in Monaco

She smiled as she read through the post and the comment, feeling a small sense of relief. Things weren’t perfect yet, but the atmosphere had shifted, the first steps of healing beginning. And as she looked over at Lando, sitting beside her on the couch, she knew they were stronger for it. Together, they had weathered the storm—and now, it was time to move forward.

----------

ABSOLUTELY NO HATE TO MAGUI OR PIETRA THIS IS STRICTLY FICTIONAL

Thank you for being patient, Im going through finals rn so Im trying to balance everything. Stay tuned for new chapter of The Villain of F1 and another oneshot for spotlight & slipstream

Taglist: @verogonewild @freyathehuntress

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daylightstring · 3 months ago

Text

˖˚⊹ ꣑ৎ‎ my success stories so far

disclaimer: i’m posting this just for the sake of sharing my results and hopefully motivating someone 💕. the law is very, very real. it may take some time to fully understand it or make it ‘click,’ but with persistence comes success! no, these aren’t all of my success stories. i don’t want to attach photo results for these bc of privacy reasons obvi.

also, in the nicest way possible, pls don’t constantly message me about this. i am not a coach or anything of the sort, just a person who understands the law well but i still have a life of my own!

˖⋆࿐໋ i. fuller lips. i don’t want to post a before-and-after pic of this for privacy reasons, especially since my future will involve being in the spotlight (🙈). however, @aesaekki can vouch for my results.

what did i do? i listened to this subliminal and simply assumed that my lips were fuller! no ifs, no hows. my reality had no choice but to reflect that back to me. my lips are super full now, similar to aishwarya rai's!

˖⋆࿐໋ ii. airpods. this was probably my first ‘big’ manifestation, and it’s a bit old hahaha (back from my law of attraction phase). i saved a pic of airpods to my pinterest board and forgot about it tbh. i wasn’t even specifically manifesting airpods, but my brother gave me $150 in cash out of nowhere (which was a miracle in itself), and the second miracle was that the airpods went on sale for exactly $150 despite them being around $200 in my country. this was also when there was no sales happening.

˖⋆࿐໋ iii. different eye shape and face shape. i used to have an oblong face shape (19 cm), but now i have a heart-shaped face (around 15 cm)! my eyes were rounder before, but now they’re almond-shaped and much bigger. for this, i had a clear vision of my desired appearance and kept affirming that i already had it. i have a pinterest board called 'feautres' which helps me visualise. i listened to some subs on and off, but my main ‘method’ was just affirming.

˖⋆࿐໋ iv. getting into my desired university. this was a mix of manifestation and hard work! i love school and studied super hard, but my dream university was one of the best in my state, so even my studying might not have been enough. however, i am the exception to every rule. i got into my dream course, and uni has been amazing and honestly so easy so far! the day before acceptance results, my self-concept was super high, i kept reminding myself that i already got in. and i did!

˖⋆࿐໋ v. height increase, weight loss, model body. ok so i’m asian, and my whole life ppl told me i would be short forever. at some point, i internalised it. but after discovering the law, i realized that was just an assumption being forced on me. so i started assuming what i actually wanted!

i also improved my diet and worked out regularly, which definitely helped. i listened to specific subs for the height and weight i wanted. that’s pretty much it. i never beat myself up over this, nor did i ever feel disappointed. i just lived with the confidence that i already had my desired height and body.

˖⋆࿐໋ vi. quantum jumping for my identity shift. this is my favorite success story. i used to be painfully shy, and it wasn’t benefiting me in the slightest. i researched quantum jumping and decided, once and for all, that i was gonna change my entire personality.

i listened to some subs and meditations, which helped, but the real results didn’t come until i found this one meditation. and oh. my. god. i physically felt a bright yellow light pouring down on my body, and when i got up, my hands felt lighter (?). i don’t even know how to describe it.

after that meditation, my life has not been the same. i wanted a personality with the positive traits of blair waldorf, maddy perez, glinda, and jennie kim. that’s exactly how i would describe myself now. and having this new personality has definitely made manifestation easier bc confidence is the elixir for skillful reality creation.

that’s all i feel like sharing for now 💕

i have stories about manifesting money, sp’s, getting desired clothes but those aren’t that ‘major’ imo.

i’ve only been actively practicing the law for about five months. i have bigger manifestations in the works, and i’ll def post a major success story about my life doing a full 180° if i’m still on tumblr. but that’s not really something i want to happen right now hahaha.

again, i hope this motivates u, but pls don’t bombard me with questions about it, i have uni and other things to focus on! i love uuuuu

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0omillo0 · 6 months ago

Note

Hi! I’m a big fan of your fics! I wanted to put in an angst/hurt/comfort request because I’m a sucker for angsty fics. So with Bangchan (or Changbin, I’ll let you pick, gosh I love them both) the reader has been getting weird cryptic messages from their ex and it’s turning into some serious stalker behavior. So one night as they’re walking home they can tell they’re being followed and they call Chan or Binnie to come pick them up. And there’s like mild confrontation but of course it always ends with comfort 🫣

Calling you clingy

BangChan x Reader

Angst/Hurt/Comfort, Suspense

Warnings: Mentions of stalking, verbal altercation, jealousy, swearing, mild violence, fluff ending

a/n: I hope you don’t mind I included this in my “calling you clingy series”!! I really like how this came out so please reblogs are really appreciated <3 (also thank you for appreciating my fics 🥹)

You never thought your life could spiral into something out of a thriller movie. It started innocuously enough—texts from your ex, cryptic but seemingly harmless. A “hope you’re doing well” here, a “just saw this and thought of you” there. You blocked the number, not giving it a second thought.

But the messages didn’t stop.

They got worse.

“You think he’s better than me? He’s not. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I saw you walking home yesterday. Looked cold—don’t forget your scarf next time.”

“We’re not over, Y/N. We never will be.”

Each time, they came from a different number. And each time, the messages left a pit in your stomach.

It was getting harder to ignore, and you couldn’t keep this from Chan anymore. When you finally worked up the courage to show him, you thought he’d take it seriously. You thought he’d help you feel safe.

You were wrong.

“I don’t get it!” Chan snapped, pacing back and forth in the small living room. His voice was sharp, his hands gesturing wildly as if the physical act of moving could help him make sense of things. “Why don’t you just block him?”

“I already did!” Your voice cracked with frustration. “Every time I block him, he just finds another number, another way to contact me!”

“Well, maybe you’re giving him a reason to think he can keep trying!” The words came out harsher than Chan intended, but he didn’t take them back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your tone was defensive now, your blood boiling.

Chan threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know, Y/N! You tell me! Did you say something? Do something? Give him a reason to think there’s still a chance?”

Tears pricked your eyes, the sting of his accusation making your chest tighten. “Are you seriously blaming me for this?”

“Why are you even talking to me about it?” Chan’s voice rose, his frustration spilling over into anger. “Maybe you like the attention!”

You froze, his words hitting you like a slap to the face.

“Excuse me?” you whispered, your voice trembling with hurt.

Chan didn’t stop. His own insecurities—his jealousy, his stress, his need to control the uncontrollable—took over. “You’re always so clingy anyway! Maybe that’s why he can’t let go!”

The room fell silent.

Your wide eyes searched his face for any sign of regret, but all you saw was the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders rose and fell with every labored breath.

“Clingy,” you repeated, your voice hollow.

Before Chan could say another word, you turned, grabbing your coat and storming out of the apartment.

The cold air hit you like a wall, but it did little to cool the heat of your anger. Chan’s words echoed in your mind, each repetition cutting deeper.

Clingy. Maybe you like the attention.

You walked aimlessly, your feet carrying you far from the apartment. The city lights blurred in your vision, and the once-crowded streets felt eerily quiet.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. Without thinking, you pulled it out, expecting an apology from Chan.

It wasn’t him.

“Still think you’re safe? You’re not. He won’t protect you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the weight of dread settling in your stomach.

“You can run, Y/N, but you can’t hide. I’ll always find you.”

You stopped walking, your breath hitching as you glanced around. The streetlights above flickered, and for the first time, you noticed how empty the street was.

The sound of footsteps echoed behind you.

Panic surged through your veins. Your hands trembled as you dialed Chan’s number, your fingers fumbling over the screen.

“Please pick up,” you whispered, your eyes darting around for any sign of movement.

The footsteps grew louder.

“Hello?” Chan’s voice came through the line, tight with tension.

“Chan, I think someone’s following me,” you blurted out, your voice barely above a whisper.

The line was silent for a split second before Chan spoke, his tone immediately shifting to one of urgency. “Where are you?”

You rattled off your location, unable to keep the tremor out of your voice.

“I’m coming. Stay on the line. Don’t hang up.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Chan, I’m scared.”

“I know, baby,” he said softly. “Just keep talking to me. I’ll be there soon.”

By the time Chan’s car screeched to a halt at the curb, you were standing under a flickering streetlight, your phone clutched tightly in your hand.

The shadowy figure that had been trailing you lingered in the distance, but as soon as Chan stepped out of the car, the person darted into the darkness.

Chan ran to you, his eyes scanning your face and body for any signs of harm. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

You shook your head, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilling over. “I don’t know what to do, Chan. He won’t stop.”

Chan pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe. “I’m here now. He’s not going to touch you. I promise.”

As he held you, his mind raced. He couldn’t let this go on.

The next morning, Chan woke with a new resolve. While you were still asleep, he contacted a private investigator he trusted. He needed to find out who this person was and put a stop to it for good.

That afternoon, while you sat curled up on the couch in Chan’s hoodie, trying to calm the storm of emotions in your chest, he entered the room with a determined expression. He knelt in front of you, taking your hands in his.

“Y/N,” he started softly, his voice a mix of guilt and resolve. “I called someone—a private investigator. They’re going to help us figure out who this is, where they’re coming from, and how to stop them. I won’t let this continue.”

Your eyes widened. “Chan, are you sure? That sounds… expensive. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to fix this—”

“I want to,” he interrupted firmly. “I have to. I let you down yesterday. I let my jealousy and stress get in the way of being there for you, and I can’t forgive myself for that.” His voice broke slightly, but he steadied himself. “This isn’t about me. It’s about keeping you safe.”

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they were from relief, not fear. “Thank you,” you whispered, throwing your arms around his neck.

Chan held you close, his lips brushing against your temple. “We’re going to get through this together.”

Over the next few days, the investigator worked quickly, piecing together details from the messages. You provided everything you had: screenshots, numbers, the few times you’d caught glimpses of someone following you. Chan stayed by your side through it all, refusing to leave you alone even for a moment.

The tension between you two eased slightly, though guilt lingered in his eyes whenever he thought about his harsh words during the argument. Every night, he held you close, whispering reassurances that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

Finally, the investigator called with a breakthrough.

“You’re not going to believe this,” the investigator said, his voice serious over the phone.

Chan put the call on speaker so you could hear. “What did you find?” he asked, gripping your hand tightly.

“Your ex wasn’t working alone,” the man said. “We traced the latest numbers back to a burner phone, and security footage from a nearby electronics store showed him purchasing it… with a friend.”

Your blood ran cold. “A friend?”

“Yeah. Someone who knows your daily routine. Someone who’s close to you.”

Chan stiffened. “What do you mean?”

The investigator hesitated. “I mean, this isn’t just a stalker situation. Your ex had help from someone who’s been feeding him information about you.”

Your mind raced, replaying every interaction you’d had over the past few months. A coworker? A neighbor? Someone from your social circle?

Then it hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Lena,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Chan frowned. “Your friend Lena?”

“She’s not just a friend,” you explained, your hands trembling. “We used to be really close. But after I started dating you, she got… weird. Jealous, maybe? She’d always talk about how she missed how things used to be before you.”

Chan’s jaw tightened. “Are you saying she’s been helping your ex?”

“It makes sense,” you said, your voice cracking. “She always knew where I’d be. She’s the only one who would know my new number after I changed it.”

The realization left you both stunned.

Later that night, Chan’s phone buzzed with another call from the investigator.

“We’ve confirmed it,” he said. “Lena’s been in contact with your ex for months. She was the one who gave him your work address, your new number, and even the times you’d be walking home alone.”

Anger flared in Chan’s chest, and he stood abruptly, pacing the room. “What the hell is wrong with her? Why would she do this?”

“She was bitter,” the investigator replied. “She felt replaced, like you’d abandoned her for your new relationship. She saw your ex as someone who felt the same way—someone who wanted to ‘take back’ what he’d lost.”

You sank into the couch, overwhelmed by the betrayal. “I can’t believe this. She pretended to care about me this whole time.”

Chan crouched in front of you, his hands resting on your knees. “She’s not going to hurt you anymore,” he said firmly. “Neither of them are.”

The next day, Chan worked with the investigator to ensure that the police were involved. Lena and your ex were both taken into custody, thanks to the overwhelming evidence collected against them.

When the police informed you that your ex had admitted to planning to confront you the night Chan came to pick you up, your blood ran cold.

But Chan was there, holding your hand through it all, his unwavering presence grounding you.

“You’re safe now,” he reminded you, his voice steady. “They’re not going to hurt you again.”

As the weeks passed, life slowly returned to normal. The weight on your shoulders lightened, and the constant fear that had gripped you finally loosened its hold.

One night, as you sat curled up on the couch with Chan, you finally voiced the question that had been lingering in your mind.

“Do you think I’m clingy?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chan froze, then turned to you with wide eyes. “What?”

“Back then,” you continued. “When you said I was clingy—”

“I didn’t mean it,” he interrupted quickly, his voice filled with regret. “I was stressed and angry and jealous, and I took it out on you. But it wasn’t true, Y/N. None of it was.”

He cupped your face in his hands, his gaze earnest. “You’re not clingy. You’re loving and thoughtful and everything I could ever ask for. And I’m so, so sorry I made you feel like you were anything less than perfect.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of relief. “I love you, Chan.”

“I love you too,” he whispered, pulling you into his arms.

tags @intartaruginha @hannamoon143 @inlovewithstraykids @whoa-jo @madirye062 @vixensss @sseawavee @emilyywhyy @halfwinterhalfuniverse @velvetmoonlght

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thebluediner · 3 months ago

Note

Reader is tipsy/on the verge of drunk and sings r&b love songs to Billie. Billie being blushy and giggly while falling more in love with reader

a/n: oh my gosh YESSSSSSSS I hope you enjoy it

TIPSY AND IN LOVE WITH YOU

you and billie were invited to a friend's party celebrating their latest achievement in their career. as the loving friends you were you both attended, bringing gifts along with some congratulatory words for them.

you and billie stuck together for the first couple of minutes kind of feeling the vibe of the party first. one of her arms was wrapped around your waist pulling you closer to her. gosh you loved when she did that. you loved being close to her in general so it helped that your love languages were physical language. your eyes would wander to her face mindlessly starring with a smile on your face and when she would catch it she'd start blushing and hidding herself on the nape of your neck. gosh she was so cute.

when the party was packed and in full blast you both separated willingly finding your friend groups . as much as you were each other's best friends you weren't in the same group and that was okay because you need to have your own space outside of each other ,though you wouldn't mind having just her.

there was people in the middle of the room dancing to throwback pop and rnb songs the dj set out for you. nobody even batted an eye to the fact your friend brought over an actual dj over to his house but just enjoyed it as best as they could.

your friends had a couple rounds of drinks way before you joined them so about the time you came in you had to catch up, and to catch up you absolutely did. in a span of ten minutes you had already five shots in your system.

you aren't a light weight so all they did was get you slightly drunk, tipsy at best. you danced around your friends like you were still in college and screamed at every song that came up because they hitted you with an extreme case of nostalgia.

another scream escaped your mouth when your song came on. your eyes went wide searching for billie around the room and when you finally caught them hers were already on you ,like she knew how'd you would react to it.

she was sitting down her knees up to her chest leaning on the wall with her friends besides her but her attention was on you. you mouthed how she should come over to dance with you but with a shy smile she shook her head declining. she should've known better though you never took no as an answer especially when it came to jamming at parties.

you tried to walk towards her as best as you could because your walk showed you were on the verge of being drunk. billie watched you come closer and closer her heart beating faster the closer you got because to be honest she couldn't believe you were real, you were so hot. then again ,she did take an edible from her friend minutes ago so justifiably you appeared more enticing to her than ever.

when you reached her you bent down to her eye level meeting her with a pout , a manipulative pout. your hand reached out not even asking because you weren't giving her an option you wanted her with you.

"baby please" you whined when she hesitated and that was all it took for her to stand up. she took your hand looking down at the feel of your warm palms smilling to herself.

"ahhh! I fucking love you " you said in excitement before your hands intertwined pulling her through the crowd. when you turned to look at her the spark you both felt was there and it was electric .suddenly the mood shifted when you could finally enjoy the song with billie. you gave her a mischievous look paired with a smirk and billie swore she has never been this inlove with someone.

" baby you're tipsy " billie tries to tell you this like she wasn't also under the influence but the words flew over your head. all you could focus on was singing the lyrics of the song pointing over at her. you eyes focused on her with you hips swaying like you were performing for her regardless of the people in the room. you were all about her in that moment and she loved it

billie felt like she was being serenaded but in a goofy and sexy way .your hands wrapped around her shoulders leaning on her body grinding on her while she struggled with her face being stained with a pink blush.

you were chaotic , silly and so adorable with the words you sang out loud emphasising them to her. you arms would grab her own hands and guide to them to your waist letting her know you wanted to fell her on you.

god billie knew you were tipsy but you were so sexy and adorable right now she couldn't say anything but try and contain her little giggles at your actions.

to her you weren't just drunk singing the words, you meant them. the song expressed the love you have for your partner along with the gratitude you feel towards them for what they add to your life and so she listened no matter how messy the came out she was just happy they were for her. her blue eyes raked over figure watching you with a foolish grin.

you sang the words with your chest while you were glued to billie while she kept you close like she wanted to figure a way to get you inside her skin that very moment.

she appreciated these silly moments. the type of moments where she'd be able to tell them on your wedding and to your kids. you were in your own bubble and didn't notice the people around you but unfortunately they noticed the both of y'all and they were cheesing hard. you couldn't blame them, they were basically witnessing the spark they helped ignite come alive because technically they were the ones that brought y'all together.

when the song ended you pulled away slightly looking in her eyes and god were they tinted red and that made you giggle a little bit. billie's who was genuinely in a daze over your beauty was looking at your lips glossed lips with no shame. you somehow mirrored her actions and leaned in capturing her lips in a kiss with no hesitation. your hands rested on the back of her neck pulling her closer wanting the kiss to last forever because the way her lips felt was so heavenly you didn't understand the science behind it but you sure did like it a lot.

"I love so much more than you realise princess " billie muttered once the kiss ended and was faced with your darkish brown eyes maling you grin.

"Ofcourse I realise baby I love you till the fucking black thing out there "you said challenging her before planting a kiss on her pink lips again.

"And now I'm reminded how drunk you are" she huffs after you steal another kiss smilling like a damn fool.

"I'm not drunk, I'm not! I'm tipsy at best " you defended yourself before pulling her in a hug again.

"And you're high " you mutter seconds later making her laugh under your embrace feeling her body shake in her expression of joy.

310 notes · View notes

pitlanepeach · 3 months ago

Text

Radio Silence | Chapter Six

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, still quite angsty (sry), strong language.

Notes — Lots of plot, we're closing out the 2019 year in this one! Not much Lando in this one (Im still mad at him). This gets crazy. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

2019

Two weeks after Spa, Amelia stood outside her dad’s office at the MTC with a manila file in her hands and the taste of copper in her mouth.

The door was open, but she still knocked.

Zak looked up, startled, like he wasn’t used to seeing her there anymore — and maybe he wasn’t. She’d stayed away from the MTC for the past few weeks.

“Hey,” he said, getting up too quickly. “You want to come in?”

She stepped inside, cringing when her new trainers squeaked against the floor. Her arms were stiff from holding the file too tight. “Brought you something,” she said, and handed it over. No eye contact. She stared at a plaque on his shelf instead — a dusty one from 2007, still etched with a podium that felt like another lifetime.

Zak took the file and sat back down behind his desk. “You put this together?”

She nodded once. “It’s just data. Analysis. Trends.”

He opened the folder and started flipping through, slower than she wanted, be he was a much slower reader than she was. Pages of her notes, charts, predictive modelling, comparative pace metrics, aero versus power unit deltas from the season so far. Even some basic projections based on engine supplier performance curves over the last six years.

He hesitated, eyes scanning the pages. “What is this, Amelia?”

“McLaren’s had a better season,” she said, not bothering to hide the way her nose scrunched. “You’ll probably finish fourth in the Constructors’. Best of the rest. Everyone is going to be very happy.”

He looked up at her, sensing the ‘but’ before she even said it.

“I am not,” she said. “I don’t think we should be happy with fourth. I think we should be aiming for much higher.”

Zak leaned back slightly in his chair, file still open in front of him. “Amelia…”

“I think we should drop Renault after next season,” she said, cutting him off.

He blinked. “Jesus,” he muttered. “That’s a big swing.”

“I’ve run the numbers,” she said, a little sharper now. “Reliability. Raw power. Upgrade cycles. Driver feedback. Even manufacturer investment in long-term hybrid development. Renault is… not consistent, and they’re not progressing fast enough. Mercedes is more efficient, more stable, more scalable. If we want consistent podiums, a chance at race wins, then we need to align with a manufacturer that knows how to win. Not just how to score points.”

Zak sat back again, slower this time, like the weight of the idea was physically pressing into him. He tapped the edge of the file absently with his fingers.

“You know how much this would rock the boat, right?” he said. “We’ve spent years building this partnership. Renault’s got skin in the game. Contracts. Commitments. There’ll be consequences if we walk away.”

“I know,” she said. “But you always said we should act like a front-running team, even when we weren’t. So act like one. Make a decision like one.”

Zak was quiet. Still.

“I started working on this after Hockenheim,” she added, voice lower now. “I just… didn’t show anyone.”

He closed the file. “This isn’t a light suggestion, Amelia.” He sighed.

“I know,” she said again. “But I think it’s the right one.”

He exhaled slowly and rubbed a hand across his mouth, then looked at her; really looked at her.

She was calmer than she’d been the last time they’d spoken. Still paler than usual, still guarded, but steadier somehow. Like something had hardened and solidified inside her in the silence of the past few weeks.

“I’ll take it to the board,” he said finally. “Quietly. Just to test the water. No promises.”

“Okay,” she said.

There was a beat. She stared at the paperweight on his desk, the one she’d bought him for Father’s Day when she was thirteen.

“I just want us to stop being afraid of wanting more,” she added, softer now. “That’s all.”

Zak didn’t respond right away.

And as she turned to go, hand already on the doorframe, he couldn’t help but ask, “You didn’t just do this for him, did you?”

She paused. “No,” she said. “I did it for the team. I did it for you.”

She walked out.

—

The press release dropped on a Thursday.

A neatly timed, efficiently worded, professionally curated announcement: McLaren Racing to become Mercedes-AMG Powertrain customer team from 2021 onwards.

Quotes from her dad. From Toto. From Andreas.

A photo of a handshake she wasn’t in.

No mention of the folder. No mention of the analysis. No mention of her.

Of course there wasn’t. She hadn’t expected it.

Not really.

And yet she sat at her desk, surrounded by pages and pages of sketches of cooling architecture redesigns, and felt… strange.

Not angry. Not exactly.

Not proud either.

Mostly just quiet.

She clicked out of the article. Closed her browser. Opened a new tab, then immediately forgot why.

When she'd handed her dad the folder two weeks ago, it hadn’t even been about recognition. She hadn’t cared about credit. She’d just wanted them to be better. To try harder. To take a worthwhile risk.

And when he’d said, I’ll take it to the board, she’d believed him.

She just didn’t think that would be the end of it.

He hadn’t spoken to her about it since. No follow-up. No texts. No update. No “you were right.” Not even a half-hearted thank-you over dinner or a passing “good job” in the hallway.

The decision had come. And it had come without her.

Which made sense. She wasn’t a department head. She wasn’t on the executive team. She didn’t even have an official job title.

She wasn’t owed anything.

But still… still, she sat there with her heart lodged high in her throat and her fingernails digging crescents into the seam of her jeans, wondering why she suddenly felt like a ghost.

Why it felt like this was supposed to mean something.

And why it hurt so much to realise that her dad was okay with taking her work, her time, her thinking, the thing she’d built, and not giving her even a whisper of recognition.

Because he was used to it.

Used to her just handing things over for free.

And the worst part was, he wasn’t the only one.

She’d been doing this for years, hadn’t she? Offering up all the sharpest pieces of herself like they were scraps. Little theories, little fixes, the way she could spot patterns no one else could, pick through race data like thread. Suggestions left on the kitchen counter, ideas floated during test weekends, whispers passed to engineers when no one else was listening. Quiet contributions, all of them. Invisible fingerprints.

She’d given it away. All of it. Every clever thought, every hard-earned observation; just laid it down, like it didn’t belong to her in the first place.

And now someone else got the credit. Again. And she wasn’t even surprised.

She was just tired. And quietly furious.

—

The house smelled like woodsmoke and dog shampoo. Roscoe was already halfway into Amelia’s lap, snoring, his head heavy against her stomach as Lewis slid a mug of tea across the coffee table.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he said, settling into the armchair across from her. “He’ll try and sleep there all day.”

“I won’t complain about that,” she murmured, scratching behind Roscoe’s ears. He was a big dog, solid and heavy. He felt a bit like her weighted blanket. Anchoring.

Outside the windows, snow clung to the corners of Lewis’ sprawling. Quiet. Still. The way winter was meant to be. Amelia pulled her sleeves down over her hands and stared at the steaming mug.

Lewis leaned back, watching her over the rim of his cup. “You keeping up with the silly season chaos this year?”

“As always.” She nodded.

“Gasly back to AlphaTauri, Hulkenberg out, Ocon sliding into Renault. There will be a bit of a bloodbath next year.” He said.

She nodded, though her mind was elsewhere.

Lewis gave her a second longer before asking, “What about Lando? You two—”

“I don’t want to talk about Lando,” she said quickly, too quickly. Her eyes stayed on Roscoe’s fur.

Lewis didn’t press. He just leaned forward, brows faintly furrowed. “Right. Okay.”

They let the silence settle again. Roscoe shifted in his sleep, his paws twitching as if chasing something through a dream. Then, quietly, Amelia spoke. “The Mercedes-McLaren deal,” she said, voice low. “That was mine.”

Lewis blinked, gave himself a second to repeat her words in his head, and then said. “What?”

“McLaren dropping Renault, becoming a Mercedes customer team.” She rubbed a thumb over Roscoe’s collar. “I ran all the projections. Power unit deltas, reliability, development pace, all of it. I put together the entire case. Handed it to my dad in a file. And two weeks later, they made the announcement.”

Lewis stared at her. “You’re serious?”

She nodded, swallowing. “No one said anything. Not to me. And I wasn’t… part of the meeting, or the rollout. He never even followed up. I just saw it in the press release like everyone else.” Her voice wavered, but didn’t break. “And I know I don’t work for McLaren. But I thought; I thought maybe it would mean something.”

Lewis’s jaw twitched and his eyes looked darker than they usually did. “Amelia. That… that’s a big deal, you know that? That was your intellectual property.”

“I know.” She hugged her arms tight around herself. “It just… it feels wrong to be angry. Like I should’ve known better. Like it’s my fault for not asking for anything in return. For just giving it away.”

“That’s not on you,” Lewis said, voice hardening. “That’s on him. Your dad. And on the team. They’ve taken advantage of you. You should get credit. You should get a bloody job offer and a signing bonus. Not… whatever the fuck this is.”

She sniffed. “I don’t have a degree.”

Lewis scoffed. “So what? Since when does a piece of paper mean more than years of proven genius?”

That made her pause.

“You are one of the sharpest minds I’ve seen in this sport,” he said. “And I’ve been in it a long time. You see things before they happen. You think ahead of the curve. That’s what teams dream of having. And if McLaren can’t see that, if your own dad can’t see that, it’s not because it’s not there. It’s because he doesn’t know how to recognise it in you.”

She nodded. She already knew exactly what the problem was. “He doesn’t know how to see me as anything but his daughter.”

“Toto does,” Lewis said. “And that offer is still on the table, by the way.”

Amelia looked away, cheeks flushing.

“I’m not trying to pressure you. I just want you to know that you’ve got options,” Lewis said, softer now. “Real ones. And you don’t have to keep waiting around for your dad to finally recognise your potential.”

She didn’t answer, but her hands were steady on Roscoe’s back now. And when she finally did glance at him, there was something a little sharp in her chest. Something that felt a lot like clarity.

—

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2019 F1 Grid

Lewis H. @Lando You are an absolute prick.

Sebastian V. Good morning to you too?

Daniel R. Shit. What’d he do this time?

Charles L. Ah, this does not seem good.

Lando N. what the fuck did i do

Lewis H. You ghosted her. Like a child.

Carlos S. What??????????

George R. Wait are you serious?

Lewis H. Dead serious.

Lando N. oh my god can you not it’s literally none of your business ok

Max V. You’re an idiot, Norris.

Pierre G. Landooooo bro.

Alex A. Yeah nah that’s rough. You ghosted her? I actually thought you liked her, man.

Daniel R. She was so nice. Bet she feels like shit now.

Sebastian V. Is she okay? @Lewis

Lewis H. She’s fine. Too good for him anyway.

George R. I can’t believe this. Didn’t he literally write his racing number on her shoes? Or was that a fever dream??

Max V. @George He did. He’s just a right dickhead.

Carlos S. 😐 Told you not to screw it up, @Lando

Lando N. ok fucksake i get it You can all stop now i already feel like a piece of shit

Charles L. Why would you ghost her when she is so pretty and smart? I do not understand.

Daniel R. He’s still a kid. Dumb as hell. He’ll regret it in a few months, trust me.

Lewis H. He should be regretting it already.

Max V. Extremely dumb move. I wouldn’t have ghosted her and I’m famously difficult.

Sebastian V. Maybe I will set her up with my younger brother. He’s very clever. And rich.

George R. Is it weird if I throw my uncle’s name in the hat? He’s only 24. Really lovely guy.

Carlos S. My cousin Carlo is already in love. He will be thrilled to know she’s single.

Lando N. fuck off i get it I’m the villain Jesus christ can we drop it now

Daniel R. Glad you’re finally on the same page, mate!

Alex A. You could’ve just talked to her. Didn’t need to ghost her. That was cold, man.

Kimi R. 👍

—

Interlagos was hot and loud and humming with tension, and Amelia made sure to stay pressed to the edges of it; a shadow against the garage walls, an expressionless face hidden behind a pair of black sunglasses.

It was her first time at any track since before Belgium. Her first time being in the same place as Lando since he’d decided that she was not worth knowing. And she was careful. Careful to keep to service corridors and briefing rooms, careful not to risk running into him. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she looked did.

Nothing, probably. He would just ignore her, like he had been for two months.

She had just slipped away from the hospitality bar, iced-coffee in hand, when a voice called out to her from the outside deck; warm, accented.

“Chica! Are you too busy to stop and talk with a very ignorant old man?”

She turned and found Carlos Sainz Sr. waving her over, a bottle of water in one hand and a wary smile on his sun-worn face.

“I was just—” she started, but he was already rising from his seat, gesturing for her to come join him.

“Come, come. Sit. I have good seats here.”

She hesitated for a breath, then nodded and climbed the short steps up to the guest viewing area. The chaos of pit lane sprawled out below. Mechanics scrambled. Tyres stacked like soldiers. Race engines sang in the background, vicious and alive.

“Gracias,” she murmured, sliding into the chair beside him.

He nodded, then stared at her for a long, quiet second. “I wanted to say,” he said, his English thick with Madrid roots, but kind. “I think that… earlier in the year, I judged you too quickly.”

Amelia frowned at him. “Yes, you did.”

He sighed and nodded. “I assumed that you were just a pretty girl in the paddock.” He said. “And you see, my son has a terrible habit of becoming fixated on pretty things. But I realise now that I was wrong. You were there to, eh, help. To fix.” He sounded worn, like he’d had to work hard to say that out loud.

She shrugged, staring out at the grandstands. They were full. “I was upset about it, I think. But it was not a big deal.”

“It was,” Carlos said, serious now. “It was a very big deal. My son made that clear to me. You are very clever. A real asset to the McLaren team.” He told her, firm and steady.

She didn’t have anything to say to that. Just gave him a tight, (hopefully) polite smile and turned her eyes to the pit-lane as the cars peeled out of the garage to line up on the grid.

The race was long, and she stayed on the balcony throughout it all. Heat shimmered off the asphalt. Pit strategies flexed and fractured as the laps ticked down, and through it all, Amelia sat with her hands still in her lap, her mind sharper than the TV graphics overhead.

And when Carlos Sainz, the younger one, made it to third after a messy, brilliant final few laps, when the checkered flag waved and the paddock exploded into cheers and disbelief, she turned to his father and smiled, truly smiled, for the first time all day.

“Felicidades,” she said, voice soft but real. “That was very well done.”

Carlos Sr. beamed, pride etched into every line of his face. He stood up quickly, hurrying down to find his son and the rest of the team.

Amelia stayed.

The viewing deck emptied fast. Celebration echoed below. But she just slipped back into the motorhome, past the catering crew and out of the line of sight, into a quiet alcove near the storage lockers where no one would think to look for her.

She sat down on the floor, pressed her back against the cool wall, and closed her eyes.

She was proud. Of Carlos. Of the car she had helped make faster. Of the whisper of her fingerprints across the strategy that had put him on the podium.

But the truth still sat heavy on her ribs; that it had all happened without her. That even here, even now, she felt like a ghost.

—

The paddock at night after a race was one of her favourite places in the world. Empty water bottles clattered in the wind, discarded tyre blankets lay forgotten in corners, and the once-buzzing garages now hummed low and tired beneath the fluorescent lights. Amelia walked slowly, hands in her pockets, trainers scuffing against the tarmac, the cool Brazilian evening pulling the heat from her skin.

She passed the Mercedes motorhome, its sleek black exterior reflecting the dim light. Through the tinted glass, she caught a glimpse of Toto Wolff, head bent in conversation with one of his engineers. Calm. Assured. In control.

She didn’t stop walking, but something in her twisted. Guilt, maybe. Or the quiet ache of uncertainty.

Red Bull had been circling for a while. Quiet at first; emails she half-dismissed, a few engineers asking her strangely specific questions, casual feelers through people she didn’t realise even knew her name. Then Christian on Dutch TV, mentioning her potential. Helmut at COTA, watching her from the edge of the pit wall like a cowboy evaluating livestock. And Adrian Newey, who bypassed all of them and emailed her directly in early November. Short. Direct. Complimentary in a way that didn’t feel rehearsed.

She hadn’t told her dad. Not yet.

Nothing was official, anyway.

“Brown,” came a voice behind her.

She turned, blinking as Max strode over from the Red Bull suite. His jacket was unzipped, and he still reeked faintly of champagne. Hair a bit damp. Grin lazy.

“Christian asked me to make sure you knew where to go,” he said, lifting his brows. “You’ve got ten minutes before Jos starts vibrating.”

She pulled a face. “Is everyone going to be there? Like… your dad is going to be there?”

“Obviously. It’s Red Bull. We are very theatric,” he said, deadpan. “Zusje, you are the most in-demand person in Formula 1 right now, of course everybody wants to be in the room when we finally win the battle for your brain.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t call me that. Zusje. I don’t know what it means.”

“Little sister,” he said, Dutch accent thick, shrugging as he fell into step beside her. “It suits you. You talk just as much as I do, and you are equally annoying as me. We will give Christian many headaches, I think.”

“I always carry ibuprofen in my handbag.” She tried to joke, but it came out flat.

Max looked at her for a moment, but then he grinned, so she imagined he must have thought her joke was funny. At least somewhat. “Adrian’s been trying to steal you since Canada.” He told her.

She sighed. “That explains the espresso machine he sent to me during the summer break. I was very confused.”

He gave her a look. “You kept it?” He asked curiously.

She nodded. “It is a good machine. Expensive.”

“Of course it was. It’s Adrian.” Max shrugged.

They stopped a few feet from the Red Bull motorhome, which buzzed under the night lights like it was wired into a different voltage. Something kinetic hung in the air; possibility, maybe. Restlessness. Momentum.

She stared. “This feels like betrayal.”

Max rolled his eyes. “It is not betrayal.”

He nudged her shoulder. She recoiled, glaring at him. He raised his hands in defence. “Sorry. Sorry.” Then, quieter, he said. “You’ve outgrown the shadows, zusje. It is not your fault that your dad doesn’t know what to do with you. But we do. Adrian does. Christian definitely does. You belong somewhere that doesn’t try to keep you small.”

She started to chew on her bottom lip anxiously, “Do you really think that I am worth all of this?”

He didn’t even blink. “I think you’re going to make me a world champion, Amelia Brown.”

—

The Yas Marina Circuit gleamed beneath the Abu Dhabi sun, all smooth marble floors and overly modern hospitality suites. It felt more like a luxury mall than a racetrack, but Amelia liked it. Everything was polished, controlled.

She slipped through the back corridors of the McLaren unit with practiced ease, unnoticed as usual. It was early, quiet, the calm before the chaos of FP1.

In Carlos’s driver room, she placed a neatly bound packet on the table beneath the television. His telemetry from the entire season, annotated and colour-coded: green for improvements, yellow for repeat tendencies, red for danger zones. She’d included braking inconsistencies, corner exit deltas, and fuel load trends, with suggestions tailored to the 2020 chassis.

He’d get it. He always did. Carlos read data like scripture.

In Lando’s room, she left the same. A different binder. Different tendencies. More throttle hesitation in traffic, sharper degradation when chasing, lapses in tire preservation across high-deg circuits. A note in the front, written in her smallest, sharpest handwriting.

You are an asshole. You are also better than your instincts. Learn the difference between fast and frantic. Good luck.

She didn’t linger. She didn’t need to. No one would know she’d been there except the two of them, and even then, it didn’t matter anymore. She’d done it. Helped them. One last time.

She turned down the corridor toward the exit, and almost walked straight into a man who was standing too stiffly in her path.

He was older, expensively dressed, with the familiar face of someone she’d seen on enough pit walls to know he didn’t belong there out of curiosity. Adam Norris.

He looked her up and down, his voice clipped. “Ah. Amelia, is it?”

“That’s right.” She muttered.

“I suppose we haven’t met.” He said.

“No,” she said. “Not really.”

He hesitated. A beat passed. Two.

“I’ve… heard you’re very capable,” he said finally. “Talented. Bright.” He said it like he didn’t really believe it.

She tilted her head. Frowned at him. “Did you tell Lando to stay away from me?”

He flinched, just barely. “I advised him to focus on his career.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It wasn’t a happy smile. “You should teach your son better manners.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She stepped around him, slow, deliberate, and kept walking. Past the orange panels, past the McLaren logo, past the team she’d poured her entire self into.

By the time the sun dipped below the grandstands and the lights came on for the weekend's final showdown, she was long gone from the paddock. A flight booked for her under a new team name. A seat at a new table. A blank page waiting for her red inked scrawl.

Red Bull knew she was coming.

They just didn’t know what she was prepared to become.

—

The Browns’ living room was filled with the scent of cinnamon, pine, and whatever Christmas candle Tracy had been obsessed with that week. The fireplace crackled softly, fairy lights twinkled around the windows, and somewhere in the background, Ella Fitzgerald was crooning something vintage and sentimental.

Amelia sat cross-legged on the floor in sweatpants and a hoodie, half-watching as her dad unwrapped a book about American muscle cars from the 1960s. He grinned like a kid, holding it up for Tracy to see.

“This is great,” Zak said. “I’ve been looking for this one.”

“I know,” Tracy said, leaning in to kiss his cheek before returning to her place at the table with a glass of wine. “I listen, you know. I’m a good wife.”

Amelia smiled faintly. She hadn’t said much all day. She’d made breakfast. Helped put the chicken in the oven. Unwrapped the gifts they handed her; socks, a new set of sketching pencils, a silver pen engraved with her initials, and said thank you each time. But the weight in her chest hadn’t lifted, not even when her mother handed her a plate stacked high with garlicky roast potatoes.

Zak was still talking, flipping through the book, animated now. “I’ve got such a good feeling about next season,” he said, his eyes bright. “The team’s in a good place. Carlos is dialled in, Lando’s matured a lot. And the Mercedes power unit; I know we’re still with Renault this year, but it’ll be a game-changer for us in twenty-one. Might be the year we really start bothering the top three again.”

Amelia swallowed hard. Her fork hovered above her plate, untouched. She glanced down at her food. It was getting cold. Her stomach turned.

Across the table, Tracy watched her. Her gaze was soft but sharp, a mother’s intuition in full force.

“Everything okay, Amelia?” She asked gently.

Amelia nodded. “Yeah,” she said, quickly. “Just tired. Long few months.”

Tracy didn’t push, but Amelia could tell she wasn’t convinced.

Her phone buzzed once, facedown on the table beside her glass of water. She flipped it over, half expecting a message from Carlos, or worse, from her dad, who had a terrible habit of sending her random articles from F1Tech like she wasn’t sitting five feet away.

But it wasn’t Carlos.

iMessage — 17:02pm

Vrolijk Kerstfeest,

Can’t wait for you to build my championship-winning car. – M.V.

She exhaled, barely more than a breath. The corner of her mouth lifted. Not a smile, not really, but the closest she’d come to one all day. She tapped her fingers against the table, hiding the message beneath her palm.

Of all the gifts she’d been given that morning — the socks, the pen, the awkward hug from her dad that still smelled faintly of cinnamon and gasoline — this was the only one that made her feel something. Recognition.

She glanced at her dad, still rambling about wind tunnel simulations and team morale like the world hadn’t shifted beneath their feet. Then she looked back down at her plate, her fork still untouched.

She hadn’t told him yet. She didn’t know when she would.

Maybe she wouldn’t at all.

Maybe she’d take a page out of his book.

—

“Red Bull Racing Hire Amelia Brown as Technical Design Intern, Working Under Adrian Newey”

— Motorsport.com

Red Bull Racing Announces Amelia Brown as New Technical Design Intern “Mini Newey” Joins Office of the CTO Ahead of 2020 F1 Season

Red Bull Racing has officially confirmed the addition of Amelia Brown to its technical department, naming her as a Technical Design Intern working directly under Chief Technical Officer Adrian Newey.

Brown, 19, has quietly gained a reputation in Formula 1 circles for her analytical precision and instinctive approach to problem-solving. Though never officially affiliated with a team, her behind-the-scenes contributions have turned heads up and down the paddock — especially within the aerodynamic development community.

“She’s one of the sharpest minds I’ve come across in years,” said Newey in a brief statement. “She has an innate understanding of car behaviour, balance, and airflow mapping that’s rare at any level of engineering, let alone someone so early in their career.”

While her appointment as an “intern” may sound modest, Red Bull insiders are already referring to Brown as “Mini Newey,” a nod to the technical savant under whom she will be working and a reflection of the high expectations within the team.

Team Principal Christian Horner added, “We’ve always prided ourselves on fostering talent, and Amelia represents the next generation of creative engineering thought. Her insight, even during early informal conversations, has already helped shape some of our thinking going into 2020.”

When asked about her appointment, Brown declined to comment directly, but sources inside the team say she will be working across simulation, aero development, and design review cycles throughout the season.

“She’s not here to make coffee,” said Gianpiero Lambiase, Verstappen's race engineer. “She’s here to change the game.”

Red Bull Racing’s 2020 challenger is set to be unveiled in Bahrain next month. Whether Brown’s influence will be visible from day one remains to be seen — but if early whispers are any indication, she won’t stay behind the curtain for long.

NEXT CHAPTER

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year ago

Text

Steve got the tattoo the day they held the very small, very secret service for Eddie.

He knew he had to get it somewhere hidden, didn’t wanna answer questions, not even from Robin.

The E+S on his upper thigh was precious to him, all he had left of the promises they made to each other as children and again as teenagers.

Eddie was Steve’s, even if he wasn’t here, and Steve would always be Eddie’s, even if Eddie no longer knew.

But eventually, the end of summer came, and the kids wanted to have something normal. Normal for them was a pool party that ended in a sleepover, and Steve didn’t have much choice about making it happen.

He wanted them to have something normal.

So he got his bathing suit on, forgetting the tattoo was in a spot that might show in it, and tried to have fun with them.

Robin noticed and then Max noticed, and once he’d tried getting out of the explanation twice in a row, Dustin and Will noticed.

So he just explained that he lost a dare with Tommy years ago and that got them to stop asking.

But he found himself crying in the shower that evening, trying his best not to make any noise as sobs wracked his body and it got harder and harder to breathe.

The only thing that snapped him out of it was the knowledge that Eddie would want him to go back downstairs to be with the kids. He wouldn’t want to see Steve like this.

He kissed his fingertips and pressed them to his tattoo, just like he’d done every single day since he got it.

And then he went downstairs to be with the kids.

His one rule during sleepovers at his house was he still go to sleep in his own bed. Sometimes Robin would join him, but most of the time, he slept alone.

He couldn’t sleep.

He could feel the exhaustion deep in his bones, but every time he closed his eyes and tried to drift, he’d get an overwhelming feeling of being watched.

His eyes would open and he’d look around, confused and frustrated.

And nothing would be there.

Which was good, great even. He didn’t want there to be anyone or anything there. But he did want an explanation for this feeling.

He sat up in his bed and sighed.

Maybe he could-

Something was definitely in his bathroom. The door had been closed earlier, like it always was, and now it was halfway open.

The light was off.

Steve stood from his bed silently, crept to the bathroom with his nail bat raised, and considered what would happen if he died up here.

“That’s a depressing thought even for your melodramatics, sweetheart.”

Steve barely resisted screaming at Eddie’s voice.

“Oh god. I’ve finally fuckin’ lost it,” he said as he turned the bathroom light on.

“I dunno. You still got it, baby. Even if you lost some weight in your ass.”

Eddie, or something that looked and talked like Eddie, was sitting on the sink in the bathroom.

“I did like those little swim trunks, though. Hope you wear those again for me.”

“What the fuck.”

“You know, that’s exactly what I said when I woke up alive. Kinda thought I was dying. Imagine my surprise when I didn’t.”

Steve held his bat tighter.

“Eddie? How?”

Eddie hopped off the sink and stepped closer, slowly, so he wouldn’t scare Steve.

“Not sure. But it’s not the craziest thing that’s happened.” Eddie wanted to touch him, Steve could tell. His hands were clenching into fists to resist. “I know I’m not human, but I’m close enough, I think.”

“Close enough for what?”

“To love you.”

Steve dropped the bat and fell against Eddie, burying his face in his neck and breathing him in, not caring about the dirt or sweat or grime clinging to his skin.

It was Eddie, and he’d take him any way he could have him.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’ve been trying to get back here for so long.” Eddie’s arms held him tight enough to bruise. “Won’t happen again, won’t leave you again.”

Steve’s sobs were loud, but trying to contain them physically pained him. He’d been in enough pain for months. He had to let these out.

He felt Eddie waving his hands behind him, but then heard Robin’s rambling and decided to turn.

“-and he’s been distraught for months but didn’t tell me anything and then I saw his tattoo earlier and I thought, well, must just be a joke you guys had. And then I was like, no, can’t be, because you barely spoke. Or at least I thought you did. Clearly I’m wrong. I’m super wrong. Wrongest I’ve ever been maybe.”

“Robs.” Steve’s choked voice silenced her. “You know how I told you to go for it with Nancy because I really didn’t have feelings for her?”

“I don’t see how this is relevant, but yeah.”

“She protected me, both of us, really, so we could be together. Offered to pretend to date me so no one would get suspicious.”

“Steve. Steve Harrington. You had a beard?”

Eddie snorted. “I know you said she was funny, but I’m pretty she’s my second favorite human now.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I’ve been with Eddie for forever. I mean, since we were kids practically.”

Robin was silent. A rare thing for her.

“Robin?”

“Sorry, just taking this in.”

“Yeah, Eddie being alive is a lot-“

“Not that. That is gonna come a lot later once I stop and think about the fact that he’s some kind of zombie.” Robin leaned against the doorway. “The fact that I came out to my best friend and he didn’t return the favor. That is queer code, Steve.”

Eddie laughed, and Steve let out another sob. He’d missed him so much, missed his laugh, his arms around him, his heartbeat-

“Eds. Eddie.” Steve lifted his head and pressed both hands to his chest. “You-“

“Ah. So I don’t seem to have a heartbeat anymore. As far as I can tell, I did actually die.” Eddie shrugged as if this news wasn’t absolutely insane. “So my best guess is vampire since I prefer blood to brains. But I can get by without it for a pretty long time.”

“How long?”

“Well, I haven’t had any since the day I woke up. Which is a few months according to your calendar.”

Robin held her hands up. “I’m going. Good luck. The kids are gonna flip.”

“Do not tell them. Not yet.”

Steve needed tonight, needed to have Eddie to himself before everyone else stole it for a while. He wanted to be selfish for the first time in a very long time. He knew Robin would understand.

“Sure thing. But you’re gonna have to be quiet. You’re lucky none of them heard you crying.”

Steve nodded and curled back into Eddie, placing a kiss against his neck.

“Glad you’re back Eddie,” she said as she left.

“I need a shower,” Eddie said. “Think it’ll wake the kids?”

“Nah. They slept through a tree falling in the yard last month during a storm. Just need to be quick,” Steve pulled away to start grabbing what he’d need for a shower, but Eddie pulled him back on, running his nose along his neck and sending chills down his spine.

“You wanna join me?” He asked.

“Of course I do. But we won’t be quick if I join you,” Steve smiled.

A real smile. One he realized he hadn’t had on his face since spring break.

“You wanna wait in bed for me, then?” Eddie beamed back at him.

“Can I stay in here? I don’t-“ Steve sighed. “I don’t wanna leave you.”

Eddie’s smile softened into something endeared. “Yeah, sweetheart. You can stay. Talk to me. Tell me what I missed.”

Steve told him about everything he could while he showered away the Upside Down grime, watching his shadow behind the glass door of the shower to make sure it never disappeared.

They made sure the bedroom door was locked before crawling into bed together, Steve laying on top of Eddie like he always did before.

He was heavier, but Eddie never cared.

Steve slept so long, Eddie had no choice but to go downstairs in the morning so no one would wake him up.

The chaos that ensued was nothing short of overwhelming, but Eddie didn’t mind.

He was happy to back with all the kids, even if they asked incredibly inappropriate questions about his body to find out what he was.

When Steve finally came down, he was still half asleep and barely registered the open-mouth stares of everyone as he came up to Eddie and rested his head on his chest, wrapped his arms around his waist.

Eddie smiled down at him and kissed the top of his head.

“Morning, sunshine.”

“Morning, baby.”

“Sunshine?!” Dustin yelled.

“Baby?!” Mike yelled louder.

“Make them go away,” Steve sighed against his neck.

“You don’t wanna explain?” Eddie asked him, half joking.

“Not today. Scare them or something.”

“You think Eddie can scare us? We’ve all almost died!” Lucas said.

“Fine. Eddie and I are together, have been forever. The tattoo on me is our initials. Get out of my house.”

The kids just stared at them in silence until Steve finally turned from Eddie and put his hands on his hips.

“I wasn’t asking. Get out.”

The kids scrambled to leave, making promises (threats) to come back soon.

Robin waved as she walked out with them, throwing them both a wink and knowing smile.

“So how long do you think we have until they come back?” Eddie asked, rocking them back and forth gently.

“Few hours maybe.”

“I can do a lot in a few hours,” Eddie nipped at Steve’s ear, making him shiver and laugh.

“You got super strength with your new life?” Steve grinned at him.

“I wouldn’t call it super, but I could definitely carry you back to bed.”

Steve jumped up and wrapped his legs around Eddie’s waist, arms around his neck.

“Carry me to bed, then, Eds.”

“Anything your heart desires, Stevie.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #headcanon #drabble #temporary character death #happy ending #vampire eddie munson

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ccazimi · 8 months ago

Text

Milk

CW: smut, thighriding, dubcon(?), premature ejaculation, male lactation, breastfeeding, namecalling, 18+ MDNI

wc: 2.8k

A/N: legit no one asked for this im just having a self indulgent moment

You were contentedly sprawled across the cool silk fabric, the massive sea of dark red that made up the expanse of Sukuna's luxurious bedding. It carried his scent - faint notes of charred pine, incense, agarwood with just the slightest hints of his musk.

Such a delicious scent-

"Stop smelling my sheets." His disapproving voice came from somewhere behind you in his chamber.

"The come get in so I can smell you instead." You twisted your neck to search for him in the warm lambent light of the standing oil lamps.

"I'm...not tired." He was sitting on a cushion, draped in the black haori that encased his bare chest nearly entirely.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion.

Sukuna had been absent more than usual the last few days - you thought he was avoiding you on purpose so you gave him his space. But four days was reaching the limit and eventually you steeled yourself and marched to where his personal quarters were located in the back of the estate amongst a forested patch of land, and confronted him.

Upon seeing you he caved in and let you into his room, denying that there was any issue. You weren't the type that cared to play guessing games so you took his word for it and invited yourself into his bed that you'd missed terribly.

Sukuna was never especially talkative and there was a mutual tacit agreement that silence was perfectly fine between the two of you - comfortable, even. What was odd right now, however, was his physical proximity.

If there was one thing to be known about Sukuna, it was that he was a man of the senses - your time with him may be spent in verbal silence but his hands were always on you, nose in your hair or the crook of your neck, the tongue on his stomach idly tracing patterns on your skin whenever and wherever it got the chance to do so.

So why was he being so off right now? Practically hovering since the moment you'd arrived, almost strategically keeping some distance from you at all times.

Oh.

Sukuna's brows furrowed slightly in confusion as he watched your default mischievous demeanor fall.

"Have you...grown tired of my body, my Lord? Do I not please you anymore?" You asked quietly, suddenly feeling out of place in this bed that was too big for you.

"What?! No." Sukuna's eyes widened slightly as he abruptly stood up, pulling his haori closer together like he was cold. "What a stupid idea. Why would you think that?"

You looked up at his genuinely perplexed face, only adding to your own confusion. "Well...you haven't been around lately, and now you refuse to lay with me-"

Before you could even finish your sentence the futon was dipping from his weight beside you as he climbed in. Your face lit up at the welcome heat which always radiated from his body, sinking into your naked skin.

You turned back on your side so you could curl up as usual by his chest, waiting for him to settle in completely so that you could fall asleep - taking naps next to him in his bed was one of your favorite guilty pleasures.

Except he didn't settle in, opting to stay about an inch or two away from pressing his chest flush against your back. You realized he still hadn't taken off his haori either - odd for a man that preferred to be bare-chested most of the time.

In an almost reflexive action, you closed the small distance, finally relaxing all the way when you felt the support of his large muscular frame behind yours even though it wasn't skin to skin with all four of his arms around you like you would've ideally preferred.

But for a second you could've sworn you felt Sukuna tense, possibly even jolt slightly when you pressed yourself into his clothed chest.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." Sukuna snapped. "Why wouldn't I be?"

You rolled your eyes where he couldn't see, faced away from him. "Then why are you being so jumpy? Are you hungry or something? Seriously, what's the ma-"

"Shhh." A large hand clamped onto your mouth, effectively muffling your chatter. "Give me some peace, just for once."

You had half a mind to nip at the skin of his palm but being here in his bed after days felt so good, too good, and you found yourself quickly becoming drowsy.

A few minutes passed by, and from the hand loosening its grip over your mouth you knew Sukuna was relaxing as well, falling into his "resting" state as he would call it (he personally believed he was above actually sleeping like humans did, and considered himself above such inane needs). You were half asleep yourself, body settling in and molding into his by instinct until you were encased by the warmth seeping from him through the fabric of his haori.

And then you felt it.

"What is that?" You sat up to find all four of Sukuna's eyes wide open.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Can you just go back to sleep?" He raised an arm to shove you back down to the pillow.

"I felt something wet on my back." You squirmed against his hold, managing to twist your torso over to face him. "Were you drooling on me?"

Sukuna scowled, huffing in indignation. "No, I did not drool on you. Do you always have to be odd, woman? You're making a fuss over absolutely nothing."

You sat up fully, about to retort back when something caught your eye.

In his agitation, Sukuna hadn't noticed a rather noticeable wet patch had formed on the breast of his haori.

"What-" Before he could say anything you yanked the collar of his robe aside, your eyes widening at the sight.

Small pearlescent beads of a liquid had formed on his skin, around a pink nipple that had puffed up slightly.

"Are you... Is that..." Before he could do anything you quickly swiped away the other side of his haori, peeling it away to find the other nipple was inflamed slightly as well, with a sheen covering it indicating that-

"You're lactati-"

Sukuna pulled his haori to cover his pecs again, another hand once again closing over your mouth to keep you from speaking. "Shut. Up. Do not say a word." He growled through a jaw clenched so tight it looked like someone had burned him.

But it was too late, an impish grin unfurled across your lips under his hand, eyes shining in mischief at the state your king was in. You swiped a tongue across his palm before biting it, not hard enough to draw blood but enough for him to quickly draw his hand back in surprise.

"Fucking- you little fucking shit. What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

You were irritatingly fast when you wanted to be, swinging a leg over his body to climb atop his lap. Now you straddled him, the smug smirk on your lips growing by the second.

"Is that-"

"Don't say it."

"-milk?!"

He slapped a hand on his face, letting out a low growl of frustration. "Yes, its milk. If you say a word about it to anyone else I'm going to slice off your tongue and make you eat it. Now leave me alone." He demanded.

But neither his sharp glare nor threats could stop you as you opened his haori to expose his chest, gentler than before this time. "Don't worry I don't intend on telling anyone. It's not like I want to share anyways."

"Share? What are you..." Sukuna caught the look on your face. "No. Don't even think about it, I am serious- ahh"

His sentence ended with the closest you've ever heard Sukuna come to whimpering as your lips descended onto the ring of his right nipple. His reaction only spurred you on, and you quickly lapped up the droplet of milk that had collected and swallowed.

You weren't sure what you expected it to taste like, but it certainly wasn't this.

It was ironic how a man as angry and violent as Sukuna produced such a lovely tasting substance. His milk was mildly sweet with a slightly bitter aftertaste, like burnt sugar in the best way possible.

So fucking good.

His hand knotted in your hair in an attempt to pry you off from his nipple but your hands were already roaming his pecs, towards the other dripping bud. You rolled it between your fingers as you laved your warm tongue around his areola, feeling his chest heave under you while he began to pant. "Stop...it. You're so fucking weird-"

You rolled your eyes up at his strained expression and gave his nipple a hard suck before he could react. More liquid filled your mouth, almost as sweet as the look on his face. You greedily swallowed, suckling harder while massaging his full pecs with your hands.

"Mhm." You hummed around his skin as you felt a shiver run down his body.

"God, have- fuck, have some... decorum, woman." Sukuna was trying so terribly hard to keep his voice steady, the feat proving itself even more difficult when you decided to do the opposite of his request and lewdly swirl your tongue around, stimulating the area so more milk would flow.

You looked up at him, eyes hazy now in ecstasy, white liquid dripping from the corners of your lips as you fed. The sight was so dirty it sent blood rushing straight to his cocks and they rapidly hardened under where you were seated.

You released your mouth, detaching it from the wet and leaking patch of skin with a gossamer strand of saliva that broke away before flashing him another devilish look.

"You love this." You teased, with a grinding of your hips for emphasis to let him know his hard-ons hadn't gone unnoticed.

"You're not doing much better yourself, slut." With an opportunity to gain a little leverage over you, he gave a pointed glance to where your pussy sat on top of his clothed cocks, drenched in your leaking arousal.

You couldn't even pretend to be ashamed, though. "I can't help it. You taste so good, and you look so cute when you're embarrassed-"

"I'm not embarrassed," He gritted, "You're just violating me like the little freak you are."

"But you liked it."

"That's enough of this nonsense, get off me."

You pouted. "But your other tit is still full."

He looked at you in disgust. "Do not call it that."

You continued looking at him as he looked conflicted, deciding between his ego and pleasure.

"Fine." He finally ceded, much to your delight. "Do the other one." This time he guided your head to his other breast. "But be gentle for fuck's sake, they're sensitive-"

Whatever lecture he was giving you about being gentle had clearly fallen on deaf ears as you immediately latched your lips around his nipple and began sucking and nipping to no abandon.

You grinded on his cocks as you drank, feeling them harden even more under you.

"Slow - ah - down,"

But you only did the opposite, working over the tender flesh like you were starved. The milk trickled down everywhere, dripping down your chin and you could make out the faintest floral notes in it. The taste of him turned you on even more and you rutted against the outlines of his hard dicks, feeling the mess you were making on his hakama under your slick skin.

"Fuck, you filthy girl." The grip in your hair tightened, releasing an involuntary moan from your lips against his chest amidst the obscenely wet noises of your mouth. "I'm - fuck, fuck-"

Sukuna's hips jerked up, taking you by surprise as you felt his cocks twitching violently before his whole body stiffened as he bit down on his lips to keep himself from moaning out loud. Finally after a few seconds his muscles laxed, leaving you confused for a second before you felt the sticky, hot liquid soaking through his hakama and onto your thighs.

You smiled cheekily upon realizing, "Did you just..."

The look he was giving you was straight up murderous, and might have been enough to actually scare you if it weren't for the flustered pink that tinted his cheeks.

"Stop using your mouth to yap, and put it to use for once." He smirked, regaining his composure and though he'd already came his dicks weren't entirely soft yet beneath you. "Clean it up- since you love milk so much."

It was your turn to feel heat creep into your cheeks as the dynamic shifted and you understood you were being put back into your place with how he was grinning down at you. It didn't help the throbbing between your own legs.

You shifted down till your head was between his massive thighs, pulling off the hakama till his cocks were uncovered, still somewhat hard with blushed tips still sticky with drying cum. A hand wove into your hair, collecting it into a ponytail and lifting it to the side so he could get a good view as you eyes the viscous liquid smeared across the skin on his dicks and pelvis.

You stuck your tongue out, beginning with a single swipe through some of the liquid that had pooled on his skin above his top cock to taste it.

Salty.

It kind of complemented his milk, you thought.

This taste was one you were familiar with, though you loved it just the same. It showed in how you devotedly lapped at his skin, caressing it and closing your eyes to savor the taste of him on your tongue.

He breathed out at the sensation, running his fingers through your hair as he pet you. "Such a needy little cumslut." He purred. "Look at how greedily you drink my milk and my cum. And you were asking me if I was hungry?"

You squeezed your thighs together, trying to alleviate some of pulsing in your clit with the uncomfortable amount of wetness that had collected there. But the ache was too much, distracting you from cleaning the mess on his skin.

You looked up at him, eyes brimming with frustrated lust.

"What's the matter, pet? I didn't tell you to stop."

"I...need to cum. I don't think I can hold on any longer." You admitted breathlessly, looking up at him through your lashes as innocently as you could manage so that he'd forget about how you'd agonized him earlier and show some mercy.

You were met with a wolfish grin. "After what you pulled? I'm not laying a finger on your cunt. Figure it out yourself." He twisted your hair around his fist, shoving your head back down. "And get back to doing what I told you, slut. Do you have a problem following instructions?"

You bit your tongue, feeling irritated and unsatisfied even though you knew damn well you had this coming. You rubbed against his silken sheets as you bent over to go back to licking drying pools of his cum, sure you'd were making a mess on the fabric which provided no relief at all. Your hands roamed, fingertips skimming across the tops of his muscular thighs, tracing the dark tatted band that encircled them when the idea hit you.

You eagerly lifted your own leg to straddle a well toned quad, mouth leaving his skin for a second as you whined at the feel of his burning skin against your sex.

"I figured...it out...ahh, fuck." You bragged through small whimpers and moans as you grinded your sopping cunt onto the planes of muscle that adorned his thigh, tilting your pelvis forward so that your clit could rub deliciously along the firm curves.

Sukuna watched you hungrily, drinking in the sight of you getting off so brazenly on his thigh. "You're so fucking pathetic, you know that?"

"Mhm." You absentmindedly agreed, unable to care enough right now to preserve your dignity because of how good it felt. You dipped your head against and went back to sucking and licking the skin on and around his shaft, tongue dragging along in messy stripes as you humped his leg relentlessly, already feeling your pent up orgasm rearing its head.

"Just like that. Do I taste good, pet?" Sukuna asked though the both of you already knew the answer.

"Yes, yes! So fucking good." You babbled against his skin, desperately trying to get every last drop of his seed, wishing he still had more milk to spare.

He clenched his muscles and the sudden movement against your clit caused your orgasm to finally crash down on you, leaving you slack jawed and wide eyed at how sinfully good it felt.

You rode out your high, hips undulating back and forth until finally the last wave of your climax left your body limp. You collapsed onto his chest catching your breath.

When you felt yourself coming back to your senses, you crawled up to his chest and slapped a pec, earning a strangled noise from him. "So when are these things gonna fill back up?"

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